He shakes his head once, panicked.
“Count them.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. How many windows?”
His eyes flick once. “Three.”
“Good. Lamps?”
He swallows. “Two.”
“How many fingers?”
I raise my hand.
His gaze locks there. “Four.”
“What color is Erin’s blanket?”
“Blue.”
“What color is Omar’s suit?”
His eyes move to the doorway.
Omar stands very still, looking like a man deeply uncomfortable with becoming a therapy object.
“Black,” Heath says.
“Good. You’re here. Not there. No one is taking her.”
His arm lowers by one inch.
Only one.
Then Erin reaches for him.
He flinches.
Not away from her. Away from being caught needing her.
“I’m fine,” he says immediately.
His voice is hoarse.
“You’re not in trouble,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
“I am.”
“Okay.”
He glares at me because he knows I do not believe him.
