“Have a seat, somewhere.” She gesticulated vaguely around her living room. Randall looked around and started folding the newspapers that were strewn all over the place, including armchair and sofa. She left him to it and put the kettle on for some tea. When she came back with two mugs, there were two neat stacks of newspapers on the coffee table, the cushions on sofa and armchair were fluffed up, and the blanket she used to cover herself with when she couldn’t be bothered to go to the bedroom was folded neatly over the backrest of the chair. Randall himself was aligning the books on the bookshelf so they formed a straight line, but he didn’t dare to change her order. He knew better than that. He knew her well. It was endearing and heartbreaking at the same time. He looked like a librarian in a renaissance university caring for his babies, the way he lovingly caressed the backs of the books, sometimes taking one out, blowing on it to make the dust go away, sometimes opening one, straightening out the ribbon page marker, and giving its end a new home a few pages away from the place the ribbon marked the page.
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Strange Seawolf
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