I’m not asking this for you, I’m asking for me. I think if she heard your voice…” “Then what?” “She might wake up.” She looked at him steadily. He held her gaze, then broke it with a smile—crooked and a little battered, but a real smile. “Fine. I’ll go with you.” He stood up. “You don’t have to tell me good things about your mother,” he added. “I already know them.” “Do you?” He shrugged slightly. “She raised you, didn’t she?”
