I have to be dreaming. I must be dreaming, right? Or hallucinating.I do that sometimes when I go too long without sleeping.I start to see bugs on the walls. That has to be what this is.
Except those hallucinations usually only last a second, and this is not going away.
That monster is still standing in the driveway, like a dog but so much bigger.His face whips toward the window, eyes glowing, and I gasp and press my back to the wall so he can't see me.
What the fuck just happened?
I wait, listen, to see if that thing, whatever it was, will try to break down the door,will claw at it to get to me, will come in and rip me to pieces.
But nothing happens.
The storm rages on, and I stand there, trembling, for five minutes, ten.I don't even know how long.
But when I look again, when I finally find the courage to inch over to the window andglance out, the creature is gone.
Chapter 5
The next morning,I'm making breakfast because I don't know what else to do, and I suppose we need to eat, whenEmmett comes into the cabin.
He's wearing the same flannel he wore last night when he ran away, but it's certainlyworse for wear.Torn in places, muddy in others. I turn and press a hip against the counter as he comesin the front door.
He doesn't say a word, just lowers his head in a nod and disappears down the hallway.I have no idea what I'm going to say to him, but at the moment, it doesn't matter. I'm focusedon making French toast.It was the only thing he had all the ingredients for. Well, that, and steak and potatoes.
When he comes back, he's dressed in clean clothes.“Did you sleep alright?” he asks.He's still buttoning the top button of his new flannel, blue instead of red, andhe glances over at the fire. I kept it going all night, added to it, but he's almost out of firewood and everythinghe has outside will be soaked through for days.
“I was fine,” I say.“I found a blanket.” I nod toward the wool blanket I fell asleep under last night on the couch, foldedright where I left it.
“You could have slept in the bed—” he starts.
I drop my spatula and spin to face him. “I saw you, Emmett.”
His dark, thick eyebrows draw in.“You saw me?”
“Last night, in the storm, I saw you. Through the window.” I point to the front window as if he isn't sure where to find it.
He doesn't give anything away, just lets his eyes roam over to the window like thatstrange creature he turned into might still be standing out there. “I’m not sure what you?—”
I cut him off. “Please stop lying to me.I know what I saw.What was that?Whatareyou?”
For a long moment, we just stand there, staring at each other, breathing heavy. And then hisshoulders sag, and he drops onto the bench seat at the kitchen table.
“I didn't mean for you to see,” he says.“I couldn't keep myself away.I thought you'd be asleep.”
“I was, but?—”
Some of the French toast behind me starts to sizzle unpleasantly, and I scoop it allonto a plate and unplug the griddle.I put the plate in the middle of the kitchen table, but it seems completely preposterousthat we would try to eat now while having this conversation.
Nevertheless, I snatch up the bottle of maple syrup from the counter and set it beside him.
“I want to know what's going on.Is this why—” I can't bring myself to finish that sentence. Not out loud.
Is this why he left?Is this why he's been gone for two years?Is this why he ruined our marriage?The marriage that I thought was perfect?
He scrubs a hand down his face.“Sit down.”
I do what he says.I'm afraid that if I make a fuss, if I do anything wrong, that he'll clam up again.That he'll keep his secrets. The secrets that he owes me.
“Yes,” he says.“This is why I left. I didn't know how to explain it.”
