So I bring Henri aromas of things we used to eat and drink. Items from the past: newspaper, moist sand, rosemary, and fresh pancakes. Once I dig up a bit of rain-soaked soil, redolent with summer, from outside the Wellington. I bring him fresh sheets. I scour my memory for his everyday pleasures.

Today I’m bringing him the scent I was wearing when we made love and my skin grew warm. The scent of a woman and love and us.

I MAY BE forewarned, but I am still shocked by how haggard Henri looks when I reach his bedside. The pneumonia he contracted ten days ago has really drained him. His fever has finally broken, but the night has hollowed him out. I notice that they’ve attached more electrolytes to the portacath under his collarbone.

Dr. Foss is testing Henri’s reactions. He nods, and I can tell from his expression that he isn’t happy. Silence at sea. No news of ships. Fozzie Bear notes this in Henri’s file.

Sam is standing over by the wall with a shy smile on his face. He packs up his things; the lesson he skipped has nearly finished. I take a novel from my bag. I bring along a new one for him every three or four days, and this time it’s The Bone Season.

“I’ll leave it here, Dad,” he mutters in a completely natural tone of voice, as if Henri might feel like reading a few pages tonight. I envy Sam. He doesn’t look at me as he says quietly, “If I were to request that we take a trip to Oxford together, would you ask me why?”

“Give it a try.”

This time he doesn’t avert his gaze. “Can we take a trip to Oxford?”

I nod. He’s visibly relieved that I don’t ask him why.

I recognize more and more of Henri in him. His father was also very reluctant to explain his motives and always kept his life tightly sealed. I’d like to meet Sam’s mother, but I know it’s too early for that.

“May I stay for a little longer?” Sam asks.

I nod.

Henri’s lying on his side today. His back is uncovered.

You can gauge a person’s self-confidence from their back posture. If it’s curved, it shows that they are unwilling to bear their own weight, bear themselves, knowing that they have flaws, sensing that other people are observing them. Anxiety and anger influence the poise and stiffness of the body between the nape and the lower back. That’s from my correspondence with the body reader. I don’t know how much to expect.