"I'm sorting the piles of mail we're still receiving at this address. So much for the change of address we filed at the post office."
"It's mostly junk mail," she says, looking through one of the stacks.
"I know your mom wasn't awake, but did you talk to her anyway?"
"I did because if she dies, I don't want to leave anything unsaid. I started with my earliest memory. I must've been about three the first time I sensed her coldness and had enough use of logical reasoning to realize she didn't love me."
"What happened?" I ask when her eyes look off, recalling something painful.
"I don't know," she says, "but to this day, it makes my heart sink when I think about it. I might not remember her words, but I remember how they made me feel. I remember walking away feeling like I'd been slapped in the face, but she never touched me. After that, my guard was up, and my ears were open to every verbal slight she hurled my way. I spent a lot of time talking to her about how her words wounded me and her emotional absence made me feel unloved."
When a tear rolls down her cheek, I wipe it away with my thumb and pull her in so I can hold her.
"I'm tired," she says into my chest, "but my mind is reeling."
"We can do something that doesn't require any thinking so you can unwind."
"What exactly did you have in mind?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"We have two options," I say, walking to the television. "We can watch a movie, or we can make out."
When I turn to look at her, she seems shocked, and her eyes are wide. I wink at her before laughing.
I turn the television on and start flipping through the channels.
"How about this western with Clint Eastwood?"
"I was going to choose kissing," she says.
When I whip my head around and gape at her, she winks at me and starts laughing.
I sit next to her and put my arm around her. She fits perfectly in my arms. After ten minutes, I can feel her body relaxing next to mine. Her deep and even breathing tells me she's fallen asleep.
She shifts her weight closer to me when I try to move away.
"Don't leave," she says groggily.
I find a pillow, set it at one end of the couch, and then pull both of us back until we're lying down together. Her body is light. With almost all her weight on top of me, I'm still able to get comfortable and soon drift off to sleep, too.
Chapter 15
Sharon
I am trying to remember where I am. I open my eyes slightly and find Jon holding me close next to him on the couch. My body is tangled with his. I would be embarrassed if I didn't feel so secure in his arms. My leg is folded over his thigh. He has one arm around me, and his other hand is touching my arm. My head is resting on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat and see his chest rise and fall with every breath. I move slightly so I can see him. His eyes are closed. He's sound asleep—no sign of the nightmare I previously witnessed.
"Sharon."
I can hear my name, but I refuse to open my eyes.
"Sharon," Jon's voice is soothing. No more than a whisper. His fingers are stroking my face.
"Your arm must be asleep," I say, realizing I fell asleep again.
"Wait," he says when I try to get up. "Don't leave."
Why do I feel he's not talking about getting off the couch?
"I'm not leaving," I say, settling back into his arms.