Lily pushed herself back against the iron rail bedhead and wrestled with the blankets to untangle them.
“Lily?”
She slapped the mattress with the palm of her hand. “I need a moment. Can’t you see that I need a moment? Move the chair back. You’re too close.”
Roen didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. He pushed his chair back far enough to stretch his legs toward the bed, crossed them at the ankles, and then folded his arms comfortably across his chest. He could wait out all the moments she needed.
Lily yanked at the quilt that had her legs in a vise and felt as if she’d won an important battle when she finally freed herself. Once she’d unwound all the blankets, she spread them out and smoothed them over her lap and legs. She nodded, satisfied with the arrangement, and took in her first easy breath. It was only after she’d released it that she addressed Roen’s question.
“It’s been months since I had a dream that woke one of my children.”
“A dream? That’s what you call it?”
“A bad dream.”
Roen saw no benefit to debating semantics. “So you don’t always wake up screaming.”
“I don’t always wake up in the moment, but in the morning there are often vague recollections that remind me that I dreamed.”
“Will you tell me what you dreamed tonight?” She didn’t answer immediately, and Roen was hopeful for as long as she was silent, but in the end she said no. He followed that question with another. “Will you ever tell me?”
“I don’t know.” Then, “I don’t know if I can allow myself to be that vulnerable.”
It seemed to Roen that her whispered words were not meant for his ears, but he heard them and wondered what meaning he could attach to them. He was mindful that she’d felt vulnerable when he closed the door and remained in the room and felt a deeper vulnerability when he sat at her bedside.But was she so unaware of the defenses she’d erected that she believed she couldn’t protect herself? He was still struck by the passion she unleashed when she slapped the mattress and told him to move his chair away. He’d never considered arguing.
“For another time, then,” he said with all the casualness he could muster. “Will you be able to sleep now?”
“Yes.”
“I can stay until you fall asleep if you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He uncrossed his ankles and drew back his legs, but he didn’t rise.
Lily said, “Is that chair really more comfortable than the sofa? Is that why you’re reluctant to leave?”
A chuckle rumbled at the back of his throat. “Not quite, although I did put the cushions on the floor and made my bed there. I’m still here because I’m trying to decide if I can take you at your word.”
“Do you often wonder that?”
“No. Not at all.”
Lily pointed to the door. “Go.”
He went, taking the lamp and closing the door quietly behind him, and because it seemed like something he should do, he checked on Clay and Ham. Ham was curled on his side, every breath a soft snuffle, but Clay was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. He didn’t even pretend to be asleep.
“Clay? Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Uh-huh. Are you worried about your mother?”
Clay lifted himself up on his elbows. “I’m worried about you.”
“Me?”
“When I heard her screaming, I thought you hurt her, but then I got there and you weren’t nowhere to be found. I reckon one is worse than the other, but I can’t figure which one it is. I’m thinking you being Ma’s husband isn’t the good thing I hoped it would be.”
