Owen looked toward the apartment windows.
“Will he wake up?”
“He’s awake sometimes. Just not… available.”
The words hurt.
I put paper bags of food on the break-room table. I had bought them without remembering the order.
Caleb pushed a chair toward me.
“Sit.”
“I have two hours before they let me back.”
“Sit anyway.”
I did.
They listened while I explained.
No new injury.
Medication.
Observation.
Uncertain return of speech.
Noah likely remembered me before he fell asleep, which meant memory loss was not confirmed.
“That woman caused this,” Owen said.
“The situation caused it.”
“She was the situation.”
“I yelled too.”
Caleb leaned forward.
“Stop.”
“I should have—”
“You stood beside him. You stopped when he asked. You carried him upstairs. You called emergency services.”
“Not until morning.”
“You watched for the signs you knew.”
“I didn’t know enough.”
“Now you know more.”
I looked at them.
The yard had continued without me again.
