The old man tapped a key, sighed, and closed the laptop. He stood, groaning a little, and walked a few yards from his lounge (which looked out at a rather unkempt garden through French windows) to the kitchen to boil a kettle for tea. He glanced at his watch and decided it was late enough to make a sandwich for lunch, rather than snacking on home-made cookies. In fact, he was thinking he needed to make some more. The bread was nearly finished, too. Something else to do. Cheese. Lettuce. Slice a tomato. Slather on some salad cream. Pour boiling water onto some leaf-tea. Carry it all on a small tray back to his comfortable chair to watch the birds coming and going as he consumed his lunch.

An hour to let the food settle, and he left the house to tend a small vegetable patch; one tidy, organised bit of garden among what looked like careless disorder to the untutored eye. He hoed, then took an ancient scythe to maintain a path through a mixture of tall grass and meadow plants. At the bottom of the garden he shook his head at an area of short grass and moss, with a ring of fungi in the centre. He’d never got to the bottom of why that bit of his garden never needed any attention, and he’d never tried to identify the fungi either. He whispered a short prayer, though unsure as to which deity.

On the way back to the house, he pulled a few sticks of rhubarb.

The door-bell rang. It took him a while to get there to answer it, but when he did, he found three people there; a middle aged, outdoorsy man, and two slim young women. One was tall, very slim, with a dark complexion and dark green hair – he assumed it was dyed, though it was not a shade he’d ever seen on his few forays into the mall. The other, a little shorter, had a fair complexion and dark red, or, rather, russet, hair.

“Mister Thompson? I’m Steve Baxenby. This,” he indicated the girl with russet hair, “is my daughter Calida, and this,” indicating the green-haired girl, “is our friend Aileen Sylvestria.”

“Good afternoon! What can I do for you?”

“You were advertising for one or two young people to help in your garden and provide some company. You specify ‘environmentally aware’. I can assure you that applies to these two and their friends.”

“Oh! Well, come in. Come in. Steve ... Calida? Aileen?”

The green-haired girl giggled. “It’s spelt Ai, but pronounced Eye,” she said. “Scottish, you know. Caledonian, really.”

“I see. Well, come along. Do you all drink tea? I have fruit juices and herbal drinks if you’d rather.”

He showed them into his lounge, they all said, ‘tea, please’, and he left them while he dealt with the drinks.

When he returned with a tray, none of them wanted milk in the tea, and once they were all settled, the man ... Steve ... said, “I love your garden! I’ve seen ten ... no, eleven species of bird just in the last few minutes.”

“Indeed,” the old man smiled. “It looks scruffy, but that’s intentional. I’m getting so that it’s harder to look after things. I was hoping for some help in exchange for accommodation; this house is much too big for one old man, and I’ve arranged the ground floor for myself. I haven’t been upstairs for years. And I was hoping for some company.”

“Could we have a look round the garden?” That was Aileen. “Just to get an idea of what’s needed?”

“Surely!” The old man levered himself out of his chair and put down his half-drunk cup of tea.

Aileen’s laugh was like a stream trickling over a little waterfall. “I didn’t mean right now! You could finish your tea.”

The old man laughed an abbreviated laugh, and lowered himself back into his chair. “My garden is much more interesting to me than another cup of tea! But I was forgetting my hospitality.”

They chatted a bit longer, finished their drinks, and went out into the garden through the French doors. The old man led the way, pointing out various features; the herb garden, the vegetables, a couple of cordon apple trees. “Coxes and Bramleys,” he announced.

His visitors were duly impressed. They walked through the ‘meadow’, along the narrow path he’d scythed earlier. “Brambles,” the old man pointed out. “Have to keep an eye on them, or they’d just take over.”

“Nettles!” exclaimed Calida. “Wonderful for butterflies!”

“Indeed!” He was really smiling now. “Buddliea, too, over there. Another plant which needs attention to stop it taking over.”

They passed a small pond, and reached a copse of mixed trees.

“I can’t believe what you’ve got here in the middle of town,” Steve commented. “It’s a pretty big garden, but still...”

“It is. And I’ve had some pressure to sell. They want to build a block of flats here. Probably demolish the old house. If something happened to me ... well, they might have a problem getting planning permission, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

Amongst the trees, a small patch of open ground carpeted with short grass and moss.

