Sheridan grew more alarmed by the moment at the unfamiliar timbre of her husband's voice.
“Is this your wife?” Amanda asked, looking Sheridan up and down.
“This is Sheridan,” he replied woodenly.
“Pretty. I'm glad you have her.”
“Me too.” This time his voice emerged as a rasping, hitching whisper
“Michael, honey,” Sheridan said, sensing he was on the verge of breaking down, “I have a craving, you know how it is. Could you please get me a drink of soda? There's a vending machine in the lobby.”
“Yes. I'll be right back.” He walked quickly from the room.
“Why did you do that?” Amanda croaked irritably.
You selfish woman; you don't even care, do you? Calling your son to your deathbed after twenty years of silence. Sheridan shook her head and swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her own
