Page 64 of ClickBack

“Cam seems like a man who makes a missed flight everybody’s emergency.”

“That’s accurate.”

I laugh and reach for my robe.

Jarrett barely fits in my shower. His elbow catches the rack when he turns, and he saves two bottles with a reflex I am willing to concede has professional applications.

“See? This is why big people need a spotter.”

He looks at the bottle in his hand. “Superhero Berry Blast?”

“That’s private between Zion and his scalp. Put it back.”

He does. I step under the spray after him and immediately discover that much of it has somewhere else to be.

“You’re blocking all the water.”

He turns, giving me room. “That better?”

“Considerably.”

The tile was Brandi’s choice. I have meant to replace it twice, then paid for a roof one year and a furnace the next. Usually I like this bathroom, know where to reach without looking. With Jarrett trying to fit his shoulders inside it, I become conscious of every inch his apartment has that my house does not.

“Your bathroom could hold a reception,” I say.

“You planning one?”

“No. I’m observing.”

He reaches past me for the washcloth. “You missed your shoulder.”

I turn and let him help. There is nowhere to move that does not bring us into contact, and after a few moments I give up trying to make room that does not exist.

“This was my mother’s house.”

“You grow up here?”

“Partly. Rae did.”

He looks toward the bottle he rescued. I smile before he says anything.

“Yes. Zion considers it his, too.”

I take the cloth from him. He lowers his head so I can reach, one hand braced against the tile. For all my concern about the size of the shower, we manage.

When I get the towels, I remember the high shelf in the hall closet, the little fake Fendi bag I have left there for years. Notes, an old photograph, a Laurel program, a drugstore envelope. Jarrett knows there are three generations in this house. He does not know everything they left in it.

I take down one of the good towels and hand it to him. He dries his face, unaware that I have briefly gone somewhere he cannot follow.

Back in the bedroom, he retrieves Zion’s portrait and puts it on the hook before getting into bed.

“Home before his grandmother,” he says.

I turn off the music and climb in beside him.

His alarm wakes us at four fifteen. I resent it immediately. Jarrett reaches across me to silence it, then kisses my shoulder while I consider the many reasons I do not have to get up.

“Go back to sleep.”