“You feeling any better?” Marta asked, trying to hide her concern, trying to disguise her compassion.
He turned slowly to look at her.
“I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself, if that’s what you mean,” he murmured, offering her a weak smile, and adding, “sorry, did I wake you?”
She shook her head and smiled sweetly, and it was a smile, he felt, that he did not deserve
“It’s eleven o’clock,” she answered. “You missed all the action.”
He nodded, trying to think of what to say.
“The kids are at school?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she answered, and then gestured for him to shuffle up on the chair so she could sit next to him.
It took an intense effort, but despite himself, he managed to move himself, and soon he felt the warmth of her next to him, the concern on her face now so close to him.
“You could have handled this situation better, you know,” she chided, though there was no real anger in her voice.
He stared sorrowfully at the rows of white keys, black keys before him.