[ He shifts his weight - folds one leg under him, turns toward her on the sofa to make it easier for her to touch him, and him to see her. Good position for him to idly twirl the ends of her hair around his fingers, too, while he reaches for words.]

There was...

I don't want it to sound like I'm making excuses. [ I take full responsibility. More appropriate here, though.] I don't think who you were reaching for was even there Jean. Not just the kids we were but the man who died.