16
Max came down the stairs looking disheveled and worse than when he’d gone to sleep.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He shook his head and sat on the chair beside the sofa. “What were you doing while I was asleep?”
The first response that came to mind was, “Nothing,” but that wasn’t exactly true, so I went with the partial truth. “I was watching one of Aunt Alicia’s Poirot DVDs and fell asleep.”
“Did you dream?”
“I wasn’t asleep for that long. Less than an episode.”
He looked at me with bloodshot eyes with dark circles under them.
“Seriously, you look like hell. Are you getting sick?” I persisted.
“I wasn’t asleep. I was in a meeting,” he told me, and it occurred to me for the first time that I wasn’t the only one he’d been communicating with through dreams. “And then I got dragged bac
