"How did it go with the caregiver?" I asked.
"She drove my dad to his appointment on Friday," Primo said.
"And the soup?"
Debbie had promised to make Sly and Doris some chicken soup with the chicken carcass left from the deli chicken Primo had bought.
Primo sighed. "My mom said she didn't rinse the vegetables."
"You mean the veg that were going into a hot broth?"
"How did it taste?"
Primo shook his head. "She didn't say."
"Is she coming again?"
"They have not asked her back. But my mom can't really drive. And my dad has to go to physical therapy."
"He can't drive, can he?"
"If only there were some kind of transportation service your dad could use."
"There is. I checked. The council on aging has a transportation service. I even saw the van in my mom and dad's neighborhood."
"Why don't they use it?"
Primo rolls his eyes. "Because my dad would have to wait. And he doesn't think he should ever have to wait for anyone."