“You’re very good at that.”
“At what?”
“Holding me.”
“I have practice.”
“With me.”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you to do it again?”
“Whenever you need.”
I helped him into the chair.
While he was in the bathroom, I stood at the kitchen sink and waited for my hands to stop shaking.
When Noah emerged, droplets of water shone on his face.
“I feel better.”
“Good.”
He maneuvered the chair toward the couch.
“You mentioned puzzles.”
“You insulted puzzles.”
“I’ve revised my position.”
I retrieved a box from the shelf.
It was not a cottage, flowers, or a beach at sunset. Owen had found a thousand-piece aerial photograph of Greyhaven Harbor taken before the expansion of the north marina.
Noah studied the lid.
“I know that shoreline.”
“You grew up here.”
“Not this section.”
He pointed to a narrow strip of land beyond the old cannery.
“The channel markers were there.”
“They moved them four years ago.”
He looked up sharply. “Is that another memory?”
“Possibly something you knew before you left Greyhaven.”
“No.”
Certainty entered his voice.
