“A word?”
“We call it an emotional word,” I state.
“Dreams,” she whispers.
“Right,” Eddie says.“Dreams is law.”
The shiver running through her ebbs, then surges.I can hear the tremor in her breath and feel the panic wanting a stage.I don’t give it one.I give us a count.
“In for four?”I offer.“Or two.Or whatever number doesn’t piss you off.”
Her mouth twists.“Three,” she manages.
We do it together.Three in.Hold two.Three out.Eddie matches us silently, chest rising under the cotton of his tight shirt, eyes on her mouth.
“Tell me one thing in this room that’s true,” I say softly.
She scans.“Lamp,” she says finally.“The lamp is on.”
“Good.”
“Cedar,” she adds after a moment, almost defiant.“It smells like cedar.”
“Yeah,” I say.“It does.”
“Tea,” Eddie offers.“There could be tea if you want it.”
“Don’t go please,” her voice is so soft almost lost.
“I won’t,” he says.“Just naming it and offering it.”
Her breath starts finding the edges of the numbers.Three, two, three.The terror doesn’t vanish.It steps back far enough to let her sit without shaking herself apart.
“What time is it?”she asks, voice rough.
“Two-forty,” Eddie answers.“You were supposed to get both of us in trouble by sleeping.”
“That was my job,” I say, raising a hand.“I failed.I’ll accept my punishment in the form of cold coffee in the morning.”
A sound escapes her, almost a laugh, almost a sob, and exactly alive.The room stops bracing.
“Water,” she says suddenly.“Please.”
Eddie points to the tray, asking a question.She nods.He moves slowly, taking one step, then another, pouring without the clink of glass on porcelain.He sets the tumbler on the nightstand within reach but not so close that it crowds her.She takes it with her hand, which isn’t choking the pick, and drinks like swallowing, which is work she remembers how to do.
“Want the window another inch?”I ask.“Or is that too much?”
“Another inch,” she says.“No more.”
I crawl to the sill on my knees, telegraphing every move, and lift the latch.The outside leans in.The ocean’s grind threads itself through the heater’s click.I sit back on the rug again, farther from the bed than I want.I want to be the one who keeps the monsters from touching her toes.I settle for helping as best as I can.
“You should go to bed,” she says after a while, eyes on the window.“Both of you.I just ...surprised myself.”
“You didn’t,” Eddie says.“You woke up from a bad place and got yourself back.We hope we were able to help you doing so.”
She glances at him like the compliment might be a trick, then away.“I think I hate the dark.”
“We can make it less dark,” I tell her.“Lamp on, door open.”
