James
I work, I eat, and I doze. And I work again. And all the while, Charlotte sleeps.
Michael reappears, briefly looking in to see how she is. It’s plain that there is something badly amiss. His expression wavers between tenderness and anger, sympathy and disgust, compassion and hurt.
And he turns to leave again.
“Aren’t you staying?”
“She’s sleeping.” His voice is curt. “There’s not much I can do, is there?”
So, I sit and keep watch over her.
And Charlotte stirs, rolling over to gaze, glassy-eyed, at the ceiling, one arm curved over the pillow.
Her eyes flicker to mine, caution written there, but she relaxes when I smile.
“Hello. How are you now? Did you sleep well?”
She sits up, covering her mouth against a yawn. “Do logs sleep? Yes, very well. How long was I.…?”
“About ten
