“Maybe if you were home more, I wouldn’t have to be at the track.”

“I’m at the hospital.

Margaret can’t feed herself.”

“Margaret has nurses.” He pulled the fishing rods out of the closet and laid them on the bed.

“Maybe you can move a cot into her room.

Save gas.”

The rods were cold and silver.

He checked the reels with his thumb, one after the other, the same way he used to check my forehead for fever when the children were small.