His eye found me first.
Then Owen.
“Brace gone.”
“I see that.”
Owen touched his shoulder lightly.
“You look wrecked.”
“Thank you.”
“Professional assessment.”
I unloaded the chair.
Noah tried to stand for the transfer and his knees nearly folded.
I caught him beneath the arms.
“No.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are asleep with your eye open.”
“Efficient.”
His words had blurred.
I lowered him into the chair.
The stair lift waited at the rear entrance, but Noah stared at it without moving.
“Too much?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Use the downstairs room.”
“No.”
“You can rest there.”
“Want upstairs.”
“You do not have to prove anything.”
“Not proving.”
His eye closed.
“Bed.”
The word came quietly.
I looked at the narrow stairs, the mechanical chair, the exhaustion in his face.
