“Is your life really as bad as you think?” he asked staring up at her.
“Sometimes,” she replied.
“Well, after you clean yourself up, then maybe you can tell me what’s so bad.”
The two didn’t get into her long, sad story that night. By the time Brandy took a shower, and Naughton swished the pills down the toilet and she was lying on the bed with the terry towel wrapped around her damp hair, exhaustion and the remnants of the alcohol were having their effect.
“I’m so sleepy,” she drawled without the affected Southern accent.
“Then you just sleep,” he said.
“Would you just come here a while,” she asked reaching out for him. “I mean just hold me?”
He stared down at her, then sat beside her on the bed. With her head cradled in his lap, she fell asleep, quickly falling into a sound sl
