“Here you are, Clara,” my mother said, setting the glass down with a soft click. “Let us get this over with so you can lie down.”
Clara hesitated, her gaze fixing on the water glass as if she were trying to remember something important.
“I do not think I am due for another one until four,” Clara said, her voice small and tight.
“The doctor was very specific about the schedule, my darling,” my mother said, her voice steady and smooth. “We must keep your levels consistent.”
My mother picked up the white pill bottle, twisted the cap off, and tipped a single white tablet into her own palm. She held it out to Clara, her eyes fixed on my wife’s face with a quiet, intense focus that made me halt mid-step near the pantry.
Clara looked at me, her eyes pleading for a different answer, but I only cleared my throat and nodded, believing my mother had kept better track of the hours than we had.
Clara took the pill from my mother’s palm, placed it on her tongue, and swallowed it with a quick gulp of water.
