“I want to show you something,” Charlie said as we arrived back at the funeral home after a short and pointedly silent drive from the Mexican restaurant.
He nodded in the direction of the apartment, indicating he wanted me to go with him.
“I need to think,” I said, trying to find a conciliatory tone.
“This will help you think,” he promised. “Please?”
He looked very vulnerable now, very chastened, almost hesitant.
“I need some time to think about what you said,” I replied. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I turned to leave.
“Please?” he said again very softly.
I glanced over my shoulder at him. I was mad. Lord, yes, I was mad. But I was also drawn to him, afraid to lose him, afraid this argument would spiral out of control, terrified that he was right and I needed to leave my closet a
