I watched Dylan fall asleep in his chair in the middle of the afternoon and felt a sudden, sharp fear I had not allowed myself to name in years.
His head had tipped slightly to the side. One hand rested open on his knee. The garden dirt was still under his nails from the morning. He looked peaceful. He also looked older than I was ready to see.
I sat across from him and did not move. The house was quiet enough that I could hear the clock in the hallway. I hated the thought that arrived anyway. How many more ordinary afternoons like this were left.
When his eyes opened he blinked at me and frowned. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough,” I said.
He sat up straighter and rubbed his face. “I only meant to rest for a minute.”
“I know.”
He studied me. “What’s wrong?”
I almost said nothing.