“Do you keep this cut short...” Aileen trailed off, dropping to her knees.

“No, it never needs...”

“A fairy ring! Wow!” She turned her head, eyes sparkling. “Do you believe in fairies?”

“Of course!” The old man tried to look affronted, but his eyes were twinkling.

Aileen turned her attention back to the ring. “An fheadhainn naomh; an toir thu gràs dhuinn le do làthaireachd?”

The old man looked at Steve and Calida. “What’d she say?”

Calida answered, “She was speaking in Scots Gaelic. She said, ‘Holy ones; wilt thou grace us with your presence?’ But, hush...”

In a sparkling mist, a tiny figure appeared, with fluttering wings, hovering in front of Aileen’s face. She held out a hand, palm up, and the figure alighted there. “Tha fàilte ort, spiorad craoibhe.” (Ye are welcome, tree spirit.) It spoke, haltingly, in a piping voice.

“Is mise Aileen,” Aileen said. (I am Aileen).

“Is e Orlaigh a chanar rium.” (I am called Orla. The name means Golden Princess).

“Tha urram orm, Orlaigh.” (I am honoured, Orla).

The tiny figure laughed gaily, the sound of little bells tinkling. Then, slowly, “That is enough. Who are your friends?”

Aileen stood carefully, the tiny figure steady on her hand. Stepping over to the old man, she said, “This is Mister Thompson, who owns the garden.”

The tiny one laughed again. “No-one owns the garden! But Joseph we know, and he has been a steward of the land. We have blessed it because of him. We bless you, Joseph.”

He knelt, head down. The tiny creature – barely six inches tall – hovered in front of him, closed in, reached out with her tiny hand and lifted his chin. Such a small person should not have been able to make him look up, but he did. His eyes were still down, though.

“Joseph, look at me, please.”

“Blessed One...”

“Oh, Joseph!” The tiny creature laughed. “I am Orlaigh!”

He looked at her and sighed. “You are beautiful...”

“Thank you! Joseph, you are Fey, you are a friend. Be at peace.”

She disappeared, and he looked up at his visitors, who were all smiling.

“You knew?”

The pretty young woman with the russet hair shook her head. “We knew as soon as we saw the ring,” she said. “Other than that, we were only sure of the natural magic of creature and plant. Are we acceptable to you?”

“I should say so.” He stood, belatedly realising that he’d done so easily, without creaking joints.

The tall, slim, green-haired girl spoke then. “You are truly blessed, and rightly so.” She stepped up to him, almost the same height as himself, and before he could react, pressed her lips to his.

An electric feeling flashed through him and he was suddenly aware of discomfort as his penis, dormant for years, tried to adopt an upright posture, but was prevented by his trousers. He turned away, trying to unobtrusively adjust the position. When he turned back, Aileen caught his eye, smiled, and winked. Calida and Steve Baxenby were in a low voiced colloquy.

It was Calida who spoke next. “May we see the rest of the house?”

“Certainly! I rarely go upstairs these days, but I have a cleaner go over it every couple of weeks.”

Calida and her father went upstairs, leaving Aileen with their host.

“Will you be one of those to stay here?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t. Not for more than a day or two, anyway. I think Calida and her fiancé are hoping to find somewhere together, and there are one or two more like-minded folk. I can stay with you for a few hours, if you like, but I will always need to return to my home.”

“I’d love for you to visit sometimes, and stay as long as you like,” Joseph said, smiling. “You are a very beautiful young woman.”

She smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “Thank you, kind sir. I will take you up on that.”

Daughter and father returned, chatting quietly together. “Mister Thompson,” Steve said, “My daughter and her fiancé would like to move in to the master bedroom upstairs, and there are one or two friends who would join them if that’s acceptable to you?”

“Certainly!”

“I’d suppose,” Calida inserted, “that we’d all eat together? Otherwise we’d need to arrange some cooking facilities upstairs.”

“Yes, that’s so. I was hoping for some company, really, even more than the help in the garden. If we could work out who would cook when...”

“No problem! But Dad and I need to go and start getting organised.”

