13. AGAIN, I SCREWED UP

TEMPEST

Late that day, the house settled into quiet.

When dinner came up, I stepped aside, planning to eat later in the service area, but Mr. Whitlock told them to set a place for me at his table.

There was a small adjoining room I hadn’t noticed before, a reading-and-rest nook with a table so he wouldn’t have to go down to the dining room.

We ate in calm silence, each lost in our own thoughts.

That night I slept again in the original caregiver’s room.

I was glad not to see Mrs. Lydia, but the next morning we ran into each other while I was tending to Mr. Whitlock.

“See? You feel better in the sunlight,” I said softly as I straightened the blanket over his legs.

“I figured if I didn’t agree, you’d threaten to leave again,” he said, gruff.

I looked up at him, somewhere between disbelief and a crooked smile.

“Do you really think I’m that petty?” I raised a brow.

Sunlight poured in and flashed in that clean sky blue staring back at me. The general always watched me in a way that kept his