Then she did a funny thing. She stepped into my room and walked across to me. She reached out a hand and set it on my forehead. It had been years since she’d come into my room at bedtime, really. But now she stood there, looking at me. I realized we were almost exactly the same height. Her eyes were looking into my eyes.

“Oh, my girl,” she said in a soft voice. Her hand fell away. “Time for bed.” She leaned over, pulled back the covers, and motioned for me to climb in.

And it was like the little-girl part of me woke up and remembered what to do, like I was on automatic pilot. I crawled into bed and closed my eyes. I felt the cool sheet cover me.

“Mom?” I said as I turned over onto my side. “I’m not a little kid.”

She smiled. “I get that.” She patted my head and leaned down to kiss me at the hairline. “I just . . . wanted to.”

“Okay,” I said.

She walked to the doorway, but then she turned around again. “Hey,” she said. “Do you remember how sometimes I used to tell you a story at night?”

“Sure,” I said.

“And do you remember that sometimes I would have trouble finishing the story, and so you’d take over and finish it for me?”

I nodded.

“Do you remember any of those stories?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t . . . think so,” I said.

“Yeah, me either,” she said. “But I know they were some of my favorites. I wish I could remember them now.” Then she reached up and turned off the light. “Good night, Leah. Try to get to sleep.”

For the first time all day, I felt guilty about sneaking out. How had she done that? It was like she’d sensed I was going to do something bad and came in to show me she was thinking about me. Like some weird mom superpower had kicked in. A guilt-inducing bedtime tuck-in mind trick.

But Jasper was waiting, and I wasn’t going to let her down.

I set my alarm for midnight and plugged in my earbuds. When the chime went off, I woke up straight away, but I lay there for a while, just to be sure the house was quiet. Then I got busy, stuffing my bed with piles of dirty clothes, and stepped back to survey my work. It didn’t look like me at all. It looked like a bed stuffed with dirty clothes. Still, it was better than nothing.

I grabbed my beach bag from the closet, and as quietly as I could, I crept out of the house, closing the front door so slowly behind me that it didn’t make a sound.