moved.
“How could you do that to me?” she whispered. Tears gathered at the rims of her eyes, pooled, then spilled down onto the slack of her hollow cheeks. She was wearing her ugly flowered nightgown—the one with the collar that buttoned up to her neck—and, over that, a battered yellow terrycloth bathrobe. She looked ancient and tired.
Guernsey sat down, ears back, and stared up atMrs. Archer, watching her carefully. “Oh, God, Will.” She grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. “Don’t do that.”
The clock on the wall ticked on, and a shadow appeared in the kitchen doorway. It was Will’s father. He looked from Will to Gretchen, who was still clinging to Will’s arm like a frightened little girl. “Where you kids been?” he asked.
Mrs. Archer seemed to notice Gretchen for the first time. A blush bloomed across her face and she dried her eyes quickly.
Will was still too angry to say anything, but Gretchen spoke up. “I was sleepwalking again. Will saw me. He—” She looked up at Will, gave his hand another squeeze. “I was headed for the bluff. I got all the way to the edge.”
Mrs. Archer gasped and reached for Gretchen’s hand. “Good God, girl.”
“Will saw me from his window. He came after me,” Gretchen said. She shivered.
Mrs. Archer’s eyes lit on her son, and she seemed to take in the bloody scratch on his face.
Mr. Archer nodded. “I thought it might be something like that. Don’t just stand there, Evelyn, get the girl some tea.”
“No, that’s all right,” Gretchen said, but Mrs. Archer had already hurried over to the stove and was filling up the kettle.
Mr. Archer pulled out a chair, and Gretchen sank into it gratefully. Guernsey hobbled over and plopped at Gretchen’s feet. Will continued to stand. He foldedhis arms across his chest, suddenly aware that he was half naked. His chest and arms were lightly muscled and tan from farm work. It was strange how he never felt awkward with his shirt off while he was outside in the summertime, but here, in the closeness of the kitchen with his parents and Gretchen, he felt exposed.
“Has this been happening a lot?” Will asked.
“More lately,” Gretchen admitted.
“You need to take some warm milk before bed,” Mrs. Archer said as she dropped a teabag into a white mug and filled it with steaming water. “Or chamomile. The best tea for calming the mind.” She placed the mug on the table in front of Gretchen.
“I’ve tried,” Gretchen told her. “I’ve tried everything—yoga, meditation, tea, whatever. Nothing works. Not even sleeping pills.” She shook her head, then blew lightly on the tea. But she didn’t pick it up.
“Maybe you should lock yourself in your room,” Will suggested.
Gretchen looked up at him, hurt registering on her face, and Will winced. His words had sounded sarcastic, although he hadn’t meant them to.
“I’m sorry,” Gretchen said weakly.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Will, you’re a godawful mess,” Mr. Archer put in. “Why don’t you go wash that crust off your face and put on something that isn’t covered in dirt?”
Will nodded, happy to have an excuse to disappear for a moment. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”
* * *
Mr. Archer retreated to the living room as Will’s footsteps shuffled up the stairs. For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was Guernsey’s gentle snoring. Then a creak and a sigh as Mrs. Archer slid into the chair across from Gretchen. She sipped her tea with a slurp, swallowing loudly.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” Mrs. Archer said into her tea.
“Thanks to Will,” Gretchen said.
Mrs. Archer looked up. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Well.” She frowned, shrugged. “I just don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. I think of you like a daughter, you know.”
Gretchen felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
Where is that coming from?
Will’s mother wasn’t usually so open
“How could you do that to me?” she whispered. Tears gathered at the rims of her eyes, pooled, then spilled down onto the slack of her hollow cheeks. She was wearing her ugly flowered nightgown—the one with the collar that buttoned up to her neck—and, over that, a battered yellow terrycloth bathrobe. She looked ancient and tired.
Guernsey sat down, ears back, and stared up atMrs. Archer, watching her carefully. “Oh, God, Will.” She grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. “Don’t do that.”
The clock on the wall ticked on, and a shadow appeared in the kitchen doorway. It was Will’s father. He looked from Will to Gretchen, who was still clinging to Will’s arm like a frightened little girl. “Where you kids been?” he asked.
Mrs. Archer seemed to notice Gretchen for the first time. A blush bloomed across her face and she dried her eyes quickly.
Will was still too angry to say anything, but Gretchen spoke up. “I was sleepwalking again. Will saw me. He—” She looked up at Will, gave his hand another squeeze. “I was headed for the bluff. I got all the way to the edge.”
Mrs. Archer gasped and reached for Gretchen’s hand. “Good God, girl.”
“Will saw me from his window. He came after me,” Gretchen said. She shivered.
Mrs. Archer’s eyes lit on her son, and she seemed to take in the bloody scratch on his face.
Mr. Archer nodded. “I thought it might be something like that. Don’t just stand there, Evelyn, get the girl some tea.”
“No, that’s all right,” Gretchen said, but Mrs. Archer had already hurried over to the stove and was filling up the kettle.
Mr. Archer pulled out a chair, and Gretchen sank into it gratefully. Guernsey hobbled over and plopped at Gretchen’s feet. Will continued to stand. He foldedhis arms across his chest, suddenly aware that he was half naked. His chest and arms were lightly muscled and tan from farm work. It was strange how he never felt awkward with his shirt off while he was outside in the summertime, but here, in the closeness of the kitchen with his parents and Gretchen, he felt exposed.
“Has this been happening a lot?” Will asked.
“More lately,” Gretchen admitted.
“You need to take some warm milk before bed,” Mrs. Archer said as she dropped a teabag into a white mug and filled it with steaming water. “Or chamomile. The best tea for calming the mind.” She placed the mug on the table in front of Gretchen.
“I’ve tried,” Gretchen told her. “I’ve tried everything—yoga, meditation, tea, whatever. Nothing works. Not even sleeping pills.” She shook her head, then blew lightly on the tea. But she didn’t pick it up.
“Maybe you should lock yourself in your room,” Will suggested.
Gretchen looked up at him, hurt registering on her face, and Will winced. His words had sounded sarcastic, although he hadn’t meant them to.
“I’m sorry,” Gretchen said weakly.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Will, you’re a godawful mess,” Mr. Archer put in. “Why don’t you go wash that crust off your face and put on something that isn’t covered in dirt?”
Will nodded, happy to have an excuse to disappear for a moment. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”
* * *
Mr. Archer retreated to the living room as Will’s footsteps shuffled up the stairs. For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was Guernsey’s gentle snoring. Then a creak and a sigh as Mrs. Archer slid into the chair across from Gretchen. She sipped her tea with a slurp, swallowing loudly.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” Mrs. Archer said into her tea.
“Thanks to Will,” Gretchen said.
Mrs. Archer looked up. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Well.” She frowned, shrugged. “I just don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. I think of you like a daughter, you know.”
Gretchen felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
Where is that coming from?
Will’s mother wasn’t usually so open
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