“How much?”
“I can show you everything.”
“Now?”
“You’re already tiring.”
I hated that he was right.
My words had begun to slow, each one requiring a fraction more effort.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll ask Dr. Whitcomb how much practical information she wants us to tackle at once.”
“That makes me sound incompetent.”
“It makes you someone recovering from a serious injury.”
“Same result.”
“No.”
His voice carried enough force to make me look at him.
“You are not incompetent.”
“I can’t choose lunch.”
“You recognized a damaged outlet downstairs without seeing it. You remembered a signal no one had used in weeks. You transferred into that chair without help.”
“I used to repair complete electrical systems.”
“And you will again.”
The certainty in his tone reached me before doubt could block it.
I looked down at the soup.
“Will you be at the appointments?”
“All of them.”
“You have work.”
“I arranged coverage.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
“Caleb and Owen are going to replace you.”
“They have discussed it.”
I smiled.
Reid’s thumb moved across the table until it touched mine.
He did not take my hand.
