“And your mother?”

“Yes,” he said clearly.

“I will tell her.”

“Come into the living room,” I said.

I turned and walked out of the kitchen without waiting to see if he followed.

The living room rug felt cold under my socks.

I picked up the spiral-bound medication care logbook from the side table near the armchair and laid it flat on the glass coffee table.

Beside it, I placed the Braun digital ear thermometer, the small box of plastic replacement probe caps, and the brown glass bottle of amoxicillin.