“You don’t have to know today.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Reach the end of this hour.”
“And after that?”
“The next one.”
“That is a terrible strategy.”
“It is the only one I’ve had since the accident.”
He looked at me.
The anger loosened.
“You don’t know what you’re doing either.”
“Almost never.”
“You make it look like you do.”
“One of us has to appear competent enough to keep the utilities connected.”
A reluctant sound of laughter escaped him.
Then he planted his left foot and tried to rise without waiting for the chair.
I was standing before he cleared the cushion.
“Noah.”
“I need the bathroom.”
“Wait for the chair.”
“I can walk.”
“You can. The chair is six feet away.”
“I’m sick of it.”
“So am I.”
He pushed himself upright.
The room shifted beneath him.
I saw the instant it happened. His face went blank, his body swayed, and his hand shot out to catch my shirt.
I stepped into him, one arm circling his waist.
His forehead struck my collarbone.
“Easy.”
“Don’t move.”
