He wrote:
Sometimes.
How long?
He hesitated.
Years.
Rosalie frowned.
Why don’t you see a doctor?
Gideon wrote:
Doctors.
Then:
They tried.
And?
Nothing.
He closed the notebook.
Rosalie didn’t press him.
But
that night she noticed him rubbing the right side of his head.
And on his pillow, she saw a tiny rusty-colored stain.
She said nothing.
On the seventh night, Rosalie woke to the sound of footsteps.
She sat upright.
The house was dark.
A shadow moved near the fireplace.
“Gideon?”
He turned.
He was holding his head.
Rosalie lit the lamp.
His face was pale.
He pointed toward his ear.
She approached.
His right ear looked red and swollen.
She touched his shoulder.
He flinched.
Rosalie immediately withdrew her hand.
Gideon reached for the notebook.
It will pass.
Rosalie wrote:
You said that before.
He didn’t answer.
She watched him sit beside the fire.
