His mom shifted her gaze towards him, but only for the briefest second. Sometimes, it was as if she was afraid to look at him. And more often than not... when she addressed him, her words were shorter than her glances. "Just, don't."David opened his mouth again. "Mom..."She dropped her head into her hand, obviously irritated with him, but it was the sound of a fist hitting the wooden table that made him silent as he looked across the table, where his father was sitting next to Oliver. "Will you. He put his lips to my forehead and said, ‘You’re hot. Get into bed and I’ll get you something cold to drink.’ ‘I just want to get some sleep.’ ‘That’s a sure sign you’re sick.’ I was asleep before I could answer. Later that night I woke up drenched. I noticed the light on in the corner over the easy chair with books piled on the edge of the desk. Then Jeff was walking to my side with a towel. He wiped off my sweat. He put down the towel and placed a cold, wet washcloth on my forehead. It felt. More

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