I push aside the fact that my face and hair are a mess. I want one night. One night of not thinking about crime, or death, or doing the right thing. I inhale slowly. It's a night I can't afford to take. I know if I do, there will be no going back.
"Everything," I tell him. His eyes go dark.
It's my turn to qualify. "The sandwich, just put everything on it, please."
He finishes making our sandwiches. The entire process is calm and methodical and seems to be a fundamental part of him. He returns the mayo, mustard, and assorted lunch meats to the fridge. He removes two plates from a cabinet and places the sandwiches on top. He fills two glasses of water, snags a bag of chips from another cupboard, and makes two trips to the table to place everything on it.
"Eat while I clean up. I know yo
