“Mum?” Phillip had heard people sometimes rallied at the last. He wasn’t hoping for much, not even another tight grip. For all he knew, this was merely a reflex action. That was why he was so surprised when Miranda Drake’s eyes opened to a slit. Her lips pressed tight, moved, massaging against each other, and then opened a crack. They looked dry. The sound from her throat rasped hoarse.
“You want a drink, Mum?”
She shook her head, the movement slight. “He…” The word petered out, and she had to try again. “He sounds nice.”
For an instant, Phillip stood there, confused. Then he smiled. “He is.”
“A good-looker?”
Phillip sighed. “It’s not like that.”
“Don’t be stupid.” The croak had died to a whisper.
Phillip thought to ask her what she was calling him stupid for, but it could be so man
