“Ah, the Glorious Gloria. She is quite a trip,” Sammy said. He crawled to the bed and climbed on next to me. “Why don’t you go out with her? She’s got those dreamy blue eyes you love so much.”
“I prefer brown eyes,” she said, leaning over to flick his ear.
He rolled off the bed with a thump.
“Don’t go there, Sarah-Bo-Berra, or you’ll start an ear-flicking feud they’ll write about in history books,” Sammy called from the side of the bed. He dove out of sight and shot a rubber band at Sarah, who batted it away.
“Corrie, how exactly do you manage a two-toddler home?” She threw a pillow at Sammy, and he caught it mid-air, flinging it back where it struck her square in the face.
I laughed and shook my head.
“It’s quite nice, actually. Every day is a play-date for Isis.”
“CORRIE.” I popped open my eyes to find Sammy inches from my face, his eyes wild and his hair standing on end as if he’d been running his fingers through it.
“What? Isis?” I sat up, and pain leapt through my right shoulder blade and snaked up my neck. I had an instant headache.
I looked around and realized why. I had fallen asleep on the floor of the study. I pressed my hands into the hardwood and tilted my neck to my left shoulder.
“Ouch, oh shit, ugh.”
“Here,” Sammy massaged my neck, searching my face as if I’d fallen.
Had I fallen?
“How did I get in here?” I asked him, rewinding back to the night before when we’d climbed into bed together. We had made love, and I’d fallen asleep tucked in the crook of Sammy’s arm.
“I was wondering the same thing. I practically went mad trying to find you. I’ve been calling your name for ten minutes.”
“Really?”
He helped me up, and I lumbered from the room feeling like I’d aged a decade in one night.
I sat heavily at the kitchen counter, sensing Sammy’s gaze.
“What?” I asked him.
“What? I just found you asleep on the floor in the study, and you have no memory of how you got there.”
“Coffee would probably help.” I winked at him, but he didn’t smile. “I sleepwalked. What’s the big deal?”
He pressed his mouth in a line and turned, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove with a huff.
“I’m sorry, why are you mad at me right now?” I asked, unable to keep the irritation from my voice. I would need a visit to the chiropractor to get this kink out of my neck. “I’m the one who slept on the floor.”
He turned and braced his hands on the counter.
“I’m not mad at you, and I’m sorry it’s coming off that way. I’m worried about you.”
“Sammy, people sleepwalk all the time. I knew a girl in college who wrote her entire thesis on the subject. It’s not exactly a phenomenon.”
The cold light of morning barely illuminated the kitchen, but I could see the weariness plain in Sammy’s face.
Was he overreacting? Or was I under-reacting?
He ground the coffee, and when he turned back his features had softened.
“Corrie, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you okay?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? We had a great day yesterday. Why are you ruining it over something so stupid?”
He took my hands across the counter and squeezed.
“Yesterday was great. I loved it, it felt like old times.”
I frowned.
“Old times? What are new times, then?”
He stayed put, gazing into my face.
“You’ve seemed different since we moved here. You sleep a lot and forget stuff.”
I bit my cheek, my hands tightening around the glass of water Sammy had set in front of me.
“I sleep a lot?”
“You never took naps before. Now you take them every day, and after you wake up you seem wonky, like you’re in a trance.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said, standing abruptly and nearly knocking my chair over backwards. It wobbled and landed back on its feet.
“I’m going to take a shower.”
I stormed from the kitchen, refusing to look back. As I walked up the stairs, I rubbed my neck and tried desperately to remember when I had woken in the night and made my way to the study.
CHAPTER 19
Now
Sarah
“Will?”
The young man spun around. His eyes had the wild look of someone getting ready to run.
“Please,” Sarah held up her hands. “I just want to talk to you.”
He remained still for another moment, his hand held midair.
“What do you want?” he asked finally.
“I want to talk to you about Kerry Manor.”
He took a step away.
“I didn’t have anything to do with that murder,” he spat.
“I believe you,” Sarah reassured him. “But I think you can help me. Please?”
Will shoved one hand in his pocket and looked beyond Sarah, studying the parking lot and the park beyond.
“Not here,” he said finally. “This isn’t my place. There’s an arcade on Front Street. I’ll meet you there.”
“An arcade?” Sarah asked, dubious. It didn’t seem like the ideal location to talk about murder.
“My friend owns it. There’s a private room, and it’s easy for me to get out if I need to.”
SARAH’S SHOES stuck to the sticky floor as she wound through the arcade. Lights flashed from the tops of games, and little electronic voices shouted, ‘you lose’ or ‘add one dollar now.’ A group of young men stood around a pool table, lining up quarters on the edge and haggling one particular kid who was wrestling his own pool cue from a long black case.
Sarah had not been in an arcade in years. They seemed a thing of the past, and yet here in downtown Traverse City, tucked away, one still existed. Sarah stopped at a little Plexiglas window.
The girl behind the glass looked all of fourteen -years-old; she stared at Sarah, but said nothing.
“I’m looking for Will,” Sarah told her.
The girl stood, face expressionless, and opened the door beside her.
“He’s back there.”
Sarah walked past, glancing at the girl’s desk, where a battered copy of Rolling Stone lay revealing the non-smiling faces of the band U2. The hallway contained only two doors, one marked restroom and the other a mystery. She opted for the mystery door.
The room matched the arcade, with dim lights and sticky floors. A Pac Man game towered in the corner, and several well-loved couches butted around a large, scarred coffee table. Will sat on one couch, his hands fiddling with a small pocketknife he opened and closed.
Sarah stared at the knife and gave Will a look she hoped would deter him from using it.
He looked surprised, and then glanced at the knife.
“It’s not like that,” he told her, tucking the knife in his pocket. “My dad was an Eagle Scout. He taught me to take my knife everywhere. It’s not for violence.”
Sarah nodded, thinking the same dad he spoke of had murdered his mother.
She grabbed a plastic folding chair and perched on the edge, preferring not to get too comfortable next to the troubled young man.
“So what do you want?” he asked.
“My brother was the person murdered at Kerry Manor. A detective told me you were there that night.”
Will’s face grew red, and he sprang from the couch.