And Lydia stayed close to Finn.
Not hovering exactly.
Learning.
Watching.
Adjusting.
Once the immediate danger had passed, she asked me to walk with her down the hospital corridor.
She had the same expression she used when we were teenagers and she’d finally decided to tell me something she had been keeping to herself.
“I’ve been thinking about the bed,” she said.
I knew what she meant.
The bed-wetting.
“The first time in years,” she said. “I was annoyed with him.”
Her voice cracked.
“I told him he was too old for that.”
I didn’t rush to fill the silence.
“He kept saying he didn’t know why it happened,” she continued. “And I told him to go change his pajamas.”
“He didn’t know why.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t either.”
She wiped at her cheek.
“I still wish I’d handled it differently.”
“That you can do something with.”
