“Yes, there is. In fact, I suspect hearing your voice might help her mood,” she replied. “Hold on for a moment, and I will have the switchboard transfer you to her room.”

The music filled the earpiece once again, though this time I thought I might have recognized the tune. I didn’t get much of a chance to place a title with it, however, as I was treated to a much shorter wait than when I was originally placed on hold. The song was abruptly cut short, and I heard my wife’s voice in its place.

“Rowan?”

“Hey…” I said, trying to inject some liveliness into my tone. “How’s my favorite redhead?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay? Helen says you’re doing pretty good.”

“Aye,” she muttered, her singsong Celtic lilt coming through. “Helen should know, I suppose.”

“Yeah, that’s what she gets paid for.”

She fell quiet, but I could hear her breathing softly at the other end. After a long pause I asked, “Are you still with me?”

“Aye,” she mumbled. “I’m here.”

“Would you rather not talk right now?” I asked, trying desperately to keep disappointment from invading my voice.

“No,” she replied then corrected herself. “I mean… I do want to talk. It’s just… It’s just that it’s so good to hear your voice right now.”

“Yours too,” I told her.

“What about you then?” she asked. “How are you?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“Breugadair.”

The accusation actually made me smile. Even though she had just called me a liar, the fact that she was interjecting Gaelic into her speech meant that she was much more her old self than even she realized.

“What makes you think I’m lying?” I asked.