The Sleepwalker(74)

“And then there was the time you wandered downstairs and rearranged the logs beside the woodstove.”

I sat up a little straighter and tried to muzzle my wariness. This, too, was news to me. “What did my dad—or maybe my mom—tell you about that?”

She shrugged. “You took the wood that was piled near the stove and made a little corral for your plastic horses on the carpet.”

“Sounds pretty harmless,” I said defensively, but I wished I could recall anything from this nocturnal adventure.

“So, is it now my turn to ask you some questions, Lianna?”

“May I have one more?”

“Absolutely.”

“Am I definitely going to have to spend the night being wired? And, if yes, when?”

“That’s two questions,” she replied, raising a single eyebrow good-naturedly. Then: “Not definitely, no. Let’s see. And it would probably be in a month or so, based on my schedule.”

“Paige, too?”

“Correct.”

“So, we’re talking December for the both of us?”

“That sounds about right.”

“Do you still do the sleep studies at the hotel?”

“We do.”

“I am so not looking forward to that,” I told her. “All the wires. My mom said you even wire the eyes.”

“Your mom fell asleep. You’ll be fine.”

“If it comes to that,” I said hopefully.

She nodded. It was clear she was confident that it would.



“I thought she was nice,” Paige was saying from the backseat in the car on the way home, referring to Cindy Yager. Our father was driving, and I was in the front seat beside him.

“I’m glad,” our father said, his face lost in the evening shadows.

“But I wish Lianna and I could have our sleep test in the same room. It would be kind of like we were on vacation.” For years when our family went away, our parents would have one hotel room and Paige and I would share another.

“Kind of,” I agreed, though I understood why we needed separate rooms and how the experience would be nothing at all like a typical night at a Sheraton. I knew that Paige understood this, too.

“And a hotel breakfast the next morning? That’s cool,” she went on.

“Waffles,” our father murmured, knowing my kid sister’s affection for them. “I have always liked waffles in winter. They are definitely a winter food group for me.”

“Dad?” she asked after a moment.

I saw him glance into the rearview mirror. “Yes, sweetie?”

“Where were you the night Mom had her sleep study?”

“I was home with you girls.”

“And then you picked up Mom after you got us off to school? You went and got her?”

“Oh, no. Your mom drove herself home from the hotel that morning. Twice.”

“Twice?”

“Well, not really. But your mother was so disoriented when she woke up in the morning that she forgot her eyeglasses in the hotel room. She had actually driven about five miles before she realized why the world was so foggy.”

“Kind of dangerous,” I said. “Will we be that disoriented?”

“I doubt it. Your mother was a rarity in a lot of ways.”

“Don’t worry,” Paige said to me. “You won’t come home and build a pen for your toy horses by the wood stove.”

“I should never have told you that,” I said.

“Nope,” she agreed. Then to our father she asked, “But you’ll be spending the night at the hotel while we’re being tested, right?”

“Yes. Absolutely. But you really have no reason to worry—no reason at all.”

“I guess.”

“And let’s face it,” I added. “Most of the time you’re a world-class sleeper.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “This was my big idea in the first place, remember? I think you are way more worried than I am.”

That probably wasn’t true: Paige was anxious, too. That was clear. But she was right: as I had confessed to Cindy Yager, I was dreading that night.



The day after Paige and I were examined at the sleep center, Gavin showed up at our house. It was late Friday morning and I was—as I was most of the time—alone. I considered not answering the bell when I saw who it was, but I did. I was unable not to: I could feel my color rising. On some level, I had to know that by opening the door I was letting him back into my life. I told myself that I would find out what he wanted and send him away, but I must have known in my heart that in the end I would be incapable. I didn’t believe he was coming with new information about my mother’s death. If the investigation had had some sort of unexpected breakthrough, he would have contacted my father. Besides, he had brought flowers. It was clear he had come only for me.

“I see you’re expecting company,” he said, pulling off his aviators and smiling. I had brushed my hair that morning, but otherwise I had dressed primarily for Joe the Barn Cat. I was wearing my pajama bottoms and an especially ratty college hoodie.

“What do you want?”

He extended the bouquet in my direction. He raised his eyebrows boyishly. I took the flowers without saying a word and motioned him into the house. He knelt and started to untie his shoes, and I told him not to bother.