He imagines she's speaking of Cy, which means she suffered another loss at the same time Crais did. The chair is big enough for him to guide her around and pull her down to him, a gathering in his arms. He pushes a few whisps of hair from her face with light fingers. "I'm sorry," he says. Turning them he traces the backs down the slope of her cheek.

Any further words refuse to come. He's not sure they'd make sense to most, not even to her, and there's a long-held barrier against airing his weaknesses that's nearly impossible to cross. It's enough to hold her. Nearly enough. He traces her jaw and the side of her neck. Kisses her once.

"Just sit with me?" It's good to have company while he sifts through his feelings to find the order, such as it is. Some of the people he has met here have come bearing gifts, disconnected parts of himself returned like prodigal children, each reunion pain but welcome. It's more pain to retain the part without the bearer, strangely incomplete, a story unfinished that now never can be.

Drawing her closer, he rests his cheek against her hair. Eyes shut or open make little difference. Eventually he settles on shut.