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“I don’t want to sell the house.”
“Then don’t,” I said, coming fully awake. “The closing’s not for another month. Tell Stephanie you’ve changed your mind.”
“Stephanie?” he asked, as if he didn’t know who she was.
“It’s okay. I’ll tell her.”
“You’ll tell her?”
“First thing tomorrow. Dad?” I asked, hearing the line go dead. “Shit,” I said, plopping down on the side of the bed, letting the phone drop from my hand.
“Jodi?” a voice whispered from the hallway.
I turned toward the sound, saw Harrison standing in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothing. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” he said, advancing into the room. He was wearing the bottom half of a pair of old pajamas, his chest bare, his hair tousled. “Was that your father? I thought I heard you say ‘Dad.’ ”
I nodded. “Sorry if the phone woke you up.”
“I wasn’t asleep. The couch isn’t the most comfortable…” He approached the bed and returned the receiver to its carriage. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” I said, a rush of tears cascading down my cheeks. What was there to say?
He sank down on the bed beside me. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing anybody can do.”
“I can hold you,” he said, reaching for me. “If you let me…”
I’m embarrassed to admit that at that moment, my husband’s arms around me was what I wanted more than anything in the world.
I let him.
