I remember that groan, especially when he didn’t want to tell me something. “What is it?” The outline of his face is so out of reach, even under the hot kitchen lights. I want him to tell me something I don’t already know, something that will give me hope beyond the burning ache in my gut that my son is still alive.

“It’s complicated.”

“Bullshit.” I slap my hand on the counter. I pace my own kitchen, the tile gummy beneath my bare feet. “Tell me something, Jake. If I could see, would any of this be happening?”

“Probably not.”

“Exactly. You don’t have any idea what it’s like to be at the mercy of everyone else’s opinion about you. To have everything you love snatched right from under your nose, but no one does anything because they don’t believe you.” Anxiety swirls in my chest. “I can’t do this. I can’t be jerked around anymore. I can’t hear about false leads or babies with dead parents. I can’t do it.”

“I know you can’t. Come here.”

I fold into Jake’s arms, but he’s too heavy. I can’t breathe. I push back. I know he’s here to tell me something, and I know it’s not good. I can tell by the way he holds me, and himself; the way he is tiptoeing around the truth. “Let’s take a walk.”

“It’s late, Bec.”

“I don’t care.”

I retreat down the hallway and slip on my shoes, grab my cane and keys, and wait for him. I’m halfway down the drive before I realize I don’t have my phone again. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jake lets me lead the way. I waver at the end of West St. Charles Road, somewhat placated by the sounds of the night—frogs and cicadas growing into that familiar vocal summer symphony—before starting the grid back to my house. I construct the map in my head—like a mouse in a maze. I’ve condensed my life down to this tiny patch. How did this happen? Before I lost my vision, I’d traveled all over the world for my music. Once I lost it, it’s like I’d given up on travel altogether.

I sweep my cane along the path and pass something across the sidewalk. Chris used to jump up and down and shout “score!” if I got something good. He was such a good man, but underneath the surface, he still treated me gingerly. I stop in my tracks. Maybe that’s what’s bothering me about Jake. Not that he’s not asked me how hard these last years have been for me, but that it doesn’t make a bit of difference. Sighted or unsighted, he only sees me.

“Bec?”

I jump as Jake’s voice echoes in my head. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”

“Rightfully so.”