She swallowed the small blue pill and put the bottle back on her nightstand.
By ten the next morning, the dull ache in my left calf had spread upward toward my knee, making every step feel like I was dragging a heavy weight. I walked slowly across the damp grass to Gail’s house, holding a small plastic tub of leftover zucchini bread to offer some excuse for my visit. Gail was already on her front porch, wiping her hands on her canvas gardening apron, her face bright in the crisp October light.
“Miriam, you are limping,” Gail said, setting down her green watering can.
“It is probably just the damp autumn weather,” I said.
I tapped my index finger against my collarbone as I sat on her wicker chair, trying to find a position that did not pull at the muscle. My left ankle was visibly thicker than the right, stretching the fabric of my cotton trousers.
“My cousin Clara had that same swelling last summer,” Gail said, sitting on the bench opposite me. She took the plastic tub of bread and set it on the small glass table between us. “She started a new blood pressure pill, and within three days her ankle looked like a small melon.”
