Chapter 24: The Couch Again

At ten o'clock that night I stood in the front room in a nightshirt.

The long brown couch was in front of me, with the afghan folded over its arm.

Cal leaned on one doorframe and Devin leaned on the other.

They were both pretending to be casual.

They were doing it badly.

"Rules," I said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm going to fall asleep. For real. I'm not faking it, and I'm not going to spend an hour making my breathing small."

"Understood," Devin said.

"If I snore, you don't tiptoe."

Cal's mouth twitched.

"And if you want to wake me, you can."

The room went quiet.

"I'm saying it now, awake, out loud, so you never have to wonder. Wake me up the way you want to."

I lifted my chin.

"But I get to say yes again when my eyes are open."

"Always," Devin said.

"Always," said Cal, and his voice wasn't steady.

I lay down on the couch.

I pulled the afghan up to my chin.

I settled my head on the same cushion where I'd lain on the night of the funeral.

It smelled the same.

Dust and old wool and a little of my mother's lavender.

I didn't hold my breath.

I didn't count.

I closed my eyes and let my whole body go.

The last thing I heard was the click of the lamp and Cal's low voice saying, "Sleep, Kate."

I slept.

I didn't dream.

I know what happened next because they told me, and then they showed me, and then I stopped needing to be told.

The first thing I knew was a sound.

It was a long, rolling, sawing rumble from somewhere close.

It was low at the start, then it climbed, then it dropped off in a wet little whistle and started again.

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