The worst has come.

Our mother was dead; there was nothing left to protect, no relationship left to ration ourselves inside of, and so for one night in that emptying house Terry and I were as undefended as we had been as small children sharing a room, when we used to talk in the dark across the gap between our beds until one of us fell asleep.

We did that again, essentially, at forty-five and forty-eight.

We talked across the dark.