InSight

combination, large kitchen, bathroom and master bedroom, a second bedroom converted to a study. It seemed neat and organized to her senses. A large coffee table sat in front of a leather sofa, a leather recliner to the side. The kitchen and bathroom had the just-cleaned aroma of pine oil.
    If she could see, she’d have better insight into the man who’d become part of her life. She’d know what books he read, what art hung on his walls, if any, and the respect he had for his surroundings. These were things outside her.
    “I’m sorry to take you from your house,” Luke said, his arm around Abby’s shoulder. “I know how important it is for you to feel comfortable and familiar in your environment, but what’s the old cliché? I’d rather be safe than sorry? Until we find out who’s trying to hurt you, I’ll take you to work and pick you up. I don’t want you doing anything alone.”
    “Luke?”
    “What?”
    “You’re doing what I asked you not to do. You’re being my protector.”
    He took her by the shoulders. “What should I do? Leave you alone, an easy target for some nut? I don’t want you to find out who this is while you’re alone in the house we both know he’s familiar with. If that’s being your protector, so be it.”
    She moved into him but lifted her chin so he could see her words. “I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful.”
    “I don’t want gratitude. I want you safe. I thought I lost you a while back. I didn’t like the way that felt.”
    She ran her hand over his face, found his lips, and kissed him. “Okay, let me go around by myself.”
    “Get my attention if you need me.”
    Luke alternated between grilling steaks outside and making potatoes and salad in the kitchen while Abby tap-tapped her cane around the house, counting her steps and feeling with her hands for everything else. She opened kitchen drawers and fingered the contents, mentally labeled the cupboards holding dishes and glassware, and explored the countertops to learn what took up their spaces. When she finished her tour, she walked toward Luke and stopped a few inches away. She didn’t say anything.
    “How did you know where I was? I’ve been watching you and haven’t moved.”
    “I heard you anyway, and when I got close, the air changed.” She waved him off. “It’s hard to explain.”
    He took her in his arms and kissed her. “Dinner’s ready. After we eat, you can explain all that to me while we make love.”
    Abby praised the dinner Luke called man food .
    “Woman food too,” she said.
    They left the dishes, and Luke led her into the bedroom. They made love, made love again in the shower, and dried each other with crisp towels. He rubbed her hair dry, combed it, and kissed her some more, all over, until they were sprawled on the tile floor making love again.
    “I can’t keep my hands off you, Abby,” he said. “My lips, my tongue. I want to devour you.”
    “Don’t apologize,” she said, but her words were lost because Luke was kissing her neck.
    After they dressed, she cleaned up the kitchen; Luke watched the news, close captioned. A bulletin caught her attention. She dropped the towel and moved along the counters to the wall and the living area. “Turn up the TV, hurry.”
    “Why?”
    “Just do it.”

    …Police arrested Mrs. Grimes at her home early this morning. They found her sitting by the bedside of her dead quadriplegic son, Kenya Grimes, former Hub City High School basketball star, the victim of a tragic drive-by shooting last August. Mrs. Grimes told police that she finally gave in to her son’s wishes and turned off his ventilator. Neighbors and friends report the boy had begged everyone to do the right thing and let him go. Famed Atlanta attorney David Sales has offered to take her case pro bono.

    The announcer continued, but Abby didn’t hear anything more. “Oh, my God. That poor woman.”
    “Do you know her?”
    “I consulted with her son for an hour the morning Stewart picked me up. The boy wanted to die. He said he didn’t want to live like that, and nothing I said changed his mind. His mother was the one who needed counseling to handle her grief. I felt so sorry for them both. What she did took the pain out of her son’s life.”
    “Then you agree with what she did.”
    The question hung in the air for a moment or two. Abby weighed her answer. “Maybe not agree, but I understand. Hard to ignore a child’s constant pleas to end what he considered a tortured