“You’ll need a key,” the old man said. He went out into the hall, not realising he was moving much more smoothly, and faster, than he was used to. He returned with two keys on a ring with a fob shaped like a tree, and handed it to her. “Feel free to come and go as you like if I’m in the garden or out of the house.”

The russet-haired girl smiled, and his heart turned over. “Thank you,” she said as she took the key. “Dad? Aileen?”

Her father nodded, and moved towards the door, but Aileen, smiling, winked discreetly at Calida. “I’ll be staying a bit longer,” she said.

“It’s kind of you to keep an old man company,” Joseph said, as Calida and Steve left.

“Oh, it’s not like that,” Aileen told him with a smile. “Tell me – do you feel old, right now?”

“Well, of course...” he trailed off, frowning. “Something happened out there, didn’t it? I actually feel ... not young, exactly, but I don’t ache and creak. I didn’t think about it at the time, but I stood up easily.”

“Just so, Joseph. A fairy blessed you. And Joseph – what am I?”

“What are you? A very lovely young woman.”

“Try again. How old do you think I am?”

He cocked his head, considering. “Twenty or so? I suppose maybe thirty, but surely not more.”

“Joseph, I am over a hundred years older than that. I am not ‘a young woman’, I am a hamadryad. A Scots Pine hamadryad. I am young for my people, yes, but age does not matter much. I am Aileen to distinguish me from the Sylvias and Sylvestrias.”

The old man looked at her steadily. “A few hours ago, I would have thought you were teasing me, or deluded, or something. But now ... now, I suppose I must believe you. Is that why you cannot stay here?”

“Yes – I cannot stay away from my place for more than a few days at a time. Calida wanted me to come today, and I’m glad I did. I would like to stay with you tonight, if I may?”

“I’d love your company tonight. Do you eat?”

“When I’m away from my place. As a tree I get everything I need from the earth. I know how to cook human style.”

“I was going to have a shop quiche with some salad,” he said. “I have several quiches in the freezer, coleslaw, potato salad, lettuce, tomato – home grown – plenty for both of us.”

“I’d like that.”

She followed him into the kitchen, which was large, and obviously used for most meals with a large table in the middle. He removed quiches from the freezer. “Cheese and onion,” he said. “I don’t keep a wide variety, I’m afraid.”

“That sounds fine. Shall I wash some lettuce?”

“Yes, please. I’ll get these in the oven – they take about half an hour from frozen.” He switched on the oven. “Takes fifteen minutes or so to heat the oven.” He bent down to the fridge and extracted ‘Sweet Gem’ lettuces. “I like these,” he commented, “more flavour than an ‘Iceberg’.” The lettuces were followed by tomatoes, cucumber, spring onions, radishes, tubs of coleslaw and potato salad. “The onions and radishes are mine, too,” he said, “but I buy the coleslaw and potato salad to save me the effort.”

“It sounds a feast! Shall I fill the kettle?”
“If you wish. Or I have some home-made wine ... blackberry and apple.”

“Wonderful!”

It was. Joseph had, by the end of the meal actually forgotten that he was (in human terms) an old man, and just enjoyed the company of a congenial and vivacious young woman. The home-made wine helped, of course, to reduce any inhibitions which remained.

Aileen was far from bashful herself. “Joseph, I wish to stay and share your bed. May I?”

Joe, his inhibitions lowered by the wine and, indeed, the events of the day, didn’t demur.

He lived, as has been implied, on the ground floor, and had all the facilities he needed there. As they rose to go to the bedroom, he suggested she use the upstairs bathroom, but she just giggled.

“What for? I’m sure there’s room in your shower for two.”

There was. Obviously, the shower was designed and fitted to be used by someone with limited mobility. However, Joe was still mobile within his own limitations. Actually, he suddenly realised that he was feeling much younger...

When, naked, they were dry after the shower, they stood by the bed and looked at each other. Joe saw a tall, slim, perfectly proportioned young woman. Aileen in her turn was pleased to see a mature, fit, human male displaying a most satisfying, erect symbol of his gender. She backed up to the bed and lay back upon it, expectant, hopeful.

Her hopes were met and exceeded as he homed in on the scent of her centre. After an escalating series of orgasms, she begged him to enter her. The following fifteen minutes or so were entirely satisfactory for both partners, and they slept deeply together.

