“Not enough.”
“No.”
I leaned against the doorframe.
“No, it isn’t enough.”
He gave me a tired look, perhaps grateful I had not offered another encouraging phrase.
“The toilet is obvious,” he said. “Where are the towels?”
I pointed.
“Medication cabinet?”
“Locked. Everything scheduled is in the kitchen. Backup medication is up high.”
“Because you think I’ll steal painkillers?”
“Because your cognitive therapist wants one controlled location.”
“Do I have a history of stealing painkillers?”
“No.”
“Then you could have led with that.”
“I enjoyed being accused.”
He smiled.
“Do you need the bathroom now?”
“In a minute.”
“You want help?”
His gaze sharpened with embarrassment.
“I can manage.”
“The door stays unlocked.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be outside.”
“I know.”
“You have the emergency pull cord.”
“Reid.”
“Yes?”
“Go away.”
I left him with a smile.
