Kent glares at me a little in the mirror and doesn’t say a word, shaking his head and letting me know – again – that it’s not any of my business. I curl my back a little in disappointment, wanting to know but…
Well, if he won’t tell me. Then there’s nothing I can do. And with that expression on his face, I don’t think Kent wants to be pushed.
“Well,” I continue, “what am I supposed to…do all day? When you’re gone?” I ask, sitting up and wrapping my arms around my knees.
“You can do whatever you want, Fay,” Kent replies. He nods to the bedside table on the other side of the bed – his side, apparently. “There are remotes there. You can watch TV. Or there are tablets in the drawers, if you want to look at the internet. Or,” he says, gesturing to the far wall by the windows, which has tall
