He picked up his coat. He checked his pockets twice, the way he always did when he was nervous about forgetting something. She watched him do it.
“Your blood pressure pills,” she said. “They’re on the counter.”
He turned. For just a moment one small moment something crossed his face that she might have called shame if she had not been so busy deciding not to cry.
He picked up the pill bottle. He tucked it into his coat pocket. He left.
She waited until the sound of Marcy’s car had faded completely.Then she took the bank card and put it in the cookie tin. Then she turned on the hot water and washed her teacup by hand, slowly, be*cause she knew that if she stopped moving, she was going to start crying, and she was afraid that once she started, she would not be able to find where it ended.
