A morning came when I nudged your nose, softer and paler than my own, but you didn't stir. I whined. I scratched the bed. I pulled at the sleeve of your hand, slender and draped over the side of the bed. 

Your eyes were gray. They opened. 

"Lee," you whispered. 

Eva. 

The smell again. 

I howled and howled, like my old infuriating roommate of long ago. I howled until the Talls got the door open. It sounded like thunder.