Chapter 29

If he passes on dessert, I ask him if he’s feeling all right. “Fine,” he assures me. When he takes one bagel instead of two, I want to know what’s up. “I’m not very hungry,” he says.

Yeah, right.

One evening when he clicks off the television after the news and says he’s heading to bed, I ask, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter,” he tells me. “I’m just tired, that’s it.”

Is it? I want to ask. Or is it the pills? How many are you taking again? “Aaron,” I sigh. I told myself I’d step in when it got too bad, didn’t I? Is it too bad now?

Maybe. How will I know?

I ask, “Are you getting enough sleep?” I pray he mentions the sleeping pills. Then I can say maybe he’s taking too many and he won’t have to know I found them.

But he doesn’t. “Maybe.”

“Maybe it’s the pills?” I ask, meaning the Effexor.