He hated needing anything, let alone help. "Damn it, Leigh, can't you just give us a weekend? Marion needs help. I'll hump furniture all day long, fix whatever needs fixed, but she's a wreck and I don't handle that stuff well."   "I leave for Japan at the end of next week." Leigh's sultry voice went soft as if she saw the futility of resistance. Her last gasp of denial.   Merciless, he went in for the kill. "She cried, Leigh. Marion cried. I don't know about you, but I never saw her cry about anything. It was over some photo albums and that old movie projector of hers. I haven't seen that thing in decades. I doubt it'll work anymore." He hadn't been able to do more than give the old girl an awkward pat on the shoulder.   Females in emotional pain made his gut twist. He hated feeling helpless and he never understood what women in distress really needed. So he fixed things. Hauled whatever needed hauling, and ate whatever they cooked for him. Marion was a good cook and had loved to feed him and all the other foster kids she'd mothered.
