Part Twenty Two - Test of Nerve

The telephone rang, its sharp chime cutting through the perfect delivery of Muriel Steinbeck. The actress was giving enough jolly good performance in decency when faced with raising her daughter without the the present of a sturdy male figure in the soap opera, Autumn Affair.

Patty sighed, reaching for the phone, "Hello?"

"Still chained to your kitchen, darling?"

"No! I'm currently besotted by Muriel Steinbeck. How does she remember all of those lines?" Patty grinned, tension melting away at the sound of Diana’s voice, "So where are you now?"

Diana let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, you’ll simply hate me for this one. I’ve just got back from the Paris leg. You will not believe the night I had before coming home."

Patty rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself, "Should I be worried?"

Diana laughed lightly. "Absolutely. It started in Montmartre—seedy, decadent, utterly divine. Pierre took me to this underground bar, a place that’s so secret you have to knock twice and say the name Edith before they let you in." Patty raised an eyebrow. Diana giggled, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Oh, Patty, you’d be scandalized. Women in crisp suits reciting poetry, a man dressed as Edith Piaf singing heartbreak ballads, and a room full of people drinking absinthe like it was water. It was wicked and marvelous, and I felt so alive."

Patty shook her head, laughing despite herself. She hadn’t laughed in quite a while.

"Would you believe it ended in a police raid?" Diana sounded delighted. "Pierre and I had to climb out a back window, dashing through the Parisian streets like outlaws. I even lost one of my favourite shoes."

Patty chuckled, shaking her head. "You are impossible."

"I am," Diana admitted. "And you love me for it."

Patty sighed. "So… Pierre again?"

There was a pause, the first hint of hesitation in Diana’s voice, "I haven’t ruled out seeing more of him," she said finally. "He’s… intriguing."

Patty smirked knowingly. "For a woman who claims she’s untethered, you seem rather attached to this particular Frenchman."

Diana scoffed, but there was warmth in it. "Don’t be ridiculous. I’m simply enjoying life. If Pierre happens to be part of that enjoyment, who am I to refuse?" Patty hummed, unconvinced. Then Diana’s voice softened, just slightly, "But enough about me. Tell me the truth. How are you doing?" Patty’s grip on the receiver tightened, I got your letter about Myra.”

"I’m managing," she said finally.

She didn’t add that "managing" now meant feeling everything—no synthetic buffer, no muted edges. Just grief in its rawest form. And less energy. She wasn't so perfect with her chores anymore which allowed her additional time to indulge in silly soap operas. She didn't feel the insane need to clean as before.

Diana was quiet for a beat, "That doesn’t sound like the whole truth."

Patty smiled faintly, "Since when did you become such a mind reader?"

"I’ve always been good at knowing when you’re lying," Diana said. "It’s a sister thing."

Patty sighed, rubbing her temple. "It’s been… hard. Harder than I thought it would be." She hesitated, then added, "And I don’t think I helped her enough."

Diana’s voice was gentle but firm, "You did what you could, Patty. And I doubt Myra would want you sitting around, drowning in guilt."

Patty let out a soft laugh. "Yeah. You’re right. I am getting there. I'm not so obsessed with good housekeeping merits, " Patty shook her head, but she felt lighter, if only a little, "So," she said, shifting the conversation. "After Paris, where to?"

"Back to Sydney for a spell," Diana replied. "I feel like a bit of a yoyo back and forth between Far East or France. I am thinking about going further but that would mean changing airlines." A beat of comfortable silence passed between them. Then Diana added, softly, "You will be alright, won’t you?"

Patty smiled, pressing a hand to her chest, "I will be. I do have Muriel Steinbeck to help me through."

"Good," Diana said. "I’d hate for you to end up losing even more than a friend.” Diana smiled. "We’ll see. Take care of yourself, alright?"

"You too," Patty said softly.

As she placed the receiver back on the hook, the house felt a little less empty. She went back to the television hoping not to have missed too much of her serial.

*********

The knock at the door came just as Patty was finishing the dishes, the warm soapy water making her fingers prune at the edges. She frowned, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her stomach twisting with unease.

