“You’ve changed, Stewart,” she remarked. “You’re not the same person you were when I first met you. I mean that in a good way. You used to be so much harder. You were too hard, I felt. I didn’t care very much for you.”
I stood there and said nothing.
“You seem a lot softer to me now. Mellowed. It’s a good thing. Anyway, I like you much more now. I hope you don’t mind, but I felt the need to tell you that. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
We went back to watching the stars. I felt the thick lump in my throat and had to hold back the urge to burst out sobbing. Sheila must have sensed it, too, or maybe she heard me choke back a sob, but she took my hand and held it, like that. I realized then that my brother’s wife was a remarkable person, someone who had probably sa
