Chapter 7
Inside the house, Arch was on the phone. He looked at me solemnly, then shook his head.
“ReeAnn,” he said impatiently into the receiver. Had John Richard’s secretary called us? Or had Arch just phoned her? “I don’t know what you’re supposed to tell the patients. Better see who’s on call for Dad … I don’t know! Look, would you please ask him to give me a ring if he phones in?” His voice cracked. “No! How should I know what they’re doing to him?” He banged the phone down and regarded me dolefully. After a moment he said, “You look terrible, Mom.”
“Thanks.”
“Why don’t you cook or something?”
I glanced around the kitchen. Cook or something. The rows of cupcakes sat waiting to be iced. The remains of my coffee fixings lay in a heap by the sink. Nothing beckoned.
“Mom, please.” A
