“I appreciate your doing this for us.”
He shrugged. “I just wish there was more I
could do for Michael.”
“You couldn’t repair his cuts?”
“Oh, no. Those are done. It was the other
things. The scars.”
“What scars?”
The man gave her an odd look. “You’re not his
wife?”
“No.”
“Lover?”
“No.”
“Oh. Then I’ve already put my foot in it.
I’ll shut up. Anything else is up to him.”
Frustration made her sigh even as she
recognized he was right. But her curiosity was roused. Michael
didn’t have any significant scars back when he was a teenager.
A knock at the room door came just as they
left the bathroom. It heralded the arrival of food. With so many
people in one hotel room, sorting out who would eat what and where
became an exercise in balance, improvisation, and restraint. Ilene
e
