Chapitre 27: Chapter 27

Afterward, I said to him, “Vince—”

“No thanks are necessary.”

“Maybe not, but thank you anyway.”

* * * *

Every time I saw Vincent after that, I renewed the offer.

He replied the same way: “Some other time, Sweetcheeks.”

Until the night he didn’t.

Paul and I were both at home. I’d come down with a really nasty head cold—or possibly the latest strain of flu—and he had taken the night off to nurse me through it. Of us all, he had the deepest nurturing streak.

He was sitting in the recliner with his legs dangling over an arm, stuffing white cheddar popcorn in his mouth, and I was curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a cashmere afghan, which had been a gift from a grateful gentleman friend who had thought he was impotent. Turned out he wasjust gay. The area surrounding me was littered with tissues, and on an end table was a mug of tea that steamed gently. Paul had stirred a large spoon of honey into it, knowing that made thetea palatable for me.