"I'm incredibly sorry," I whisper.
He sets his wooden stick down beside him. Surely because his stomach is so tight with knots that he can't take another bite.
I should say something comforting or offer one of Maya's wisdoms. "Would you like to tell me about him?" I ask instead, directing my gaze at the fire so that Noah doesn't feel pressured.
Silence settles between us. It's so oppressive that not even the lively crackling of the glowing logs can counter it.
"He had two left hands," Noah finally responds, lost in thought. "And he was damn smart." Suddenly, he gazes at me intently. "He knew everything about the universe. Every star, every moon, and all the phenomena humanity has ever observed with a telescope."
I nod understandingly. "He was something special."
Suddenly, his expression changes, becoming melancholic and tender. "At night, he would often stay awake to gaze at the sky. When I reminded him that even someone like him needs to sleep, he claimed that lying down gave him stomachaches."
Thoughtfully, I impale a new marshmallow andhold it over the fire. If he came up with excuses like that, his son must have truly adored the night sky.
"The stars fascinated him so much that he would study them for hours through the telescope. Only when his back started to ache was he willing to take a break," he says, his gaze shifting upward. I let mine follow.
Above us, millions of lights sparkle. Like diamonds, they adorn the clear darkness of the night sky. "What wonders lie out there in the vastness of our heavens that we can't even begin to fathom?" I ask thoughtfully.
"He knows now," Noah whispers, his voice choked.
"When did he embark on his expedition?" Maybe I shouldn't ask, but I can't help it.
With his eyes stubbornly fixed above, he clears his throat. "Last autumn."
So it hasn't even been a year. Only a few months in which he retreated into his own world. Weeks in which he kept everyone at bay.
I study his face, wondering how lonely he must feel inside. And why he chose this isolated way of grieving. "He must be happy up there," I say.
"Sure," he confirms, lowering his gaze with a wistful sigh.
Minutes pass without anyone saying anything. Me, because I know that there are no words in this world that could help him. And him, probably because he carries too many of them within himself. Behind armored doors. Equipped with locks that no one has been able to find the keys to.
I look across the fire at him, observing his hardened jaw muscles, slumped shoulders, and vacant stare. And suddenly, it's no longer about the emotions he evokesin me. It doesn't matter how much I long for him to pull me into his strong arms. I no longer wonder if he will ever kiss me.
All that matters now is him.
"I'm here for you," I whisper into the silence between us because there's nothing I would rather do than help him. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you."
Our gazes meet. In his eyes, I see gentleness and warmth. He nods to me, and he doesn't need to do more. I understand what he's trying to convey.
Then he pats his thighs, pushes himself up, and points at the large bag beside me. "Let's get started."
Perhaps we should. He still needs time for everything else, and I want to give it to him. Even though it's difficult for me to return to the reason I came here, I grab the medical equipment and follow Noah into the house.
While he changes clothes, I organize the devices and their corresponding cables in his sparsely furnished bedroom. Here, there's only the bed, the floor-to-ceiling panoramic window that probably offers a breathtaking view of the lake in daylight, and the wooden beams on the ceiling. Everything else is kept in simple white.
I spread out the electrodes in front of me, kneeling on the wooden floor due to the lack of furniture. I also take the time to mentally review what I researched about sleep diagnostics because I have no practical experience in this field.
It doesn't take long until I hear footsteps behind me. "I'm ready," he says.
"Me too." Quickly, I reach for the portable EEG device that I will use to record his brainwaves and turn to face him.
He has decided to sleep in comfortable joggers and a T-shirt. Next to him is a light gray rocking chair with a fur cushion and wide armrests that definitely wasn't there before.
"You'll need to put this on later." I hand him the EEG device.
Without protesting, he takes the device that looks like a helmet with oversized air vents and places it on his head for a trial fit.
