Eleven
From the doorway Dewey watched Phoebe sorting through their equipment for tonight. She hadn’t heard him come in and the shutters that usually masked the expression in her eyes were not in place. He stepped back outside, feeling like an intruder. Her sadness could have been because the game was bringing back memories of Kerry Anne, but Dewey had a feeling the past was just the icing on her misery cake. Her past was old, and the wounding in her eyes was new, the bleeding fresh and painful to see.
He leaned against the wall, feeling the weight of the responsibility Kerry Anne had left him with when she’d entrusted her little sister to his care. Feeling a sense of failure. Though Phoebe hadn’t known it, her need had saved him, given his grief a channel. Her need had kept him from givi
