The dashboard clock read 11:47 when I pulled my delivery van up to the curb outside my mother’s apartment. Rain blurred the streetlights into long yellow smears. I sat there for a moment, counting bills in my head, subtracting prescriptions from rent, getting the same impossible answer.
I grabbed the grocery bag and the small paper sack from the pharmacy and climbed the three flights.
I wasn’t okay.
Mom opened the door before I knocked, the way she always did.
“You shouldn’t be out this late, dear.”
“Ma, I’m fine. Brought your blood pressure pills and that soup you like.”