Paul picked up the mobile ringing by his bed. One of the pictures from the photo session with Drew showed up on screen as caller ID. As Paul snuggled back under the covers, he glanced at the time. Four fifteen.
“It’s me,” Paul said. “Did you have a nightmare?”
“Yeah.” Drew’s voice sounded shaky. “And I remember you said if I did, I could call you. Is it okay?”
“Of course.” Paul pictured Drew in his bed in that neat little house. Did he have a duvet or blankets? What did he wear? He must be alone if he’d called Paul instead of reaching for a warm body beside him. It had been two weeks since the inquest, and their contact had been sporadic, mostly by e-mail and text. It felt good to hear his voice again.
“Talk to me,” Paul said.
“It was the same as usual. Darkness. This heavy weight ove