A repeat coupling in the morning – Joe having no need to deal with his bladder – was slower and equally satisfying, and the subsequent shower most enjoyable. After breakfast, Aileen departed after promising to return often.

Joe called his solicitor and was able to make an appointment later that afternoon. His solicitor, the son of an old friend, commented on how well he was looking and moving. Joe smiled. “Clean living,” he replied, but then sobered. “But I am ageing and recently decided to make some changes to my will...”

“Let’s see...” the lawyer perused his digital copy. “You were intending to leave your entire estate after taxes and expenses to the local Wildlife group...”

“That’s right. But I recently found a group who I believe will take a more focussed approach and keep my little estate intact.”

“Oh? You’re sure you can trust them?”

“This may sound naive, but yes. They haven’t asked anything of me, just offered to help maintain the garden. I’m thinking that I’d like to have the house provide cheap accommodation for wildlife volunteers, and set up the property as a trust. There’ll need to be funding for legal representation to prevent compulsory purchase or anything of that sort.”

“So did you have anyone in mind as trustees?”

“One, or maybe two. Stephen Baxenby, and perhaps Sean Mullaney.”

“Ah! Steve Baxenby. Yes. I quite agree. He’s one of not very many who could be trusted with something like this.”

“Apart from that, I was thinking someone from this firm, such as yourself.”

“Very well. I can get a Trust underway. It might take a few months. The will ... Mister Baxenby as an executor? Perhaps with myself?”

“Perfect.”

Calida and Sean duly moved in, with four other friends. Joe had all the company he wanted, and could be alone in peace if he preferred. Daily, he made his way to the fairy circle, and started to take little offerings; wine in tiny glasses (from an old doll’s house) and other delicacies. Talking to Orlaigh, it turned out that the little people loved coconut, marzipan and chocolate. But it was the conversation that really mattered.

“Princess, there are so few of you. I thought you were immortal?”

The tiny creature sighed. “We are, but what is immortality without love? We are magic, but that magic depends on belief, and who believes in fairies these days?”

“Well, I do, Princess, and some of my friends, of course.”

“Oh, Joseph! That is why we continue at all!”

While Joseph was the principal visitor, he wasn’t the only one. Aileen came often, usually once in a week, and spent the night in Joe’s bed, but always also spent time with the little people. Calida, of course, Steve Baxenby, Sean Mullaney, Sean’s mother, Eithne. They were very careful, and only introduced those who they were sure were Fey and could keep the secret. With the concentration of human belief, the little fairy community flourished, at least as well as it could. There could be no infant fairies without a male. At least, though, the community grew in power, and that had an effect on the garden. Birds gathered – common and less common. Butterflies and moths. Other insects that would usually be disregarded.

Soon, word somehow reached an environmental scientist in the University. He was able to identify creatures which had not been seen in the area in hundreds of years, and that fact was made a matter of record to make destroying the garden much more difficult in the future.

Through it all, Joe experienced a joy which he had not expected before throwing his home open to the young environmentalists. It could not last for ever, though. One day, Calida was talking to Orlaigh, or, rather, Orlaigh was talking to Calida.

“Calida, you know that Joseph’s human life is almost over?”

Calida didn’t reply immediately, but a tear trickled down her cheek. “I know. I will miss him. Really miss him. I was thinking of asking Father Quercus...”

“Calida, we need him here. Could he be buried here?”

“I think ... I think burying his body here would be very difficult. We would need special permission.”

The fairy’s face fell. “Oh...”

“Would his ashes do? That would be no problem.”

Orlaigh brightened immediately. “Could they be placed in the middle of our circle? That would be perfect!”

At the end of the conversation, Calida went back to the house, where Joe and Sean were collaborating on lunch. There were seven around Joe’s table for lunch, and as they were finishing, he coughed to get their attention.

“Ahem! There’s something I need to say to you all,” he said. “I know I’ve been feeling younger than ever these last few months, but I am an old man, and I think my time is near. I have made enquiries, and found that I cannot be buried here, but my ashes can. When I die, ownership passes to a Trust administered by my solicitor and your father, Calida. There are legal safeguards to preserve the garden and to permit approved volunteers to continue to live here to look after it.”

There was a confused murmur of distress from all the young people present.

