“How’s the ankle?”
“Still attached,” Conor called.
She sat across from him.
Then Amanda looked at his leg.
“At least this time you’re following instructions.”
She sat across from him.
Conor’s face changed.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Amanda glanced at him.
He said, “Nothing.”
She frowned. “Conor. Have you still not said anything to Cynthia?”
“Amanda, what are you talking about?”
Amanda glanced at him.
She set her cup of tea down.
“I told him after the biopsy that keeping you out of this was a mistake.”
“After the biopsy?”
Conor said, “You didn’t need to say that.”
“Apparently I did.”
I turned to him.
She set her cup of tea down.
“She knew about the biopsy? You told your sister and our daughter but conveniently kept me out of it?”
“Cynthia…”
“Who knew first?”
“Why does that matter now?”
“Because I’m trying to understand when you stopped seeing me as the person you could tell.”
