She looked at Michael.
“And Michael said what about Mom, she’s going to wake up alone. And David said tell the nurse it’s the parking. She won’t even remember tomorrow.”
The room was silent.
I looked at David.
“She won’t even remember,” I said.
David didn’t say anything. He sat back down in his chair. He put his head in his hands.
Michael was standing by the balloon, looking like a little boy who’d been caught breaking a window.
“Ma,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… David said it was the right thing. He said he’d handle everything. He said I wouldn’t lose the truck.”
“You were going to put me in a home,” I said, “to save your truck.”
He didn’t answer. He started crying. Big, ugly, little-boy tears.
Malcolm hadn’t said a word through all of it. He was standing by the door with his briefcase, very still.
