School drop-off.
Nobody had ever officially announced that these things were my responsibility.
They simply became mine.
Harold had a remarkable talent for becoming busy precisely when something unpleasant needed doing.
After I broke my leg, I assumed that would change.
It didn’t.
My mother drove an hour to help twice.
Linda took the girls three mornings.
I paid for a car service once.
And Harold?
He kept going to work.
Every time I asked him to handle school drop-off, I got the same answer.
“Scarlett, I can’t be late.”
Then came my follow-up appointment.
Linda had already agreed to take the girls, so I called a taxi to the hospital.
The doctor removed part of my dressing, examined the leg and said everything appeared to be healing properly.
“Don’t get overconfident.”
“I won’t.”
“You’re the kind of patient who says that and then reorganizes a closet.”
“That sounds very specific.”
“I’ve met you people before.”
