"Whoa, Sarah!" I say, only half kiddingly. Mom shakes her head. "I knew we should have left Radisson earlier. I don't want to keep the doctor waiting." As a longtime nurse, Mom thinks it's incredibly rude for patients to keep the medical staff waiting when they have set appointments. Of course, she has no defense for how patients always seem to have to sit in the doctor's waiting room for weeks on end, reading year-old Redbooks and back issues of Sports Illustrated. "We've still got a half-hour to get there." "Atlanta traffic is always a nightmare." "It's Saturday," I say. "We'll still barely make it downtown." Mom switches her Volvo into the left lane and guns it past a rickety old pickup truck doing its best to keep up with the early-morning interstate traffic. "Did you deliberately try to make us late so you wouldn't have to do this?" My brows knit together as I stare at her over my sunglasses. "Uh. Wha—I can't believe you think that! I said I'd do this, and I'm doing it. Geez." Mom bites her bottom lip and reaches over to touch me on my blue-jeaned knee.
