“Merritt.” She frowned. “You’ll never gain control of your power if you don’t ask for help. I don’t know any communionists who can step in. And there’s the matter of your family.” Pressing his lips together, Merritt released her hand and leaned back in his chair, balancing on its back legs. Hulda hated it when he did that, but she made no comment.
She is mothering him.
