I’d brought down bedding for the couch, told Tom where things were in the bathroom, and asked him a second time if there was anything else he might need.
“Thanks. I’ll be fine here.”
We stood across from each other. The coffee table between us … along with exhaustion, the knowledge of his daughter’s presence nearby, and Mike’s presence, not nearby.
“Good night, then,” I said.
“Good night.”
I was almost to the doorway that led to the stairway to the master suite when he spoke.
“Elizabeth.”
I turned to him.
“Jenny’s starting to sound like you.” He still slipped sometimes and reverted to the nickname he’d been calling her most of her life, though less and less in front of her.
“Like me?”
“Yeah. Earlier, when she remembered what you’d said about Hiram’s gun, she said Wait a minute like you do a lot and it sounded exactly like you.”
I remembered her saying that and I knew I said it, but I hadn’t made the connection.
Dryly, I asked, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“A good thing,” he said. “Definitely a good thing.”