Sleep No More (42 page)

"Okay." Her mouth agreed, but her eyes had already shut him down.

"I haven't brought this up before now. You've had so much to deal with, but I've been thinking this ever since your hypnosis. There's a good chance you didn't start the fire that burned your family's house."

"Of course I did," she said, pulling her hand from his. "And I'm surprised you'd stoop to something like this to try and stay in my bed all night." In fact she was stunned; it was totally unlike him.

He gave her a scathing look. "I realize this is bad timing, but it has nothing to do with that. I think it's worth asking some questions. I'd bet once the flames were out, none of your family discussed the details of that night again. Especially with you and your sister."

Her brows drew together and she frowned. He'd hit the nail on the head. Parents always wanted to shield their children from trauma; unfortunately sometimes they missed the truth because of it.

"When you awakened in the living room, you said the dining room was already engulfed in flames."

She nodded. "The oil from the lamp--it must have made the fire escalate faster."

"Maybe. And maybe it had been burning for a while before you even came downstairs."

She sat quietly, thinking--the fact that she wasn't actively arguing gave him hope.

"And right after you awakened, you heard Courtney screaming in pain--on the other side of the burning dining room. Why, if she was up because she smelled smoke, why hadn't she awakened your parents? Why was she downstairs?"

Her eyes widened as she shifted her gaze toward him. "You're trying to blame my sister for the fire?" Defensiveness laced her words.

"I'm just saying that maybe it's time for your family to have an honest talk about that night. Because you were a sleepwalker, everyone
assumed
you started the fire. What does she remember of the fire?"

"Nothing, thank God." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"So you can't say with absolute certainty that you started the fire."

"I
can
say with absolute certainty that I do sleepwalk, so it really doesn't change anything, now does it? It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. Just like it matters that you didn't cause the accident that took Kyle Robard's life. It's the difference between a relatively harmless sleep disorder and feeling that you're responsible for another person's bodily injury."

"I could have hurt someone while I was sleep-driving."

"And you
could
hurt someone while driving awake. That doesn't keep you from getting in a car."

Abby rubbed her forehead. "Listen, you need to go. I'm really too tired to argue about this."

"I don't want to argue. I just want you to think about it." He got up and went into the bathroom to get his clothes. He slipped on his jeans and came back to the bed, where she sat staring into space.

"I'll leave." He ran a hand over her beautiful hair. "But don't think you've seen the last of me. I'm making the informed decision to take the risk of being with you... minimal though it is."

"We'll see next week, after you see my sister's scars. Then you'll have the proper perspective of the risk."

He slipped his T-shirt over his head.

Courtney was coming for her father's appointment with the Alzheimer's specialist. Jason might just have a few questions for Abby's sister himself before she left here.

He leaned down and kissed the top of Abby's head.

Then he left, hoping with all of his heart that she would have that difficult conversation with her family. How could they all go through their lives just assuming--and letting Abby carry the burden?

S
ince her arrival yesterday, Courtney had been the most civil Abby could ever recall. She'd come out of the airport wearing huge sunglasses, a long-sleeved turtleneck, and with her hair styled close to her face; her usual in-public attire. The instant she'd seen Abby, she dropped her carry-on and grabbed her into a fierce hug.

She'd kept saying over and over, "Thank God you're alive. Thank God that maniac didn't kill you."

At first Abby had wondered if Court had been drinking during the flight, but she'd seemed cold sober.

Not so now. The two of them sat in the darkness of their father's backyard, deep into their second bottle of wine. It was chilly and they were both wrapped in bulky sweaters they'd dug out of a closet inside. Abby had a serious buzz going and Courtney had admitted she rarely drank and was well beyond tipsy. Abby had always dreamed of moments like this with her sister, but never truly felt they'd experience one.

Perhaps their father's illness would bind them in a way nothing had before. It was sad to think so.

The doctor's appointment had gone well. He felt that their dad was still in the very early stages. The doctor had high hopes that the medication would significantly slow progression of the disease. There was no cure. At least for the immediate future, they wouldn't be completely losing the father they knew.

Courtney refilled both her and Abby's glasses. "I almost wish I wasn't leaving tomorrow."

"Really?" Courtney normally detested every moment she was forced to spend in Preston.

"I said
almost
."

They were quiet for a while. Then Courtney asked, "When you thought you were dying, what went through your mind?"

Abby took another sip of wine. That moment was something she'd continually turned her thoughts away from ever since she'd made it out of the river.

She sighed and spoke the truth. "I wondered if anyone would miss me."

Her sister rolled her head against the back of her chair and looked over at Abby. Even in the dimness, Abby could see the ropy scars on the left side of Courtney's face that pulled the corner of her left eye slightly downward.

"That's stupid." Court sounded like her old self. "You have a life. You have... people."

"Hey, you asked. That's what I thought," Abby said. "I'll never wake up with another person's head on the pillow next to me. I'll never have children. When I'm gone the hole will be so small, it won't take long for it to close up like it was never there at all."

Jason's comments the other night had been repeating themselves in her head for days. At first she'd been so defensive about his assumption that her family would let her believe she'd set that fire without absolute proof had kept her from thinking rationally. She'd spent a lot of hours recalling everything she could about the fire and what followed. Jason had been right. Once the initial assumption had been made that she'd been the one to light and overturn the lamp while sleepwalking, it had become a non-topic.

