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“His family moved away. We stayed in touch for a year or two, but then the letters stopped. I have no idea why.” He met Yuri’s steady gaze. “So today I made a decision. I’ve asked my sister to find Michael—if she can.”
Yuri said nothing, but clasped Keith’s hand. “I’m sure he’ll want to see you. It sounds—to me at least—as though he was very much in love with you.”
“Then why did he stop writing?”
Yuri’s face grew solemn. “I don’t know the answer to that question, but I hope your sister finds him. And I can understand why you need that—now.”
Keith covered Yuri’s hand with his. “You’re a good man, Yuri—what’s your last name, by the way?”
“Komarov.” Yuri gave a wry smile.
“What’s so funny?”
He chuckled. “It’s a Russian name, though the family has been in the US for generations. It means gnat or mosquito.” He flushed. “I don’t usually share that.”
Keith grinned. “I can’t think why.” He didn’t release Yuri’s hand. It was warm against his cool skin.
It felt real, damn it.
Yuri pushed Keith’s hair back from his brow. “Now go to sleep. I’ll be here same time tomorrow.” And before Keith could say another word, Yuri leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He drew back, smiling. “And that’s something else I don’t usually do.”
“I won’t tell a soul.”
Besides, Heidi would have a field day.
A figment of my imagination just kissed me.
She’d be asking Anna if he needed psychiatric evaluation.
“Tell me about Yuri.”
Wednesday, December 21, 2022
“Keith?”
He switched off the Hallmark Christmas movie he wasn’t really watching. Anna wasn’t alone. There was a doctor with her, one Keith didn’t recognize.
Anna gestured to him. “This is Dr. Williams. He’s come to have a talk with you.”
The first thought to flit through Keith’s mind brought an icy chill to his skin.
He’s here to discuss palliative care.
It made sense. Hospitals needed beds, right? And perhaps the best place for him would be a hospice. A sobering realization, but one he couldn’t escape from.
“Sure. Hello there, Dr. Williams.”
“I’ll leave you gentlemen alone.” Anna gave the doctor a nod before leaving the room.
Dr. Williams was younger than Keith, maybe in his thirties, with a smooth jaw line and eyes hidden behind metal-framed glasses. He pulled the chair closer and sat, a tablet balanced on his knee.
“Some of my questions might seem a little strange,” Dr. Williams began, “but I promise, they will help me gain a full picture of your present state.”
Keith blinked. “I’d have thought that was already known. I have Guillain-Barre Syndrome, and it’s killing me.” The words came out blunter than he’d intended. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
Dr. Williams waved a hand. “It’s understandable in the circumstances. You must be feeling stressed.” He gazed at Keith as if awaiting confirmation.
“I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”
