TUESDAY

TWO DAYS UNTIL GRADUATION

8

2:30 a.m.

Shoot. I squint my eyes and check the clock. I’ve fallen asleep at the kitchen table. My neck is stiff, my mouth is sour and dried drool cracks at the corner of my lip. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but I know it’s long past time for bed. My computer’s screen saver swirls colors and shapes at me, nonthreatening and comforting. I vaguely recall researching the meaning of dreams, something I’ve done often since Mary’s death. While I have been able to take control of most parts of my life during the day, it’s the recurring nightmares that terrify me. I can’t seem to make them stop.

I touch the keypad and my computer reveals Analysis of Falling Dreams. It looks to be a clinical paper, something Dr. Rosenthal would read and enjoy. I must have nodded off while reading it.

The article reads: Many patients dream of falling from a mountain cliff. Of the many locations to fall from, mountain cliffs seem to be a favorite. Patients usually wake up before they land. I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t read this. I should just go to sleep again, a hopefully dreamless sleep, in my own bed. But I’m a moth to the flame with my computer. I can’t help it. I read the last part of the paragraph: “Living on the edge” is not just symbolic. The dream actually could be warning the patient of a real and imminent threat.

Hmm. I wonder if David and Betsy dream of falling? Like most things these days, dreams—or nightmares—are not something we discuss. If they don’t dream of free-falling, they should. So should Elizabeth James.

I push away from the table, stand up and check my surroundings. Kitchens are dangerous places. For example, a woman died after she slipped in her kitchen and landed on knives sticking upright in the utensil holder of a dishwasher. Always point your knife blades down. I’m not making this stuff up.

Nobody ever expects to die in her own home in a tragic accident, but a kitchen grease fire can happen in the blink of an eye. Look around your house. Killers lurk everywhere. A slip in the tub, a fall into the sharp corner of your coffee table, a pot of boiling water spills on you, well, tragedy. I could go on. But it’s bedtime.

At the kitchen window I look down, wondering if Betsy’s light is on. But everything is dark. We’ll have our visit in the morning. I make my way toward my bedroom, turning off lights as I go. My heart thumps in my chest but I breathe deeply and calm myself. I’m aware of the danger in my life.