“I don’t mind,” she went on. “He thinks I do, but he’s my boy. I just want him to be happy.” The dry whisper of her hand as she patted his cheek was gentle, almost tender. His throat closed in reaction to the rush of affection. “You’ll be good for him. I know.”
This. This was what Thomas should’ve seen. She was entirely lucid. Andre was positive of that. She’d had other periods, but this was such a different side to her, like they were co-conspirators and protectors of everything Thomas, it was like meeting a brand new woman.
His hand shook a little as he wrote, Why don’t you tell him?
Her smile faded, and she fidgeted with the yarn in her lap, winding the loose end around the tip of her finger. “Because he might leave sooner if I do that. Look at how long it took him to come see me now. I want to make this visit last.” She looked up, a sudden fear in her eyes. “But you’ll make sure he comes back for Christmas, right? I have to give him his sweater.”