When I returned, I found Paul sitting in our bed by the lamplight, reading the newspapers. "You're home late," he said.
"I had an appointment."
I disappeared into the washroom, unable to look at his fair solemn features. I knew I would instantly compare them to Marc's darker sensual features.
"My godfather's about to die," Paul said from the bed.
I hesitated at the bathroom sink.
"What happened?" I shouted. I started to wash my face.
"He had a heart attack. Might have been a heat stroke that caused it in the first place."
I came out of the bathroom after my shower and I climbed into bed. Paul folded his paper and inched closer to me. I was silent and immobile. Like a toy, he touched me but I remained expressionless. After a while, he retreated to his slumber.