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She pulled out her cell phone and turned on the flashlight. “Just a quick light here.” She flashed it in his left eye, then his right. “Good. What’s your full name, Popeye?”

He looked at me and then back at her. “Thomas Avery,” he grumbled.

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he said grumpily. “Tuna melt day at Jane’s.”

She looked at me for confirmation on the tuna melt, and I nodded. Then she took his wrist and put two fingers on his pulse, looking at her watch.

It was like she’d transformed before my eyes. Everything about her shifted. She was a professional all of a sudden, going through a routine I could tell she’d done a million times. I just stared at her.

“What were you doing when you fell?” she asked Pops.

“Just gettin’ out of bed.”

“Do you have any conditions you can tell me about? High blood pressure? A history of strokes? Heart attacks?”

He shook his head. “Fit as a fiddle.”

She smiled and peered over at his nightstand. “Are these the only medications you’re on?”

“Far as I know.”

She picked up the two bottles and studied them. She shook one. “Did you take this with food?”

“I take it like I always take it. With water before I get up.”

She smiled. “If you don’t take this one with food, it can make you dizzy. Do you have some crackers you can keep by the bed? Something to put in your stomach next time?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. Well, we’ll get you some. I think you’re in good shape. But you need to follow up with your primary care physician, okay? A fall at your age can be a big deal.”

“Fine. Mind if I take a piss now?”

She grinned at me.

I helped him stand so he could use the toilet. He shuffled into the hallway bathroom, mumbling to himself. As soon as the door clicked behind him, I looked at her.

“I’m going to check around for other medications,” she said, walking out of the bedroom.

I stared after her.

A doctor?

I felt like the chasm between us had just deepened. It was like every time I thought I was leveling up, I realized I wasn’t even close. A damn doctor.

I blew a breath out and looked around. The place was a mess. “Pops, is Jean still cleaning for you?” I asked through the door. “When’s the last time she was here?”

The long sound of Popeye relieving himself tinkled from the bathroom.

“I told her to piss off weeks ago.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “This place looks like shit.” I started gathering all the clothes on the floor and tossing them into a pile. “Who’s doing your laundry?”

The bathroom door opened, and he came out, grumbling. “I’m doing it. She did a crap job. Made my T-shirts smell like petunias.”

“We need to get you in the shower,” I said. “Do you need help?”