“Me for?  For…me…only?  No, not.  For all.”

Quin peered at the man who was her mentor, her friend, and now, her charge.  It was late, and they were both tired.  But she believed that she understood what he was trying to say, as he took in the flurry of effort that was being directed toward the singular aim of helping him. 

Just me? he was saying.  What about everyone else?

She had learned to listen to more than just his words in the five years that she had been studying with him, or rather, he had taught her to listen to more than just his—or anyone else’s—words.

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The Iris

“What’s wrong? You’re not worried I won’t make it, are you?” He laughed. “Don’t worry. I updated my will. You’re in it.”

“Don’t jest.”

“You didn’t just say that.” He chuckled. “Might as well tell me not to be me.”

A memory flashed through his mind. Of the time he told her why he was called “Jesse.” They were playing “truth or dare” during a date. And it was his turn to tell a truth about himself.

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