Alice Witting stood on the doorstep, her silk blouse perfectly pressed, her painted lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

Patty stiffened, gripping the edge of the door, "Alice," she said, her voice carefully neutral. “I would prefer a call first before stopping by. I am very busy.”

Alice’s gaze swept over her, taking in the modest home, the scent of fresh laundry wafting through the air. It was such a stark contrast to Alice’s own world of whiskey-drenched indulgence and whispered sins.

Still, she tilted her head, eyes twinkling with something cold and knowing, "Patty, darling," Alice greeted smoothly. "Forgive my intrusion but we really must speak. I would hate for any harsh words to get in the way of our friendship"

Friendship! So delusional! Patty hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping aside. She had to know what this was about.

Alice glided in, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor as she moved toward the sitting room, settling into Freddie’s armchair like she owned the place.

Patty stayed standing, "So have you come to give me a name?”

Alice laughed lightly, crossing her legs, one perfectly manicured hand draping over the arm of the chair, "Oh, dear," she sighed. "Still under the illusion that you’re the one in control here." Patty narrowed her eyes, "I came," Alice continued, tapping her fingers idly against the chair, "to make sure you don’t go stirring up any more trouble over dear Cindy."

Patty stiffened, her heartbeat picking up.

Alice leaned forward, voice silky and dangerous, "You see," she murmured, "these gatherings of ours… they thrive on discretion. People come to us because they feel safe in their indulgences. And I would hate for that trust to be broken."

Patty’s jaw tightened, "So, you’re here to warn me off?”

Alice smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, "Call it… a friendly suggestion.”

Patty crossed her arms, her body coiled tight with anger, "And if I don’t listen?"

Alice sighed dramatically, leaning back in the chair, "Then I suppose I’d be left with no choice but to share something of my own," she said casually, inspecting her nails. "You see, Patty, when people are comfortable—when they’ve had just a little too much to drink, when the music is just right—they talk. Sometimes, they talk a little too much." She looked up, her gaze glinting with wicked amusement, "Like your dear friend Phil or should I say your husband’s dear friend."

Patty froze, her stomach dropping.

Alice’s lips curled, "Oh, he’s quite the sentimental fool when he’s had one too many," she mused. "Waxes poetic about old friendships, lost loves, and binds that can’t be broken." Patty tensed up even further, "He was practically in tears," Alice continued, watching Patty’s reaction like a cat watching a trapped mouse. "Talking about Freddie. About their… special friendship. About how much it hurts him." Patty’s breath hitched, just slightly. Alice tilted her head. "Now, what would happen, do you think, if certain people caught wind of that? People who might not be as… understanding as you?"

A silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Patty’s hands clenched into fists, her heart pounding violently.

Alice leaned back, smiling like a woman who knew she had won, "So, Patty," she murmured. "Shall we let sleeping dogs lie?"

For Cindy, she wanted to fight. But for Freddie—for her family—she couldn’t. Not yet.

Alice sighed in satisfaction, standing gracefully, smoothing out her blouse, "I do appreciate our little chats," she said breezily, making her way toward the door.

And with that, she was gone, leaving Patty with the weight of this confrontation sitting heavily in her chest. Once, she might have reached for a pill to steady her nerves. Now, she exhaled slowly. Inward and outward until her anxieties leveled out.

This was a moment when she could really use an old teacup to throw against the back fence. But without such a tool, she would have to just breathe out the tension.

*********

The afternoon sun slanted through the lace curtains, casting soft golden patterns across the kitchen table where Patty sat hunched over her correspondence course materials. A thick social studies textbook lay open, her notebook beside it, filled with scribbled notes in her neat but hurried handwriting.

“Hello dears! Patty again! What have I gotten myself into?” Patty sighed, suddenly remembering there was no audience she was basically talking to herself, “Oh! Here we go again! Old habits die hard!” She smirked, “I would probably be telling them all about this engrossing subject on Power Structures in Social Institutions—which, given the way the world works, could’ve just been called Why Men Get Away with Everything.” She sighed, “Now who will I share my inner most thoughts with? The fridge instead? At least it can’t talk back?”

