“We’re happy to have you home,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie. After worrying about the waif for months, it was a relief to have him back.

“Thanks,” he breathed, rubbing his cheek against the cloth of his pants to wipe away the tears that were falling.

“Are you in pain? Does anywhere in particular hurt?”

Rosie stared at me as though he couldn’t process such a stupid question. How could he identify a source of pain when sorrow reverberated through his body, hitting every nerve?

“Does anywhere in particular hurt worse than everywhere else?” I amended, earning a shake of his head. I turned to Cal who was standing behind me and shrugged my shoulders.

“Do you need help getting ready for bed?” Cal asked his friend. “I washed your sheets and pajamas.”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Rosie stated, “like this.”

“It’s cooler in your bedroom,” Cal reminded. “If you want, I’ll sleep on the floor beside your bed.”

“I would like to stay here,” Rosie repeated, “like this.”

“Would you like me to sleep in here, too?” Cal offered. I could see he was growing desperate, needing to be there for Rosie, to mend whatever was tattered just as he had before.

“I need to keep the lights on. I don’t want to be in the dark, can’t be in the dark again.” Something about the statement tore Rosie apart, and he wept wetly into his thighs, body shaking violently as he cried.

Instinctively, Cal wrapped Rosie in his arms, attempting to provide him with comfort. The touch had Rosie recoiling, choking on his tears.

“I’m sorry,” Cal bawled, backing away as though his body was burned by the rejection. “I’m so sorry.”

I stood frozen by the sorrowful scene unfurling in front of me. Willing my wobbly legs to move forward, I took hold of Cal and held him close as he sobbed, swallowing down the thick lump of emotion swelling in my throat.

We didn’t sleep that night, instead we sat silently on the sofa, under the flickering light of a bulb that had nearly burnt out.

27

October 1936