I swallowed the bite of rice.
“She exaggerates.”
“She said you nearly fell over yesterday.”
“I stood up too fast.”
“Why don’t you go home?”
The obvious answer pressed behind my teeth.
Because the bed feels wrong without you.
Because I wake reaching for someone who cannot remember sleeping beside me.
Because every hour away from you feels like a theft after nearly losing you.
“I worry,” I said.
“About me.”
“Yes.”
His gaze lowered to the food.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I’m why you’re here.”
“You’re also why I have a home, a business that survived three terrible years, and a dog who thinks he owns my pillow.”
His eye lifted.
“You keep saying things like that.”
“What things?”
“Like I did something good.”
“You did many good things.”
“I don’t know that person.”
“You don’t have to know him all at once.”
He rolled a cracker between his fingers.
“I wish I knew you.”
The room went very still.
I set down my fork.
Noah looked directly at me.
“You come every day,” he said. “You know when the light hurts before I say it. You bring food I can eat. Leah trusts you. The nurses trust you.”
