Ezoic
The man in the bed was a skeleton. His cheeks were sunken. His arms were sticks. His skin was yellow. Deep yellow. Even the whites of his eyes were yellow. His stomach was swollen and round under the blanket.
Ezoic
His hair had gone completely white. His beard too.
He was fifty-three years old.
He looked eighty.
He was awake.
He turned his head when I came in.
He saw me.
And his face crumpled.
“Laura,” he whispered.
His voice was barely there.
“Hi, Greg.”
He looked past me. At Nathan in the doorway.
“Nate,” he said. “I told you not to make her.”
“He didn’t make me,” I said. “I wanted to come.”
Greg looked at me for a long time.
Ezoic
“You’re in your bathrobe,” he said.
Ezoic
I looked down. I’d forgotten.
“And slippers,” he said.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It came out wet and broken.
