C74 He Is also Afraid of Being Alone

When I washed the dishes after dinner, he didn't politely refuse, but he stood by, and every time I finished, he took it and wiped it with a snow-white towel.

Neither of us spoke, only the clatter of the dishes, his tall body obscuring the overhead lights, and I felt as safe in his shadow as if I were standing under a tree with a great canopy.

"A habit my mother left behind