Chapter Thirteen
CHANDLER SAT at the kitchen table, an array of pill bottles in front of him alongside a small multi-compartment plastic pill dispenser. Every Saturday afternoon he set aside a half hour to set up Raymond’s meds for the new week.
He pushed his chair back and leapt to his feet as the front door opened. Carrying a large cardboard box balanced somewhat precariously on one arm and a plastic bag in his other hand, Marcus entered. Chandler rushed over to him, arms extended.
“Here, take the bag,” Marcus said. “This box is kinda heavy.”
As Chandler grabbed hold of the bag with both hands, it immediately fell to the ground. “Oh, God! You mean the box is even heavier than this.”
Marcus laughed. “I think your muscles are just sore from your workout this morning.”
The burning ach
