Melissa was on the couch, legs curled beneath her, head askew. Sleeping. I stood, wondering. Daring to wonder. What would it be like to make love to her? I’d forgotten. And anyway, my recollection, if I had one, would have been misleading. She was a different person now.
If I disturbed her she’d be angry. Her sleep had not come easily, since her return from the hospital. What little rest she got was precious. To her, and to the rest of us. When she’d had some sleep she was less difficult.
I found a blanket, spread it over her. I leaned over. Braced myself on the sofa arm. Looked into her face. The face I loved. I took a chance. I kissed her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not wake.
A victory.
I turned away. I crossed the room. I went upstairs. The stairs were steep. My feet were heavy.
Exhaustion. The house was full of it.