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I thought it was polite to ask. “How’s your mother feeling?”
“Still sick,” David said, not looking up from his book.
“Is she going to go to the doctor or anything?”
“Apparently. Thank you for your concern.”
Jerk. Fine. I took my bagged lunch—an apple, a hunk of cheese, and a Hershey’s bar with almonds—down to the opposite end of the table.
I was so absorbed in my own reading I didn’t see David walk up to me. Lunch was almost over, and he had a message to deliver. “They said you can come over any afternoon this week. My mom’s going to get some antibiotics today, and she wants to keep interviewing you while it’s all fresh in your mind.”
He said it like the whole thing was a bad taste in his mouth.
“Thank you,” I said, but he was already walking away.
I wasn’t going to wait. I wan
