No chain hit the floor this time.

He adjusted a foam pad by my lower ribs with a pair of pliers and had me try again, and I told him, honestly, that it still pinched a little, instead of pretending it was fine to end the appointment faster, because I did not have to do that anymore.

He adjusted it a second time.

“How’s that?” “A lot better,” I said, and meant it.

My father stood against the wall and watched, and said nothing, and afterward bought a pack of peanut butter crackers from the vending machine because lunch was an hour off, and neither of us said one word about the stale saltines Nana had handed me in that same clinic.

We did not need to.