“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to decide today.”
He pushed the phone away with his right hand.
“I don’t feel anything.”
No one moved.
He looked at me then, and his face twisted with guilt.
“I’m trying,” he said.
I had promised not to ask him to perform love.
I rose from the chair slowly.
“You don’t have to try for me.”
His eye shone.
“I should know you.”
“You were hurt.”
“You look at me like—”
He stopped.
“Like what?” Dr. Whitcomb asked.
Noah swallowed. “Like I died.”
The room disappeared behind a film of tears.
I forced myself to remain where I was.
“You didn’t,” I said. “You’re here. That’s enough today.”
It was not enough.
It had to be.
Dr. Whitcomb ended the session soon afterward. Noah’s pain had increased, and his words were beginning to slur with fatigue.
A nurse administered medication.
As his eye drifted closed, he looked toward me once more.
“Reid.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t know you.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
