Michael
I wake, disoriented for a moment as I take in stone arches and vaulted ceilings, then brain-cells line up in good order and I remember where I am. Beside me lies Charlotte; eyes closed, breathing soft.
Beyond her, where James slept, the covers are rumpled, sheets thrown back, but when I listen, there is a faint clatter of movement from above.
Propping myself on an elbow, I take a good look at my Sleeping Beauty. She’s looking better than she has since we returned from the last visit to Klempner.
Her father…
Christ…
Her face has lost that sallow hue, and her cheeks are brushed with the palest of pinks.
Babe…
I stroke over the line of high cheekbones with a fingertip. Her lids flutter, then open…
… and I see Charlotte… my Charlotte…there. Not the stranger who looked out at m
