When they walked back into his mother’s room, the doctor was there and was wrapping his mother’s ankle. He looked up when he saw David and his father.

“So, I have some good news. We took a bunch of pictures and nothing is broken. But Barbara does have a nasty sprained ankle. I’m going to wrap it up and then you can take her home, but she’s going to have to keep her weight off the leg and use crutches until her ankle heals. I’d give it a good six weeks.”

“That is good news,” his mother said.

An hour later, his mother was discharged, and they all went home. It took his mother a few tries to get used to the crutches, and a long while to slowly make her way to the car, but she managed.

When they arrived home, David’s father helped get his mother settled in her favorite chair, a recliner in the living room, while David ordered a pizza to be delivered.

Once she was comfortable, they joined her and chatted while waiting for the pizza.

“How are you liking working at The Whitley? Such a fancy place. Your father took me there on our anniversary a few years ago. We did the tasting menu, and it was heavenly.”

“It was kind of fancy for me. I didn’t know what half of the things were. They did taste pretty good though,” his father said. David smiled at that. His father’s tastes were simple. One of his favorite meals was hot dogs and baked beans. His mother had more refined tastes and she’d told him before about that dinner. She’d loved it.

“It’s good. There’s a lot to do there. It was a nice chance to come home, and see you guys, too.”

“We don’t see you often enough,” his mother said sadly. “Will you always have to travel this much?”

“David has a good job, and a life in New York City. There’s nothing on Nantucket for him,” his father said.

His father was right. Professional opportunities were limited on Nantucket.

“There’s family. His family is here,” his mother said.

David could sense a mood change with his mother. They were becoming more frequent. She grew agitated unless they were able to redirect her. The doorbell rang and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Mom, the pizza’s here. I ordered your favorite—the one with eggplant, feta and spinach.”

His mother’s eyes lit up. “You did? Oh, good. My girlfriends and I love that one the best. I haven’t had it in so long.” They’d had it delivered a few days ago, too.

His father stood. “If you get the paper plates and napkins, David, I’ll get the pizza.”