Naphalie says not to let him get to me too much. “He’s just worried,” she says as I help her put away the breakfast dishes. Tobin still isn’t up yet and it’s almost noon, judging by the sun. Ashe is out in the field already, harvesting meadowfoam that’s ready to be picked, and I know he told Naphalie we spoke because she’s the one who brought it up. I wipe one of the dishes from the drainer and hand it to her. As she stretches to put it on the top shelf of the cabinet, she says, “You can’t imagine what it was like, Joah, when you weren’t here. Tobin wouldn’t even get out of bed most days. He didn’t want to.”
“And he’s better now?” I venture. Here it is, morning almost over, and he’s not up yet.
She laughs, a faint sound like tinkling bells. “You just don’t know.”
I wish people would
