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“I bet,” I mutter, but I file it away for later.

Inside, my house is blindingly bright. The afternoon sun slants through the windows, burning white stripes across the floor.

Maggie heads straight for the freezer and comes back with two ice packs wrapped in kitchen towels. She tosses them onto the recliner in the living room and gestures for me to sit.

“Bossy,” I say.

She shrugs, folding her arms. “Stop bitching and let me help you.”

The recliner is perfectly positioned for TV viewing. She helps me ease into it, wedges the first ice pack behind my lower back, and then sets up the other one for when the first inevitably melts. She pulls my laptop and phone from the kitchen counter, setting them within reach on the end table, and grabs a huge water bottle from the fridge. When she brings it over, she unscrews the lid and hands it to me like I’m a toddler.

“Don’t make that face,” she says. “You need to stay hydrated.”

I take it, but I don’t say thank you. The words get stuck somewhere behind my teeth.

She surveys her handiwork with a critical eye. “I’m going to pick up your prescriptions from the pharmacy, and I’ll grab you a burger from the 5th Avenue Diner on my way back.”

“I take back all the bad things I said about you,” I say, grinning at her.

“I’m going to remind you that you said that the next time I piss you off.” She laughs and heads out.