77
George Tobias
George Tobias filled his coffee cup and sauntered to the master bedroom at the rear of the house in what used to be the guest bedroom. The old master, upstairs, had been converted to a multipurpose room after Bridgett’s paralysis, a sitting room displaying awards and artwork and housing guests when necessary. The chairlift installed to ride the bannister was functional but cumbersome. One floor living was more practical.
She stirred when George walked into the room, then grimaced when he drew the drapes flooding her with light. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.
“Time to get up, sleepy-head.”
She stretched and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. “I thought we were sleeping in this morning.”
“Chet called,” he said, plopping into a nearby chair. He didn’
