out on the couch and get comfortable. I won’t mind if you catnap for a while.”
She turned to look up at him. He could see the fatigue shadowing her eyes. “You don’t mind?”
He tenderly brushed her cheek with his hand. “I don’t mind,” he reassured softly. “Come on, stretch out.”
She moved away from him and the pain in his ribs began to ease. Her shoes landed on top of each other on the floor and she stretched out, using the pillows he offered to rest comfortably against the other end of the sofa. “Thank you, James.”
“Close your eyes and try to get some more sleep,” he whispered.
Within ten minutes he could hear her breathing become steady and low as she slept.
It felt good, it felt right, to have her relaxed with him. He muted the basketball game, then leaned his head back against the cushions, and watched her sleep.
They had to do something about the hours she was working. She couldn’t keep up the pace, not when she was this exhausted.
“Rae, I understand. Don’t worry about it. Go meet with the clients then call me when you get home.”
He was going to miss not having dinner with her, but it was probably best today that her work had intruded. He was stretched out in the recliner, looking at the bird that had come to check out the bird feeder, waiting for the medication to temper the ache in his body. It had been fourteen days since the relapse began, and even the careful exercises in the pool each day were agonizing. The doctors had come up with nothing that could even check the damage. His joints were inflamed, his muscles burning. He lost more and more mobility each day.
Dave knew, but with Rae it was a carefully laid out cover-up. She was worried enough about him that it was important to try to hide the worst from her.
He had watched her over the past two weeks, moving toward the point of being close to collapse herself. She was not getting the sleep she needed. She was worried about him, trying to make time in her schedule to come over and help him, doing it at the expense of her sleep.
He hated the situation. He hated it with a passion.
He wanted to be well. He wanted to be able to be the one to go to her place, fix dinner for her, take care of errands for her, help ease the pressure on her. Instead, this disease was ensuring he was adding to the stress she was feeling.
He spent the evening reading a book, often pausing to set the book aside, to lean his head back, think, pray.
If he didn’t begin to recover soon, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. But he couldn’t do this to Rae. He couldn’t let this disease end up affecting her health as well. He refused to let that happen.
It was a quarter to eleven at night when Rae rang Dave’s doorbell. He came down the steps from his studio office, flipped on the porch light. He saw her and flipped the locks open. He was still in sweats from an evening playing basketball at the gym.
She didn’t apologize for the hour. Their history went back many years. He knew, without being told. He took her jacket and draped it over the stair railing, then put his arm around her as he walked her to the kitchen.
“You look…tired, my friend.”
She took the soda he offered. “You understate things very well.” She took a long drink. “Can you get me tickets to San Diego for tomorrow morning, return flight Sunday night? Lunch and dinner reservations at a quiet, elegant place conducive to talking serious business?”
He looked at her and she let him see the truth, let her mask slip to show the reality going on.
“I’ll be glad to Rae. Find a comfortable spot on the couch, relax. I’ll make a few calls.”
He joined her in the living room twenty minutes later, handed her a piece of paper from his desk stationery.
Rae glanced at it wearily, knowing it would be complete, finding it was. A limo to pick her up from the office, first-class seats there and back, restaurant reservations, hotel accommodations, Dave had arranged it all, or rather one of his contacts had. “Thank you,” she said softly.
He handed her two business cards. “They are good. Use them if you need them.”
Two attorneys, both top names in the business. Men you didn’t just make