I soared from dizzying heights to stomach-­clenching depths in great sweeping glides. Wind washed my face and some flimsy chiffon garment tickled my skin into goose bumps. I flew over mountains and hills, looked down upon cemeteries and churches, little towns with their tangles of wires atop toy poles. I looked up and saw the night on the other side of the daylight; it was always there, patient, comforting, lending support and guidance. It was my security, my safety. I knew I could not fall.

The daylight began to ring. This was a wrong sound, harsh, flat against my flight’s sweeping, soaring musical accompaniment. The air became thick and hard to glide through as the shrill bells poisoned the music. My body shuddered and twitched in uncom­fortable resonance. I wished for the darkness, for the light to go away, and I swooped down, searching the countryside for sign of a cave, a hideout, even a valley with shade.

But the daylight was fading, I was fading, and then I was on the ground, pulling tufts of . . . sheets to my chin, and I opened my eyes and Lewis’s telephone on the bedstand rang again.

I sat up, stomach queasy, uncomfortable, cleared my throat several times, then picked up the receiver. I noticed dusk descending around the house. Again, I had slept through the day.

“Angelina?” It was Lewis.

“Hello,” I said.

“Where have you been all day? I’ve called and called. Out having fun?”

“No, I’ve been here. The phone hasn’t rung.”

“Oh. Well, maybe there’s been some trouble on the line. Listen, I’m coming home tomorrow. God, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll be leaving here mid-­morning, so I should be there late afternoon.”

“How’s your father?”

“He’s doing fine. He’s got some good friends here, so he’ll be all right. I just can’t wait to see you. God, I’ve missed you so much.”

I was silent.

“Angelina?”

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“Of course.”

“Have you missed me?”

“Yes, Lewis, I have.”

“Well, get a good night’s sleep tonight, sweet­heart. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, love.”

“Good-­bye.”

I hung up the phone. Lewis would be home tomorrow. I tried to luxuriate in a cat-­like stretch, but anxiety nibbled at the edges of my consciousness. I had enjoyed Boyd, enjoyed the bus station, enjoyed my freedom, and now Lewis was coming home to put an end to it.

I plumped the pillow and pulled the sheet up over me again, feeling vaguely wrong for sleeping all day long. Mother would never approve.

The clock said five-­thirty, winter dusk was deep­ening. Odd that the phone had not worked all day. Must have been a problem at the main station, a neighborhood-­wide outage that had just been fixed.

Surely I could not have slept through the ringing.