Chapter 8Up in the guest room, he found Alan lying horribly still across the bed, bandaged arm thrown across his face, utterly silent. For a second the entire world froze and faded and went white and grey, and Arthur could not think beyond the loss of color.
But then Alan’s chest lifted, and his voice said from under the arm, “Arthur?”
Light came back. Light, and air, and drenching shuddering presence; Arthur realized he was clutching a tea-tray as if it might save him from drowning.
He crossed over to the bed. Set the tray down. “I’m here.”
“You are.” Alan reached for him with the other hand, not looking. “Sorry. I know I shouldn’t be demanding your attention.” But he set his hand on Arthur’s leg, maybe accidentally but maybe not, even as he said it.
“You’re hurt, and I can’t think o
