When it finally eased, I looked at the laundry scattered across the stairs and began to cry.
Not because of the clothes.
Because I was afraid I might never be able to carry them again.
That was when I decided to call Michael.
He answered on the second ring.
“Mom?”
“Darling, are you busy?”
“I’m just leaving work. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was wondering whether you might come over.”
There was a pause.
“Are you all right?”
“Of course.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You only call me in the middle of the afternoon when you need something or when you’re trying to hide something.”
I closed my eyes.
“I had a little fall.”
His voice changed immediately.
“Where are you hurt? Did you hit your head?”
“No, no. I didn’t fall all the way. I just felt a pain.”
“I’m coming.”
“Michael, you don’t need to—”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
