Finally, I queried, "Are we done?" The question had a double meaning.
I wondered if he caught that or even cared.
"Angus will give you a ride home."
My grip tightened on the phone.
"Good-bye, Gideon."
I hung up and got back to work.
* * *
I checked on Cary the minute I got home.
His bed had been moved aside and propped vertically against the wall to make room for a hospital bed that he could adjust at will.
He was asleep when I came in, his nurse sitting in a new recliner and reading an e-book.
It was the same nurse I'd seen the first night in the hospital, the pretty and exotic-looking one who had trouble taking her eyes off Gideon.
I wondered when he'd spoken to her - if he'd done it himself or sent someone else to do it - and whether she'd agreed for the money or for Gideon or both.
The fact that I was too tired to care one way or another said a lot about my own disconnection.
Maybe there were people out there whose love could survive anything, but mine was fragile.
It needed to be nurtured in order to thrive and grow.
I took a long, hot shower, then crawled into bed.
I pulled my tablet onto my lap and tried to continue my letter to Gideon.
I wanted to express my thoughts and reservations in a mature and cogent way.
I wanted to make it easy for him to understand my reactions to some of the things he did and said, so he could see things from my point of view.
In the end, I didn't have the energy.
I'm not elaborating any more, I wrote instead, because if I keep going, I'll beg.
And if you don't know me well enough to know that you're hurting me, a letter isn't going to fix our problems.
I'm desperate for you.
I'm miserable without you.
I think about the weekend, and the hours we spent together, and I can't think of anything I wouldn't do to have you like that again.
Instead, you're spending time with HER, while I'm alone on my fourth night without you.
Even knowing you've been with her, I want to crawl on my knees for you and beg for scraps.
A touch.
A kiss.
One tender word.