She had just finished underlining a passage—something about gender roles in post-war society—when a sharp knock at the door pulled her from her concentration. She pushed her chair back, marking her page with a pencil before making her way to the front door.

When she opened it, Betty Knight stood there, looking as perfectly composed and immaculately dressed as ever. A cigarette dangled between her fingers, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"My darling. I come bearing good news,” Betty observed, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She noticed the study notes, " Studying, are we?" I must say, you constantly surprise me.”

Patty closed the door behind her, crossing her arms, "Social studies," she said simply. "I’m working through a unit on power structures. Basically, how systems are designed to protect those at the top and keep the rest of us in our place usually orchestrated by those wanting to stay on top.”

"Oh, darling," she purred. "You didn’t need a course to tell you all that just come sit by me a while. You’ll soon know more than that textbook." Betty took a seat, swirling the tea Patty placed in front of her. "Speaking of power structures," Betty said smoothly, tapping her cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, "Last night, one of Alice’s little guests got chatty after a few too many drinks." Patty stilled, heart thudding. She said nothing, waiting for Betty to continue, "It seems that Cindy’s unfortunate lover was none other than Dennis Cash."

Patty felt her breath catch, "The mayor’s son?"

"The very one." Betty took another slow drag of her cigarette, watching Patty’s reaction with interest. "He’s quite the tragic little thing," Betty mused. "Born into power, raised to be respectable. Everything in his life dictated by duty—who he married, where he worked, even how he was expected to carry himself in public."

Patty’s jaw tightened, "And behind closed doors?"

"That’s where he unwinds, lets loose—and, unfortunately for Cindy, loses control some times." Betty smirked, "He’s been wound up so tight trying to be the perfect son, the perfect husband, the perfect man, that he needs these evenings to feel freedom from all that expectation.”

Patty swallowed hard, her mind racing. Dennis Cash. The golden boy of town. The one who stood beside his father at every public event, who shook hands and smiled and played the part of the future mayor-in-the-making. And he had hurt Cindy.

Betty finished her tea, stood up, “Now that my duty has been completed, I have a very important lunch with Donald and Pam Fisher on the new sports oval. They need my money.” She smirked, “I’ll let you know if the Tetrazzini is enough to open my cash book.”

Patty walked her out but the whole time her mind was on the revelation. She had a plan for revenge bubbling away. She needed Freddie's help. She had stopped her husband from running the story about Riley Carrington. This scandal would have finished the mayor and his son. Was she too late to change her mind?

********

Patty took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. She turned, marching toward Freddie’s study, her earlier notes on power structures burning in the back of her mind.

"Patty—?" Freddie looked up from his typewriter, startled as she burst in.

"Dear! You need to run the story," she said without hesitation. Cindy deserved such a risky venture. "And be damned of the consequences."

Freddie frowned, "You mean, the Riley Carrington piece?"

"Yes. And the beauty is, they'll think the story has long been shelved becoming complacent."

"But I shelved the story to keep us safe!" Freddie stared at her, "What is this really about?" Freddie’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening, “A scandal of this size will crush their family legacy.” Freddie leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “Reginald Cash would have a vendetta against us."

Patty’s voice softened slightly, but the fire behind it remained, “This is a great story. People should read about it. You’ve worked too hard to just back away.”

"You weren't saying that a while ago," Freddie sat silent for a moment, thinking. "Patty! Out with it!"

"Look! Freddie! Please do this for me!" Patty replied. "You'll be helping me get justice for a friend. After failing Myra, I just can't do that again."

Freddie hesitated for a moment then turned to the locked draw at his desk and retrieved the manuscript from within.

Patty exhaled, stepping back. She was not just uncovering a crime. She was serving poetic justice on Dennis Cash. He would surely be caught up in the scandal that would ruin his family. And have no connection to his attendance at Alice and Dick’s gatherings which would save the threats.

********

The front door swung open with force, hitting the wall with a dull thud. Lizzy stormed inside, her face red and blotchy, her shoulders tense, and her hands clenched into fists. Patty, seated at the kitchen table, barely had time to set down her cup of tea before Lizzy flung her schoolbag onto the floor and collapsed into a chair, fuming.

"That’s it," Lizzy declared, her voice thick with frustration. "I tried. I really tried, Mum."

