Chapter 13

“Can we talk?” He kept his voice low, hushed, so the others wouldn’t hear.

Linus blinked. He held the vase of flowers close to his chest, averting his gaze as he thought over the request. Why, why did he have to think about it? Had they become that estranged, drifted that far apart in a mere handful of days? What about all the years they spent building their love?

Finally, Linus gave a slow nod. “Okay. I’ll call you tonight.”8

The call never came.9

When the alarm went off Samson grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed and jammed it down over his head, muffling the annoying beeping. Somewhere in his skull a marching band composed entirely of drummers played a deep thunderous crescendo without end. Samson groaned. How could it already possibly be morning, hadn’t he just gone to bed?

The alarm persisted, needling its way through the barrier of cotton until Samson couldn’t take it any longer.