The journey was reasonably short and was passed in mostly silence. I tried to draw him into conversation, commenting on how nice it was to see them again and how happy they both seemed. However, all I received was a grunt of agreement or indifference – it was hard to tell which, perhaps it was a bit of both. When we got home, he immediately headed upstairs. Leaving me to thank and pay the sitter. After showing her out and watching at the door to make sure she got to her car okay, I made my own way up the stairs. Turning left on the landing, I tiptoed down the hallway, checking on each of the children before finally retracing my steps and wandering into our bedroom. Paul was sitting in the high-backed, antique chair in the corner. He was leaning back, his legs spread casually wide and swaying slightly. One elbow was perched on the mahogany arm of the chair, his head dropped against his fist. With drooping eyelids, he looked at me. “Becky is worried she’s done something to upset you,”
