“Did he cry?”
The question betrayed me before I could stop it.
Wade’s gaze softened, which I hated.
“Yes.”
I turned back to the camera.
“Play the next one,” I said.
We went too far forward and found Randall after weight loss had carved his face into sharper angles. His shirts hung from his shoulders. His skin had taken on a color I had seen in hospital corridors and never understood until now.
In one video he sat in the passenger seat of Wade’s truck outside a brick building.
“I nearly called her,” he said.
The camera rested on the dashboard, tilted slightly.
Randall rubbed both hands over his face.
“I had the number up. Thumb over it.”
Wade’s voice came from behind the camera. “You want me to tell you that makes you noble?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I want you to tell me she’s doing well.”
