When we wake up, it’s me, instead of Ada, pressed tightly to Ansel, but I feel Ada more than ever. Just as with Jeff, she doesn’t have to speak. It’s a knowingness, a heightened sense of the two of us that is linked in a new way.
Ansel begins to rouse around noon, I scurry over from the table near the window where I’ve been trying to brainstorm plans for a dance class.
“Hi,” I say, leaning close. His breathing is still shallow and his face is pale.
He tries to sit up.
“Here, let me help you,” I say.
“I’m fine,” he says with a growl.
I ignore his foul mood and call for someone to bring him lunch. They bring in a tray of food, but he pushes it away.
“I can’t eat this,” he says.
“At least drink something,” I say, handing him a glass of juice.
Th