“My friends, don’t mourn me. I will not be leaving, not completely...” he smiled, and went on...

“Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.”

“That’s beautiful,” Emma, a recent recruit to the household sighed.

“It is,” smiled Joe. “But it’s not mine. Clare Harner Lyon. But it expresses how I feel. I think as long as the garden endures, so will I. Or my spirit, anyway.” Joe said that, not knowing what was to come, but he was correct, as will be seen.

They finished the meal and went their separate ways, but Calida lingered.

“Joe, I was talking to Orlaigh earlier. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but since you have ... the fairies want your ashes placed in the centre of their ring.”

Joe’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open a little. “Wow.” That was a most uncharacteristic expression from the old man. “Really? That’s ... I don’t know ... I’m ... honoured.”

Joe woke, suddenly, though the room was dark. He tried to disentangle himself from Aileen’s arms, because something was drawing him, irresistibly, out of his bed to the garden. She woke. “Joe...”

“I’m going to the garden, Aileen.”

“May I come too?”

“Certainly.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. I just must go.”

Not bothering to dress, he led the dryad out to the garden. Following the drive he still did not understand, he reached the fairy ring, and sat on the log he always used. The sky was lightening in the north-east, as the solstice dawn approached, and Orlaigh appeared, hovering in front of him. “Welcome, Joseph.” She moved to Aileen. “Welcome, tree spirit. It is the turning of the year.” She flitted back to Joe. “Joseph, we wish ... I wish ... for you to stay with us. Will you do that?”

Joe was a little puzzled. “Princess, I’m delighted to stay with you.”

She was shaking her head and smiling. “No, Joseph. It is time for you to go on. We would like for you to choose to stay with us.”

Joe still didn’t understand, but he replied, “Princess, I am honoured that you want me to stay. I will do whatever you wish and I will be happy.”

“Then we shall do that.” She then cried out, “Thig! Cruinnich anns an fhàinne! Tha an t-àm ann!” (Come! Gather in the Ring! It is time!)

Suddenly the ring was filled by many tiny figures, glistening, hovering in the half-light. The sunrise could not be seen for the surrounding buildings, but the sky brightened. The tiny figures surrounded Joe, and his body tumbled forward to lie limp on the ground next to the fairy ring. The fairies, though, surrounded a pale, insubstantial mist which rose from his body, then moved together to the ring and disappeared.

Joe had a momentary excruciating pain in his head before he blacked out. The next thing he knew, he was looking down at his slumped body and realising that he was surrounded by a cloud of tiny, glittering figures.

As he watched though, it seemed that the tiny figures grew. He looked round, and saw Aileen kneeling by his body, and realised that it was he who was shrinking, not everyone else growing. He looked down, and it seemed as though he was a hundred feet in the air, though it was, in fact, only about five. The creatures around him were now only a fraction smaller than him. For a moment, he was terrified of falling, but as the terror grew, he felt unaccustomed sensations in his upper back, and realised he was rising; by screwing his head round, he could see gossamer wings! ‘So this is what Orlaigh was meaning!’ he thought, and the terror subsided, being replaced by nervous anticipation. While all this was going on, they’d all been moving and, in a stream, entered a dense bramble bush.

Each side of him, he was passing what he assumed were birds’ nests, little (not so little, compared to himself) balls of twigs and moss, but then he was following the others into a wide, domed hall, bright in green and gold. The others formed columns each side until he was face to face at the end of the hall ... with Orlaigh. She was every inch the princess of the fairy community, and he fell to his knees.

“Ma’am...” he just couldn’t think how to address her!

That was greeted with a peal of contralto laughter. “Oh, Joseph! Surely you know better than that? You agreed to come to us, though I doubt you really understood. But you are a part of us now. You will learn that your place among us leaves no room for formality.” She pulled him easily to his feet and he found that he was somewhat taller than she. She wrapped an arm around him and raised the other. “Biodh an fhèis deiseil! Leig leis an fhèis tòiseachadh!” To his surprise, he understood; she’d announced: “Let the feast be prepared! Let the celebration begin!”

A bustle of activity; tables, chairs, plates and cups, food – no meat, apparently – drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. Orlaigh led him by the hand into the fray, only releasing it when they needed both hands to eat and drink. All around, everywhere, naked, female fairies.