Abby knew her parents had closed that door in order to protect her and her sister as much as possible. Even Courtney had resorted to backdoor comments and innuendo. Any direct mention of the fire ceased to be.

Before Courtney had arrived from New Mexico, Abby had broached the subject with her father. He'd squirmed in his chair as she'd poked and prodded his memory. In the end, she'd learned nothing new--and her father had been in tears.

Could she put her sister through the same discomfort, just for her own selfish peace of mind?

Courtney had gone through years of therapy; maybe somewhere along the way, she'd recovered memories just like Abby had under hypnosis.

Abby took a long drink of wine and then asked, "What do you remember about the night of the fire?"

She heard Courtney's sharp intake of breath.

Abby kept her eyes on the stars, as if looking at her sister would be that much more invasive, that much more hurtful.

Courtney was silent for several minutes. Then, in a cold voice, she said, "You know I don't like to talk about the fire."

"Yeah, well, neither do I, but I think it's time we stopped acting like our tongues will fall out if we mention it. It's time to stop ignoring and deal." She turned to face her sister. Courtney's arm rested on the arm of the Adirondack chair, her hand holding her wineglass by the stem.

"Why are you asking this now?" Courtney asked, her voice a quiver in the darkness.

Abby reached across the few inches between them and put her hand on her sister's arm. She imagined she could feel the scars beneath the yarn of Courtney's sweater. "I remembered some things under hypnosis recently. I was wondering if in any of your therapy sessions you remembered what happened. It's time to let this memory bind us, not tear us apart."

Courtney kept her eyes averted and remained stone silent.

Abby gave a sigh of disappointment and took her hand off her sister's arm. She'd taken another sip of wine before she heard a sob catch in Court's throat.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Abby said. "I just... wondered."

It took a couple of false starts before Courtney managed to choke out, "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry about what?"

Courtney sniffled. Her voice wasn't much more than a squeak when she said, "That you live all alone."

"It's not your fault," Abby said.

After a moment, Courtney said, "Yes, it is."

"My sleepwalking has nothing to do with you. You're two thousand miles away and I'm still doing it."

"You d-don't un-un-understand. I should have told you a long time ago...." Courtney's gaze moved to the night sky; Abby saw tear tracks on her cheeks in the moonlight.

Abby's skin prickled all over, waiting to hear what her sister had to say.

"You didn't start that fire." Courtney turned to look at Abby. "I did."

Abby felt the world spin around her. It took a minute for her to find her voice. "
You
started it?" She shot to her feet. "You started it--and all of these years you let me and everyone else believe I did it!"

Courtney got slowly to her feet. Her wineglass slid off the arm of the chair and shattered as it hit the paving stones of the patio. "I didn't know at first, honest I didn't. I didn't remember anything about the fire until a few years later."

"A few years... like how many?" Abby struggled to keep from lashing out. She didn't want Court clamming up. She wanted to hear it all.

Courtney turned her back to Abby and crossed her arms over her chest. The night was still; it was easy to hear her hushed voice when she said, "I was nearly eleven before things began to come back to me. At first I thought they were just dreams. It was a long while before I remembered enough to put it all together. So it wasn't like one day I just remembered and didn't tell."

"But--"

Courtney spun around and cut her off. "You always got to do everything. You were always perfect. I was always the baby. I hated it."

"Oh, Court...." Abby reached out, but her sister stepped backward and waved her off.

"I snuck downstairs after everyone was asleep and lit the Sunday lamp. When I was reaching to turn down the wick, I knocked it over. The oil spilled and the fire spread so fast. I tried to put it out, but it kept getting worse. I was so scared, I ran and hid in the butler's pantry. The fire seemed to follow me, like it was looking for my hiding place. My pajamas caught fire and I ran out through the kitchen."

"Why didn't you tell us! My God, you let me go on believing I did this to you." Abby gestured to the left side of Courtney's face.

"I didn't know at first. I was only six!"

Abby shook her head. If only Courtney had awakened their parents instead of hiding, both of their lives would have been so much different.

Courtney added, "By the time I remembered it was long over. I was afraid everyone would think I'd lied in the beginning. They'd think I knew all along and just wanted someone else to take the blame."

"So you've spent every day since then making sure my guilty feelings kept everyone from talking about it... making sure I
stayed
feeling guilty."

"It wasn't like that. It was just too late--"

"God! Too late for what?"

"Too late for me!" Courtney shouted. "Nothing was going to fix me. Maybe I wanted you to hurt, too. But when Dad called and told me about you nearly drowning... I thought... I thought I might never be able to make things right."

Anger tightened like suffocating bands around Abby's chest. "And you think this makes things
right
?"

"I know I've been selfish--"

"Oh, you are way beyond selfish." Abby turned and walked away, fury blurring everything except the ground immediately in front of her steps.

An hour later, Abby stood on Jason's front porch, ringing the doorbell. It was late, but his lights were still on.

He turned on the porch light and then opened the door. Surprise registered on his face. "Abby? What's wrong?"

She stepped into his arms and buried her face on his shoulder. She hadn't planned on crying. Then again, she hadn't planned on coming here. She'd just started walking and her feet brought her to his door of their own accord.

It wasn't fair to him. Her appearance here was selfish. And yet, it was only right to tell him he'd been right about the fire. Problem was, now that she'd laid eyes on him, she couldn't manage a coherent word.