“I’m sorry, Ivan.” Tristram said sincerely with a caring smile, his hazel eyes searching.
“Sorry for what?” I asked jovially.
“For not knowing what button I have pushed.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have hit some kind of nerve – and you don’t want to tell me what it is, but you don’t want me to hit it again either. I will try not to, but I don’t know what it is that I am trying to avoid.”
I masked my defensiveness with a roguish smile.
“I’m just being oversensitive because I am tired and stressed, that’s all. My Landcruiser is need of serious repair – I have completely torn out the undercarriage.”
Tristram saw through me, as he always did in the last few months of our friendship. I watched him consider his next sentence…he decided against it.
Another time…said his eyes.
Another timeEls
