The second the words left my mouth, I knew how ugly they sounded.
She said nothing.
I pulled out a pair of rubber household gloves.
Ruth noticed.
Again, she said nothing.
That somehow made it worse.
“I don’t need help bathing,” she said after a moment.
“My husband thinks you do.”
“He worries.”
“He interferes.”
That brought the faintest smile to her face.
“You must love him very much.”
I gave her a sharp look.
“What makes you say that?”
“Only people who love each other know exactly how to irritate each other.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, I turned on the water.
After a few minutes, Ruth finally removed the coat, then two sweaters and a faded T-shirt underneath.
Her body was painfully thin.
