A moment later, I heard the lock turn.
I stared at it in surprise.
My mother had never locked her bedroom during the day.
That evening, I made chicken soup and brought her a bowl.
She ate only a few spoonfuls.
“Mom, you really need to see a doctor.”
“Perhaps tomorrow.”
“You look exhausted.”
“Thank you for that lovely compliment, sweetheart.”
She attempted a smile.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I’m tired, Laura. I just need some rest.”
I checked her temperature and encouraged her to drink water.
She insisted she’d feel better after a night’s sleep.
But I wasn’t convinced.
Once she’d gone upstairs, I decided to call Margaret.
Maybe her friend could explain what had happened during the visit.
I found the number Mom had given me and dialed.
A man answered.
“Hello?”
“Good evening. May I speak with Margaret?”
There was a pause.
“I’m sorry, but Margaret doesn’t live here.”
