Part Fifty-Three: Two Feet Away, Holding the Cake

“Have a look at what your mother sent you.” I held the cropped one out to him.

“And then look at this.”

I turned my mother’s telephone round so that it faced him.

“You were standing right behind us.

You were holding the cake.”

He came closer and bent over it.

He had to put a hand on the bed rail to do it, which put his knuckles about four inches from mine, and neither of us moved our hands, and I have no idea whether he noticed that or not.