NOAH: Think so.
Not yes.
I removed my gloves.
Caleb glanced up from a wiring loom.
“Upstairs?”
“Two minutes.”
“Take ten.”
I used the stairs instead of the stair lift and found Noah transferring from the couch into his chair.
His movements were slow.
Too controlled.
Marlowe stood beside him, watching with worried brown eyes.
“Hey.”
Noah looked up.
His smile arrived a moment late.
“You were downstairs.”
“Yes.”
“I remembered after I texted.”
“That’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He settled into the chair and rubbed his temple.
His left arm was no longer in the rigid brace, though the muscles remained weak. He kept it close to his body without realizing it.
“How long have you been awake?” I asked.
“Not long.”
“Headache?”
“Three.”
“Any nausea?”
“Little.”
“When did you eat?”
He looked toward the kitchen.
The answer was obvious.