Patty tilted her head, watching her daughter carefully, "What happened?"

Lizzy huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "I went to Gina’s house. I thought maybe if I talked to her mother—really talked to her—she’d see reason. I even brought my medal, told her about the science competition. I thought—*"

Her voice hitched, and Patty could see the glossiness in her eyes, the way she was trying so hard not to cry.

Patty reached across the table, placing a gentle hand over Lizzy’s, "What did she say?"

Lizzy swallowed hard, her jaw tight with emotion, "She said Gina can’t see me," she muttered, looking down at her lap. "Not unless I stop filling her head with idealistic nonsense."

Patty’s brow furrowed, "Idealistic nonsense?"

Lizzy nodded bitterly, "Dreams. Ambitions. Ideas that aren’t about getting married, having babies, and running a nonsense tomato farm."

Patty let out a slow breath, understanding instantly. Gina’s mother wasn’t just shutting Lizzy out—she was trying to protect her daughter from a future she didn’t believe was possible.

Lizzy ran a hand through her hair, frustrated, "I told her that Gina should have choices—that she doesn’t have to marry some boy they pick out for her. That she could do more. I told her about my project, about my invitation to Nationals. I thought—*" She swallowed back her emotions, shaking her head, "But it didn’t matter," she muttered. "She said Gina will marry the boy they choose. That’s final."

Patty felt a pang in her chest as she watched her daughter wrestle with the injustice of it all.

Lizzy had always been bold, fearless, determined—but this was the first time she had truly come up against something she couldn’t fix with brains or stubbornness alone.

Patty squeezed Lizzy’s hand, "I’m proud of you. For trying.”

Lizzy sniffed, looking down.

Patty gave her hand one final squeeze before letting go, "I’ll talk to Gina’s mother," she said simply. "Maybe if she hears it from me—another woman, another mother—she’ll listen differently."

Lizzy’s eyes widened. "You’d do that?"

Patty smirked slightly. Lizzy let out a wet laugh, wiping at her eyes. Patty reached for the pot, refilling her tea.

Lizzy sat up straighter, her frustration easing slightly into determination. The fight wasn’t over yet.

*********

Patty stood at the gate of the Russo household, smoothing the front of her skirt as she braced herself. She had never been invited to this home before—only seen it in passing. Now, the house loomed before her, sturdy but worn, its walls bearing the weight of a family’s struggles.

She stepped forward, knocking firmly on the front door. A moment later, Gina’s mother, Rosa Russo, answered.

She was a thin woman, her face lined from years of hardship, her dark eyes sharp and cautious. She smelled of flour and herbs, the scent of tomato sauce lingering in the air behind her.

"Mrs. Love," Rosa said, her voice measured, guarded. "What brings you here?"

Patty offered a small, polite smile, "May I come in?"

Rosa hesitated only a fraction of a second before stepping aside.

The kitchen was simple but well-kept, the kind of place where food was prepared out of necessity, not luxury. A pot of sauce simmered on the stove, and the table was dusted with flour, half-rolled pasta dough waiting to be shaped.

Patty took a seat at Rosa’s gesture, folding her hands in her lap.

"You’ve come about Lizzy," Rosa said plainly, wiping her hands on her apron.

Patty nodded, "I have."

Rosa sighed, settling into the chair across from her, "I told your daughter—Gina is not to see her anymore. I don’t say these things lightly, Mrs. Love."

Patty studied her carefully, "You’re afraid Lizzy will fill Gina’s head with dreams that don’t include a husband and a tomato farm."

Rosa’s jaw tensed, "It is not Lizzy’s fault. My Gina was always a dreamer. But I cannot allow her to go down the same road I did."

Patty frowned, "What road is that?"

Rosa let out a slow breath, rubbing her forehead, "I married for love," she admitted. "A boy my parents did not approve of. They said he was reckless, a fool with no sense of duty. But I loved him. And what did it get me?" Her eyes darkened, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table, "He left," she said simply. "One day, he went out to look for work. Never came back. Left me with two children and nothing but debts. I begged, I scraped by until my parents finally took me back. And they have never let me forget it."

