I told him she was holding my hand, and he said, ‘It’s just a reflex,’ and I said, ‘She’s holding my hand, Dad, look.’
And he said, ‘She’s not in there, Davis. She’s not in there anymore.’
“But that’s not how it works, Aza. She was still real. She was still alive.
She was as much a person as any other person; you’re real, but not because of your body or because of your thoughts.”
“Then what?” I said. He sighed. “I don’t know.” “Thanks for telling me that,” I said.
I’d turned to him and was looking at his face in profile.
Sometimes, Davis looked like a boypale skin, acne on his chin. But now he looked handsome.
The silence between us grew uncomfortable until eventually I asked him the stupidest question, because I actually wanted to know its answer.
“What are you thinking?” “I’m thinking it’s too good to be true,” he said.
“What is?” “You.” “Oh.” And then after a second, I added, “Nobody ever says anything is too bad to be true.”
I know you saw the picture. The night-vision picture.I didn’t answer, so he continued.
That’s the thing you know, that you want to tell the cops. Did they offer you a reward for it?”
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