Noah slowly pulled away, looked at me with frank, open eyes before glancing at Father Ginderbach, as if only just now realizing he was there.
How are you, N-o-a-h?
“I fine!” Noah said, his voice rather flat and lacking its usual exuberance. Had anyone else but Ginderbach asked, I’m not sure he would have answered at all.
He slid off my lap, then stood there for long moments looking at me, his hand on my leg, checking in, making sure I was still there, that everything was all right.
Get dressed, I signed.
He merely stood there, as though lost in thought or struggling valiantly to come back to reality.
I picked up his shirt from the floor, and he stuck out his arms automatically, wanting me to dress him.
He had red marks and bruising on his forehead, his long hair masking the worst of it. I pushed the hair away, examining him.
Does it hurt?
He shrugged.
Why did you do that?
Do what?
Hurt yourself?
I didn’t hurt myself.
You hit your head on the dresser.
I don’t remember.