I slid two twenty-dollar bills across the counter to the clerk. The thirty-five dollar copay had not changed, but the container the clerk handed me was a dark, translucent blue instead of the usual amber plastic.
“New distributor,” Gail whispered, leaning closer to peer at the label in my hand. “The girl at the register told the woman ahead of me that they switched warehouses last week.”
I held the blue bottle in my hand, its plastic surface cool and clean against my palm. Dr. Aris had kept me on this blood pressure medication for three years without a single complication.
“A pill is a pill, I suppose,” I said, though the blue plastic looked strangely out of place among my old bottles.
By late afternoon, the stiffness in my leg had turned into a steady, throbbing pressure that made me favor my right side when I moved.
I carried the wicker laundry basket from the hallway into the living room, trying to keep my stride even. David was sitting on the sofa, a clipboard with track times resting on his knees.
He stood up immediately, his eyes dropping to my ankles. He adjusted his wristwatch twice in rapid succession.
“You are favoring that left side, Mom,” he said, taking the laundry basket from my hands before I could protest. “Let me take that to the table.”
“I am fine, David,” I said, my voice measured and slow. “Just a minor ache from working in the garden.”
“You do not limp from light weeding,” he said, setting the basket on the coffee table. “You need to rest it.”
“I have things to finish before dinner,” I said.
I sat down anyway, the relief of taking the weight off my leg so sharp that I had to catch my breath. The deep throb in my calf did not stop, pulsing in time with the quiet hum of the refrigerator.
