“You made me wrap them,” I said.
Noah shook his head.
“Don’t tell me.”
I stopped.
His eye remained closed.
“You said…”
The memory resisted.
He gripped the counter.
“I can hear you.”
“What do you hear?”
“Your laugh.”
Tears appeared beneath his lashes.
“I dropped the mustard jar.”
“You did.”
“You caught it with your foot.”
“No. It broke.”
His eye opened.
“No.”
The certainty in his voice struck hard.
“You caught it.”
I searched the memory.
Then it returned.
The jar had slipped. I trapped it against the lower cabinet with my boot before it hit the floor.
“Yes.”
Noah laughed once, breathlessly.
“You said my kitchen was trying to kill you.”
“I did.”
“I told you to leave.”
“You did.”
“You didn’t.”
