He squeezed my hand.
“If the scans are stable, appointments move to every other week.”
“Yes.”
“That feels like leaving school early.”
“You dislike school.”
“Exactly.”
He looked toward the sky.
“Dr. Whitcomb said memory recovery becomes less predictable after six months.”
“She said it does not stop on a schedule.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He sighed.
“I want to know whether to keep waiting.”
“For everything to return?”
“Yes.”
I turned onto my side.
Noah watched the clouds.
“What if waiting is not the work anymore?”
“What is?”
“Living.”
His mouth moved faintly.
“That sounds like something you rehearsed.”
“I thought about it while you slept fourteen hours.”
“Only eleven.”
“I checked.”
He smiled.
“The missing years still matter.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to pretend they don’t.”
“You shouldn’t.”
