‘Does Samantha seem different to you?’
Bill dipped his toast in his tea.
‘Bill!’
‘Yes?’
Anne cocked an eyebrow. ‘Was that a “Yes, what did you say dear?” or was it an affirmative response to my query?’
Bill sighed. ‘What did you say, dear?’
‘Does Samantha seem different to you?’
Bill resumed munching on his toast and reading the paper. ‘In what way?’
‘Not that you notice much at all, but she seems more, I don’t know, alive lately.’
Bill looked across the table at his daughter, then attempted to peruse the paper a third time. ‘That’s because her medication’s worn off by the time you wake up.’
‘I walked past her room the other morning, and I could have sworn I…’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘I saw her talking.’
Bill looked up again. ‘Talking.’
‘She was asleep, or at least she had her eyes closed, and she was lying on her side, facing the wall. It was as if she was reciting some sort of mantra.’
Bill dropped the paper. ‘Perhaps it’s time you got off the Mother’s Ruin.’
‘I only drink to calm my nerves.’
‘Any calmer and I’d have to embalm you.’
Anne bit her lip, and Bill knew he’d gone too far.
‘She hasn’t uttered a syllable for six years, Anne.’
Anne ripped his plate out from under him and threw it in the sink.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
