But there was a bloated arrogance to him I didn’t remember from our youth.

He didn’t look at our mother. He looked only at me. “A phone call would’ve been nice. We run a tight ship here. Caring for a parent with cognitive decline isn’t a walk in the park.

But I suppose you wouldn’t know much about that, up in the city, pushing papers for the government.”

“I have a demanding job,” I replied. “But I’m here now.”

“Right. You’re here now.” He gave a dry, condescending chuckle. “Vanessa, be a dear, get Mom her afternoon water. She gets dehydrated and cranky.”

Vanessa swept in carrying a plastic child’s cup. She didn’t hand it over; she shoved the rim against my mother’s lips. “Drink, Eleanor. We don’t want another incident like Tuesday, do we?”