Crooked House by Joe McKinney, Wayne Miller Page B

exactly, she’d just experienced, Sarah made her way out of the room and down the hall to Robert’s study. Her legs felt unsteady, and she paused in the doorway, her gaze wandering over the books, the big oaken desk, all the old baseball memorabilia, without really seeing any of it. She couldn’t focus on that stuff. What had just happened, whatever that was, was still too raw. She turned her head back toward the rest of the house for a long, questioning moment, listening to its enormous depths. She shivered and walked into Robert’s study.
    He wasn’t pacing anymore . She could hear him snoring softly behind the bookshelf, sleeping on his cot. She went back there and stood over him, watching him sleep. She hugged herself. It was cold in here, but that wasn’t why she held herself the way she did. Looking at him, Sarah felt strange. Not scared, for the bad shock she’d taken was fading now. No, she felt somehow cowed. What she wanted was to climb into the cot with him and let him pull her close, cradle her in his arms. She wanted him to comfort her.
    “Robert?”
    He stirred, but didn’t wake.
    She touched his arm . “Robert?”
    His eyes flew open and he screamed . He slapped at her hand and backed into the wall, his eyes wild and scared.
    “Robert?” she said . “Robert, it’s me.”
    “What? ” He was breathing hard. “Who?”
    “Easy,” she said, her own fear completely forgotten now . “Robert, you’re dreaming.”
    “No,” he said, shaking his head . His eyes were still wide, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a fearsome grimace. “No, not dreaming. You were – Oh God, Sarah. That is you.”
    “Of course it’s me . Robert, what...?”
    She knelt down in front of him, trying to take his hands in hers, but he pushed her away.
    “Robert?”
    “No.”
    He sat up. His hair was a mess, and he was sweating. As cold as it was up here, and he was sweating. He ran a hand over his face, and, to Sarah, he looked like a man trying to convince himself the nightmare was really over.
    “Were you dreaming?”
    And just like that his expression changed. The vulnerability, the fear, were gone. He looked at her then like she disgusted him.
    “Let me up,” he said . He pushed her hands away. “God damn it, I said let me up!”
    She scrambled to her feet, not sure how to take this outburst or what she’d done to provoke him . “Robert, I – ”
    “Don’t you ever scare me like that . What the hell’s wrong with you? Sneak up on a man like that. Jesus.”
    She just stared at him . She didn’t know what to say.
    He sidestepped her and put his hands to his forehead like he was trying to rub out a migraine.
    “Robert, I’m sorry. I...I didn’t mean to...”
    “Just leave, Sarah. I have work to do.”
    “Oh . Okay. I really am sorry.” She remembered the Visa card in her back pocket and thought, maybe, she could salvage this. “Robert, I was thinking about dinner. I could make – ”
    “God damn it, Sarah. Didn’t you hear me? I’ve got work to do. I don’t want dinner.” He seemed to catch himself and eased back on his tone. “Please, just go. I love you.”
    She nodded.
    “Okay. I...I love you too.”
    Don’t cry, she told herself . Don’t you dare.
    She turned away and went out . At the landing, she paused for a moment and stared searchingly at the doorway to the sitting room. Then she hurried down the stairs.
     
    *
     
    Wounded now, but also still a little sick and uneasy from her experiences upstairs, she was barely aware of walking into the kitchen and putting a frozen pizza in the oven. She pressed buttons on the oven’s display, but couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t working. It was hard to focus, hard to concentrate. Come on, she told herself. Please, hold it together.
    “Mommy?”
    Sarah jumped. She spun around and stared at Angela, who was standing in the doorway with sweaty bangs on her forehead and a basketball under one arm.
    “You okay, Mommy?”
    Sarah let out a