Now there were definitely sirens.
Half dragging, half pushing, she got him to her car and into the passenger seat. She stumbled around to the driver’s seat and floored it. A minute later she saw the fire trucks in her rearview mirror, heading to the blaze.
Her phone rang, he mother calling to say that she’d forgotten to leave a note but her father was insisting they keep their dinner plans with the Hamongs. “We made them before we knew you’d be back, but of course if you want we can cancel—”
Sadie laughed. “That’s fine.”
“Have you eaten?” Her mother’s voice solicitous on speakerphone.
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”
When she hung up Ford muttered, “Should have… said… having BBQ.”
Sadie stared at him for a moment, shocked, and then began to laugh. Once she started she had a hard time stopping, as though the only other alternative was crying. She glanced over at Ford, and he had his eyes closed, but he was smiling.
“Tinkly bells,” he said. “I’ve heard… before.”
“What?” she asked.
“Your laugh.” He tapped his head. “In here.”
Sadie felt like her body was an ice-cold rushing stream. “You heard me laugh?”
But he was asleep again.
Without consciously knowing how, she drove to his house. He was still unsteady, so she helped him up the stairs and piloted him onto the couch. That part, at least, was much easier than it had been the last time.
The pockets of his jacket hung heavily, and reaching into them she pulled out a gun and a pair of gloves. She felt alternating currents of hot and cold through her body. Were they his? Or had they been planted by the guys trying to stage his fiery death?
It didn’t matter, she decided. She would take them with her. If he needed to be charged with murder, all she had to do was testify. But why was someone working so hard to tie him to Willy’s death. And who?
It was strange, being in the apartment like this. She knew where everything was, what drawer had silverware, where the scissors were kept, as though it were her house. It was completely familiar but it also looked different than it had when she was in Ford’s head. It was a little bigger, and maybe even a little nicer. As though his shame even colored what he saw.
That had to be true for everything, she realized. There was no real way to be objective because emotions always tinted perspective. She was in the kitchen as she thought this, and the force of it made her sit down.
For the first time she saw exactly how far she’d come from the girl who believed “I think, therefore I am.” There was no thinking without emotion, she knew now. And the more you tried to keep emotion at bay, the greater and more widespread the impact. It bled into every aspect of the mind in unpredictable ways.
Scribbling her name and number on a piece of paper, she shut off the kitchen light and went back into the living room. Ford’s breathing was even and less labored now. She could make out his profile against the cushion, and her heart ached. She’d never seen him asleep before, from the outside, and it surprised her how young he looked. All the tension and anger was gone from his face, and he seemed just like a little boy.
She couldn’t help it. She reached down and kissed his forehead.
His arms came around her, dragging her toward him, and for a moment she thought he was going to yell at her again. But he was sleeping and he just held her next to him, brushing her hair from under his nose and feathering his lips against her temple.
“Mmm,” he said, holding her tighter, and Sadie melted against him. She knew he had no idea what he was doing, who he was holding. She was fairly sure if he’d realized it was her he would have let go. But she (almost) didn’t care. Because being in his arms felt more extraordinary than she had imagined.
“Relax,” he whispered sleepily. “Heart racing.”
Don’t let him open his eyes, Sadie thought. Let me be whoever he’s dreaming about just a little longer.
Closing her eyes to concentrate on slowing down her heart, she nestled against him, her cheek resting on his chest, her legs twined with his, toes touching. It was the most perfect feeling in the world, and when he whispered, “Amazing,” she thought her heart was going to shatter.
Thin early sunlight was filtering through the curtains when she opened her eyes. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but it was too long.
Tucking the paper with her name and number on it in the pocket of his jeans, she untangled herself from his arms and slid away. She wanted to turn and give him another kiss, but she couldn’t risk it. She tiptoed to the door and let herself out.
On the landing she looked at her phone. Six fifteen. She could just make it home before her parents woke up, if she didn’t get lost.
She ran down the two sets of stairs, onto the street, and was unlocking the door of her car when the hair on the back of her neck prickled, like she was being watched. She swung around quickly, but the street was deserted.
A movement in the window of the Winters’ house caught her eye. She looked up, and her gaze met Lulu’s.
The next moment the curtain had fallen back, and the girl was gone. She won’t tell, Sadie thought. Hoped. Please let her not tell anyone.
Sadie just had time to pull the covers up over her clothes, the scent of smoke and Ford still on her skin, when her mother peeked in to check on her.
CHAPTER 32
Sadie was at the tail end of dreaming that she was at a dance where everyone was wearing BIGFOOT SAVES T-shirts and yelling for the DJ to turn up the heat when her phone rang. Of course, she thought, still in the dream as she reached for it. The answer is safekeeping.
“I think you saved my life last night,” Ford’s voice said.
Sadie was immediately wide awake. Breathe, she told herself. Swallow.
“Hello?” he said.
Talk. “I guess I did. Yes.”
He exhaled. “I dream about you. You probably know that.”
Sadie was gripping the phone so hard her fingers ached. “No. I could never see your dreams. Daydreams, yes, but not dream dreams.” Did she say too much? Did that sound stupid? Oh, god, what if it—
“That’s why I was so shocked when you walked into Mason’s room,” he said. “It was like having—”
“Your dream girl?” Sadie supplied.
“I was going to say ‘ghost,’ but yeah, something from your imagination walk into your life.”
Ghost. Of course. “I imagine it’s weird.”
“That’s one word. But—can I see you? I’d like to see you.” He suddenly sounded as nervous as she felt. “I have some questions.”
Sadie remembered her own dream. Figuring that whoever had tried to burn Ford to a crisp the night before would assume they’d been successful, at least for a little while, she said, “Meet me at Bucky’s in an hour. Where the bedroom used to be. And bring the Bigfoot bill.”
“How do you—right, never mind. Bucky’s in the bedroom with Bigfoot in an hour.”
Sadie couldn’t recall ever feeling this anxious before. Being back in her body made her acutely aware of how much she had dreaded situations outside her control, hated the vulnerability of not knowing how something would go, the risk that she’d mess up. That’s why she studied so much, worked so hard at debate—to afford herself as much control as possible.