His dad admitted he’d made a mistake by not letting Hank talk about his mother. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I’ve heard every time you leave town you stop by your mother’s grave. I’m thinking she’s looking down and smiling.”

“I do,” Hank answered.

The old preacher pushed a tear away with a twisted hand. “Next time you come, boy, I’d like to go out with you.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

An hour later when his father dozed off, Hank smiled. His father might never understand him, but he accepted him.

When Hank got back to Millie’s house, she was sleeping in her chair with Rambo on guard. Hank silently slipped inside. Simon was on the couch, rolled up like a burrito in one of Millie’s fuzzy blankets.

He gently lifted her up and carried her to bed. As he covered her, she whispered, “I need to ask you something.”

“All right, ask away.” He kissed her forehead as he sat beside her.

“Will you sleep with me these last few nights? Would you hold me all night long? I think I can make it through the winter of my life if I have this one memory.”

Hank stood and pulled off his shoes and socks and his sweater. Then, with only his jeans on, he slid beneath the covers. She asked so little of him and he wished he could give her more.

She turned to face him and smiled. When he raised his arm she slid closer, the cast on her leg between them and the sling resting atop her left side.

An hour later he didn’t think she was asleep and he was still very much awake. Her strange request had simply seemed a favor. An answer to where he would sleep since Simon had the couch, but he’d thought about how much courage it must have taken for her to ask.

But now, after being so close for an hour, he thought again about why she’d asked.

Hank took a deep breath. He loved the way Millie always smelled. Of flowers and linen sheets and woman. He also liked being so close he could feel the warmth of her against him.

In the stillness, he whispered his thought: “You asleep?”

“No,” she answered just as softly. “I don’t want to miss a moment.”

“Would you mind if I kissed you? I’ll be careful not to bump your leg or arm.” When she didn’t move, he rolled to his side and brushed her lips with his. The kiss had meant to be tender, but it deepened as if they were both needing more.

As his fingers moved over her, Hank knew he was handling fine china. One touch too many or too hard and she’d shatter into pain. Somehow the danger made it all that more priceless.