“For the yard.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t sleep.”
“Some.”
“You’re lying.”
“Poorly.”
His hand moved over my cheek.
“Last night, when I woke up, I couldn’t say your name.”
My chest tightened.
“I know.”
“I knew you.”
“You said the whistle helped.”
“It did.”
He looked toward the green lamp.
“The sound found a path around whatever was blocked.”
I covered his hand.
“I thought you had forgotten me.”
“I saw it.”
“What?”
“Your face.”
Noah’s eye filled with tears.
“I knew before I could speak that I had hurt you.”
“You did not hurt me.”
“My brain did.”
“No.”
I sat upright.
“Fear hurt. The accident hurt. Diane hurt. You did not.”
He leaned into me.
“I don’t want you promising you can stop every bad thing.”
The request surprised me.
