Touching Stars
shortcut.”
    “Because you didn’t give me much to be angry about. So I’m stuck with everything else, right out in the open. Guilt, regret, sadness. No anger to hide behind.”
    She was surprised they were talking about this now, after more than a decade had passed. And in the middle of the night, to boot.
    He went on. “So, for a while, I was angry about not having anything to be angry about.” He smiled wanly. “You too?”
    “I had a little more to work with, Eric.”
    He turned up his hands in defeat. “Maybe I had to dredge up a few things. Maybe I concentrated a little too much on your tendency to nurture everything that moves.”
    She realized he was apologizing for his comment about Leon. She gave a brief nod of recognition.
    “And maybe I tried to ignore the fact that even the silk plant that somebody left in my condo died from neglect.” He approximated something that looked like the old Eric grin. “Maybe I tried to make that a virtue.”
    “Nobody can kill a silk plant.”
    “One day I came home and all the leaves were on my floor in a pile. I’m not kidding.”
    She smiled, but it died quickly. “If somehow I left you with the impression that you’re just another example of my need to serve, don’t believe it. I want you here for the sake of our sons. You’re not some random charity case I’ve taken in off the street.”
    “I know.” He tried to smile again, but he suddenly looked too tired.
    Gayle rested her hand on his arm. Despite herself, she couldn’t back away and pretend he was just another boarder. Their relationship was too old and too complicated—even more complicated, she was beginning to understand, than she’d let herself recognize.
    “What can I do for you?” she asked.
    He hesitated. “I need to take a sleeping pill, that’s all.”
    “Let me get it. Tell me where.”
    She watched him consider. Did he allow her to perform this kindness, further deepening his debt, or did he muddle through? He let out a breath, not quite a sigh, but audible. “Thanks. The bottle’s in the bathroom.” He hesitated. “I just need one.”
    She found the pills, doled out one and ran a glass of cold water from the tap. Back in the bedroom, he was sitting on the side of the bed, his long legs just touching the floor. She handed him the pill and watched him swallow it eagerly.
    “Is there anything else I can do?” she asked.
    He looked torn. That surprised her, since Eric rarely hesitated about anything. It was one of the reasons he had risen in his field, not carelessness, not a fool rushing in, but a man who could swiftly weigh facts, then act on them decisively and fearlessly.
    “What is it?” she asked.
    “It’s a big favor. And I know you’re dead tired.”
    “What is it?”
    This time he did sigh. “Would you stay a little while until the pill takes effect?”
    “Here? With you?”
    “This is a good prescription. Once it kicks in, even if I have nightmares I won’t wake up, and I won’t remember them in the morning. But the pill takes a while. And if I just doze right off now, I might…”
    Her voice was soft. “Nightmares are no surprise, Eric. You went through a lot.”
    “Knowing that doesn’t seem to help.”
    “Go ahead, lie down. I’ll stay until you look like you just can’t keep your eyes open another minute.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Go ahead, get comfortable.”
    He swung his legs up and settled them under a sheet, but tonight it was too warm for a blanket. The ceiling fan stirred the air, but even his sweatpants looked too hot for early summer—although she wasn’t about to suggest he strip down further.
    She wasn’t sure where to look or what to say. She decided to tell him so. “When somebody’s been through everything you have, it’s hard to know what’s acceptable to ask.”
    “Harder to know what’s acceptable to talk about.”
    “You can talk about anything you want.”
    He stared up at the ceiling. “How about what a fool I

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