Pia nodded. This much she knew. The persistent osteomyelitis in Will’s skull where the bullet had entered had proved to be resistant to all antibiotics. Of course she knew: Will’s continuing health problems were in large part why she was in Boulder, Colorado.

“I’ll put these in some water,” said George, eager for something to do. “Maybe they’ll perk up.” He found a small kitchen off the living room and started looking for something for the flowers. Like the rest of the apartment, the kitchen looked barely lived in. The fridge was empty other than for some energy drinks and a couple of prepacked sandwiches. He picked one up and saw the “best by” date was more than three weeks in the past.

“How about we go out and get some lunch?” asked George, who had not eaten since the day before and was ravenously hungry. He received no reply as he continued looking into cupboards for something akin to a vase. He found water glasses, but they were far too small. Finally he laid the stems in the sink and looked at them wanly. He himself didn’t feel much better than they looked.

“Listen, George, I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your messages over the last couple of months or so.” Pia had gotten up from the couch and was now standing in the doorway of the cramped kitchen.

George wanted to comment that she hadn’t responded to any of his messages for more than two months, but he bit his tongue. He tried to look her in the eye, but as usual she resisted. George wondered if Pia had tried to change, as she had promised back in Will McKinley’s hospital room. Would she ever be able to speak from the heart, or was she always going to keep a wall between them, fearful he might betray her? George knew what kept her from opening up. Her childhood in foster care from age six until age eighteen had been one of ongoing abuse and betrayal, sucking all the love out of her. She had learned to survive by going inward, not trusting anyone.

“I know what I said in Will’s hospital room,” Pia continued. “I’ve tried to change, to be open to love, but I just don’t seem to be able to do it.”

George wondered, as he had so often, if Pia could read his thoughts. But what was encouraging was that he also thought she looked convincingly pained. If it were true, he thought of it as progress of sorts. It certainly wasn’t bringing them together, but at least it might be a few steps in that direction.

“My father suddenly reappearing like he did, saving my life at the eleventh hour, I suppose I should have been more thankful, but it was difficult. After abandoning me to foster care and all the pain that caused, he thought he could just march back into my life. He said he wanted us to be a family, as if that were possible. I had to get away from New York and from him and you didn’t help.”