Tips for Living(68)

It wasn’t even noon, but I caught myself drifting over the yellow line more than once on the way home. The car rental calls would have to wait. All I could think about was resting my head on a pillow and closing my eyes. I arrived at the Coop, too tired to address the last remnants of disorder the police had left: a kilim to roll out, books to return to the shelves and a desk to reorganize. With my remaining speck of energy, I gathered materials from the kitchen instead: three frying pans, two large soup pots and two smaller saucepans.

Now that I knew for certain that I was sleepwalking again, I also knew it was a possibility anytime I slept, even in the middle of the afternoon. I wanted reassurance that my wandering was taking place indoors exclusively, the way it always had in the past. The pots and pans would function as a simple alarm system. A noisy barrier that would wake me if I tried to leave. I placed them just inside the front door, and then I hesitated. Did I really want to test myself? If this alarm went off, it would mean I could have gone to Pequod Point the night of the murders.

The answer was yes. I had to know.

I retreated to the bedroom and changed into pajamas. Then I crawled into bed, left Grace a message with my new number and phoned Aunt Lada. She wasn’t in her room. The call rolled over to Yvonne at the front desk.

“Hi, Yvonne. Do you happen to know where my aunt is?”

“Hiding out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Trash-talking magazine people found her. So, you used to be married to dat man got killed with his wife? He sneak out on you and give her a baby?”

“Oh God.”

“They been bugging your auntie. Calling her day and night since yesterday. She tell me she turning her phone off.”

I sat up. “I’m coming over.”

“No need. She okay. Just layin’ low. Say she needs a rest.”

“I still think I should come.”

“I think you just make her feel bad for making you feel bad.”

“Okay . . . but listen, I have a new phone number. Can you please make sure she gets it? And ask her to call me?”

“No worries. I’ll stop up there before I leave tonight.”

I gave Yvonne the number and thanked her.

“Nora?”

“Yes?”

“You take care of yourself.”

I hung up, feeling protective of my aunt and angry with the press for invading her privacy. I contemplated driving to The Cedars despite Yvonne’s advice, but I was dying to sleep. I must’ve dropped off right away because when the doorbell rang, I woke with the phone on my chest.

Apparently, I hadn’t slept very long—light still streamed in at the corners of the bedroom curtains. My phone said 2:06 p.m. I rolled out of bed, went over to the window and gasped as I spied Ben’s car in the driveway. There was no pretending I wasn’t home; my car sat right next to his. Besides, my heart wouldn’t let me shut him out. Two tiny hands had just grown from the center of it, and they were reaching for him. Ambivalence quickly snatched them back. The problems I’d recognized last night had not gone away. I was still a sleepwalker. The police still suspected me of murder. On some level, I still suspected me of murder. I couldn’t see how Ben wouldn’t.

The doorbell rang again.

“Just a sec!” I shouted, scrambling for the bathroom.

I checked the mirror. Major bed head, but still kind of sexy. Take a moment, Nora. Breathe. I managed to compose myself before strolling into the living room as casually as possible. I pushed a couple of pots away with my foot. How to explain them? Opening the door sent the rest clattering across the floor. I winced. Ben registered the noise and pulled back slightly.

He held a bouquet of red roses. Totally old school. Sincere. Adorable. Ben wasn’t ambivalent.

“You in the middle of something? Is this a bad time?”

He looked at me questioningly and held my eyes. My stomach fluttered. We stood there for a few seconds, pulsing with electricity. Despite everything, I wished he would kiss me.

“Nora, listen. I want you to know I realize the strain you’re under with this goddamn investigation. But we need to talk. Can I come in?”

I stepped aside to let him pass. He closed the door and took in the collection of cookware near his feet, puzzled. I should risk it. I should tell him about the sleepwalking right now. My mind raced through pros and cons and got stuck on “he’ll think I’m guilty.” If I could just go somewhere and think. I opened my mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

“I got a great deal on the rent, but the roof leaks,” I said, disappointed in myself. It felt crummy to lie to him.

“That’s too bad.” He glanced around at my living room, nodding his approval. “Your place is nice. Eclectic.”

He offered the roses, partially wrapped in clear cellophane and tied with red ribbon.

“These are for you,” he said, holding my gaze again.

“Thanks.”

As I reached for them nervously, a thorn pricked my index finger. “Ow.” I winced.

“Sorry.”

I began sucking the blood from the tip.

“Here. Let me,” Ben offered, tucking the bouquet under his arm. He coaxed my finger out of my mouth and inspected it. His touch undid me. I felt my knees turn to jelly and I swayed a bit.

“Let’s get this under some cold water. Where’s a sink?”