Patty swallowed, her chest tightening. She could see it—the years of struggle etched into Rosa’s face, the resentment of a woman who had been punished for wanting more than she was given.

Patty spoke carefully, "And now they expect you to make sure Gina doesn’t make the same mistake?"

Rosa nodded, her eyes flickering with emotion, "I won’t let her end up like me," she said. "She will marry a boy of our choosing, someone stable, someone who will never leave her with nothing."

Patty sat with this for a moment, absorbing the weight of it. Then, gently, she said, "When you were a girl, what did you dream of?" Rosa’s head jerked up slightly, caught off guard. Patty gave her a small, knowing smile. "Before husbands and children and struggling to survive—before all of that. What did you want for yourself?"

Rosa hesitated. Then, after a long pause, she exhaled, shaking her head as if the memory itself was foolish, "I wanted to be a seamstress," she admitted. "Not just mending but designing. I used to take scraps of fabric and make little dresses for my dolls. Outfits that I imagined would be worn by the wealthiest women in town." She let out a short, bitter laugh, "My mother told me I was wasting my time. That no husband wanted a wife with her head in the clouds."

Patty’s chest ached, "I wanted to be a movie star like Carole Lombard. I wanted to be up there on the screen instead of ushering people into the cinema.”

Rosa’s eyes flickered with surprise, "You look like a movie star."

Patty nodded. "I love the escapism of movies…taking people on some adventure outside of their own lives…given them comfort and joy but also reminding them that they think and feel beyond their stations in life.” Rosa leaned back slightly, studying her, "You and I aren’t so different," Patty murmured. "We both had dreams that were dismissed before they ever had a chance to live for one reason or another. But does that mean our daughters should have the same fate?" Rosa’s fingers twitched, gripping the tablecloth slightly, "You know the weight of regret, of wishing you had more options especially women."

Rosa looked down at her lap, her lips pressed together, "I don’t want Gina to end up alone and struggling, either. But is keeping her caged in this life the only way to protect her? Or does she deserve the chance to make her own choices?"

A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, Rosa’s shoulders sagged, like a woman finally exhaling a breath she had been holding for years.

Rosa closed her eyes briefly, as if she were releasing something. Then, finally, she sighed. "I’ll think about it…Gina being allowed to spend time with Lizzy. I owe us that much."

Patty smiled gently. She didn’t press the issue any further. The woman was at least considering a change of heart.

*********

The front door creaked open softly, but it was the hesitant shuffle of feet that made Patty glance up from the book she had been reading in the living room. Teddy stood in the doorway, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie loosened, and his face tense with something Patty knew all too well—disappointment.

"You’re home early," she observed, setting her book aside.

Teddy hesitated before stepping further into the room, avoiding her gaze, "Yeah. Party was… fine. I’m not sure what the big deal is. Partys are stupid."

Patty arched a brow, setting her hands in her lap, "That doesn’t sound like someone who had a fine time.”

Teddy let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair before flopping onto the couch, his body sinking deep into the cushions.

Patty waited. She knew better than to press—he’d talk when he was ready.

After a moment, his jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists, "They made us play Spin the Bottle," he muttered.

Patty frowned slightly, tilting her head, "Not your thing?"

Teddy let out a bitter laugh, "I mean, it’s just a stupid game, right? Except… it wasn’t."

Patty remained quiet, letting him sort through his thoughts.

Teddy shook his head, staring at the floor, "Syd… he kissed Sandy White." His voice cracked slightly, like he hated saying it out loud. "And not just because of the game. After, they were laughing, she was touching his arm, and he was just…letting her." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, "They’re going on a date." Patty felt her heart squeeze, "He told me he was just keeping up appearances," Teddy continued, voice thick with hurt. "That he didn’t want people asking questions. But if that’s true, then why does he seem so happy about it?"

Patty sighed softly, shifting closer to him, "Teddy…" she said gently, waiting until he finally looked at her. "Sometimes, people do things to fit in. And sometimes, they do things because they’re trying to figure out who they really are."

Teddy’s eyes darkened with frustration, "I thought he already knew.”

Patty gave him a small, sad smile, "Maybe he thought so too. But feelings can be… confusing. Messy."

