I saw Monica sitting cross-legged on the bed when I entered the room. I sat down next to her, placed a pillow on her lap, and rested my head on it. She ran her hands through my hair and asked me if everything was alright.
"I was offered a lumping job. I don't know if I should take it or not."
"You should stay." It felt good having her run her hands through my hair like that. "Your work here isn't finished."
A blue shirt draped over a corrugated lamp shade dimmed the only light source available in the room. Monica must have put it there to accommodate her failing vision.
"What are you going to do when you go blind?" I once asked.
"Vision's not that important," was her reply.
The dim light hugged the contour of her jaw.