“I don’t care who gets the company. I don’t care about the house. I’ll sign anything you want. I just need you.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“That,” he said, “is why you must trust me.”
I asked him what he meant.
He closed his eyes.
The following evening, Harrison requested an old green quilt from the reading room at home.
I brought it to the hospital and found Vivian removing a vase of flowers from his windowsill.
“They’re too strong,” she said.
They were white roses, the same flowers we had used at our wedding.
Harrison slept most of that night.
I sat beside him, counting the seconds between his breaths.
Shortly before dawn, he woke and looked toward the window.
“Is it raining?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Open the curtains.”
I did.
Gray morning light entered the room.
He looked at me for a long time.