Joe realised something was puzzling him, tickling at the back of his mind. Eventually he pinned it down. “Wings!” he exclaimed. “Where are everyone’s wings?”

“Oh,” Orlaigh smiled, nodding. “They are such an inconvenience when they’re not needed. They fold and tuck away.”

“Oh.” Then, “Are there no, um, male fairies?” He decided it was impolitic to mention the pejorative use of the noun in human society.

“Joseph! Did I not explain? There are no males. That is why we need you.”

Consternation!

Orlaigh saw his expression, which clearly displayed his emotions. “Do not worry, Joseph. We will not ... force you. There is all the time in the world. It is for you to choose. You can even choose to do nothing with any of us.” She turned away to pick up a plate of savoury morsels, and offered it to him. “Try these ... made with hazelnuts.”

He took one and nibbled it, but hardly noticed the taste. “Orlaigh ... you are beautiful, but I never expected...” he broke off, looking around. “This is all too much!”

“Oh, Joseph, I’m sorry! Of course it’s too much! As I said, though, there is no rush.” She paused, and went on, “why not wander around, meet people, learn a few names? I will not be far away if you need me.”

When he nodded, she left his side. For some time, he just stood, thinking, absorbing the atmosphere.

“Joseph ... if I may?”

He struggled out of his abstraction to notice an apparently young, very pretty fairy standing nervously next to him. “Of course!’

“I am Lorelei. I am the youngest, as Orlaigh is the eldest. I just wanted to say ‘hello’. Otherwise you probably wouldn’t notice me.” She dipped in what would have been a curtsey had she been wearing a dress.

He smiled, bowed, and held out his hand. “Thank you! And hello, also. It’s all a bit overwhelming, but I’m sure you’re quite as noticeable as anyone else.”

When she took his hand, he lifted hers to his lips and kissed it, whereupon she blushed comprehensively. “I ... I mustn’t monopolise you...” and she turned and disappeared into the throng.

Others, having seen that encounter, also approached him. He met Isla, Kaia, and Elvina but soon all the names and faces blurred. He lost track of time, but then Orlaigh found him.

“Perhaps you would wish to rest, Joseph?”

“Perhaps I would, Princess. Perhaps I would...” he hesitated, but continued, “do I understand that I am ... that you hope I will ... repopulate the faery realm?”

“That is, indeed, our hope, Joseph.”

“I ... I ... well ... don’t want to upset or offend. How would you like to proceed?”

“You will do neither. It must be your choice. Joseph ... I hope ... I wish ... that you will be my consort. I have grown to love you since we met. But there are reasons I should not be the first in your bed. Possibly the most important is that I will not be fertile for some time, but another is that I will not presume on my position.”

“Then, I hardly know how to choose. That first lady ... Lorelei ... she said she was the youngest ... Would she be the right choice? She ... said she was the youngest, and that I wouldn’t notice her, but she wasn’t ... importunate, if you see what I mean.”

“Ah...” Orlaigh frowned slightly, then smiled. “Yes. Yes, I think she would be a very good choice. If I might warn you, though, she is a maiden...” She turned and beckoned to a nearby fairy, who came over. “Aurora, would you see if you can find Lorelei?”

Aurora raised an eyebrow. “So ... the last shall be first?”

“It seems only fair,” Orlaigh smiled. “I think we’ll all get a turn in time.”

Aurora merged into the throng. “Do you remember the rest of the quotation?” Joe asked Orlaigh.

Orlaigh’s face dropped. “Yes, I do. The first shall be last. But the realm will continue, and Faery will endure.”

“Don’t be sad, Princess. I can’t imagine you ever being last.”

Aurora reappeared, apparently dragging young Lorelei behind her. Lorelei couldn’t see Joe, as she was on the wrong side of Aurora. She could, however, see Orlaigh.

“Your Highness, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean...”

But then, Joe stepped in to view. “Relax, Lorelei. I asked for you to be called. Would you like to take me home – for a night or two, anyway?” He turned to Orlaigh. “Do I have my own place, or what?”

“Of course you’ll have your own place, Joseph. Would you like to see it now? We thought it would make sense for you to go to our places, at least at first.”

He felt a hand upon his arm. “Do you mean it, Joseph? You asked for me?”