Teddy let out another sharp breath, rubbing his face, "I just—" His voice hitched slightly, and he shook his head. "I thought we had something. I mean, we never said it, but it felt like we did. And now, he’s off with her."

Patty reached over, squeezing his hand, "I know it hurts," she said softly. "But if Syd does care about you, he’ll have to face that, no matter who he’s dating."

Teddy’s jaw clenched, "And if he doesn’t?"

Patty smoothed his hair back, "Then he’s not the right person for you."

Teddy let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. After a long pause, he finally muttered, "This is stupid."

Patty smiled, "Feelings usually are."

Teddy let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. Patty gave his hand one last squeeze before standing, "Come on," she said. "Let’s have some ice cream. It won’t fix everything, but it’ll make it a little less miserable."

Teddy hesitated, but then he stood, following her into the kitchen. And even though his heart still ached, for the first time that night, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

*********

The night air was thick and unusually warm for Spring, pressing against the walls of the house like an unspoken tension.

Teddy sat on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, still stewing in the evening’s events. His room was dark except for the dim glow of the streetlamp outside, casting long shadows across his desk, the pile of comics still untouched from earlier in the day.

A gentle breeze was tenderly massaging his body from the open window. A light rap on the window drew his attention. He turned sharply, and for a moment, he thought he was imagining it—until the sound came again, a light rapping against the glass.

Syd was there, perched on the windowsill, his expression uncertain, "Can I come in?"

Teddy exhaled sharply, stepping back, "Nothing stopping you."

Syd climbed inside, landing lightly on the floor. He straightened his shirt, shoving his hands into his pockets.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Syd sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "Teddy, I didn’t mean—"

"You didn’t mean what?" Teddy cut in, his jaw tightening. "Didn’t mean to kiss her? Didn’t mean to plan a date?"

Syd winced, shifting his weight. "I—"

"Yeah! I know! You were keeping up appearances," Teddy said bitterly. "You told me that already."

Syd licked his lips, his brows drawing together, "I just… I thought you should hear it again. From me."

Teddy let out a sharp, humourless laugh, "Why? To make me feel better?"

Syd flinched, "I just don’t want you thinking—"

Teddy took a step forward, cutting him off, "Thinking what, Syd? That maybe you actually liked it? That you wanted to kiss her?" Syd’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. Teddy’s stomach twisted. He scoffed, shaking his head. "You know what? Forget it. I get it now."

Syd’s jaw tensed, "Get what?"

Teddy crossed his arms, "That maybe you wish you liked Sandy that way. That you wish you were like all the other guys. That you could just date a girl and be normal."

Syd’s face darkened, "Heck! Is that so bad?" he shot back, voice quiet but sharp. "Wanting to know? Wanting to be sure?"

Teddy stiffened, "Sure about what, Syd?"

Syd let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair, "You were the only person I ever kissed, alright?" he admitted, his voice raw with frustration. "I’ve never kissed a girl. I didn’t know what that felt like. And maybe—" He cut himself off, clenching his jaw, "Heck! Maybe I needed to find out.”

“Where is this coming from? I’ve never heard you talk like this.”

“I’ve been spendin a bit of time with Ruby,” he said, “She made some valid points. Maybe I just having given girls a chance.”

Teddy felt like someone had punched him in the gut, "So what?" he bit out. "I was just some—some test run for you?" His voice broke slightly, but he forced it back down. "You don’t get to just try it out like it doesn’t mean something to me."

Syd’s shoulders tensed, his eyes burning with something between anger and regret, "I never said it didn’t mean anything. It still does."

Teddy looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. A long, thick silence stretched between them.

Then, Syd let out a slow exhale, stepping toward the window, "Maybe I should go.”

“Yeah. Maybe you should. Good luck with your normal life.”

Teddy didn’t stop him. Syd hesitated for only a second before swinging himself back out into the night. Teddy stared at the window for a long time after he was gone.

Patty found Teddy hours later, curled up beneath his blankets, eyes red-rimmed. She didn’t say anything—just smoothed a hand over his hair, letting him know she was there. He was learning, like she had, that feeling everything was both a blessing and a curse.

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