You've Been Warned

I’m completely in the open now. If Penley gets out of bed, the only way she won’t see me is if she trips over me first.

That’s when I hear her mumble to Michael, half asleep. It seems she’s not going anywhere.

“Go see what he wants,” she says.

“He’s yelling for his mommy,” he mumbles back.

“Then let him yell.”

Michael groans and pushes back the covers.

Oh no, he’s getting out of bed! Michael is going to see me in about two seconds.

The couch is still a few feet away. I scramble to hide behind it. The floorboards creak beneath the rug.

“What was that?” asks Michael.

Penley yawns. “What was what?”

“That noise. Didn’t you hear? It sounded like it came from inside the room.”

I close my eyes. I’m toast.

“Mommy?”

I peek out around the sofa. Sean’s standing in the doorway now, his voice barely above a whisper.

I’m saved. At least for the moment.

Michael forgets all about the noise in the room. “Hey, what’s the matter, little buddy?” he asks.

“I had a bad dream. Dumba came again. Can I sleep in your bed?” Dumba is the monster who sometimes invades Sean’s dreams. Is Dumba maybe the monster who invades my dreams?

“Sure you can,” says Michael. He is a nice guy.

“No!” snaps Penley.

“Honey, give the kid a break, will you? He’s scared.”

“I don’t care. He needs to learn that he can’t always come running to us.”

Michael bristles. “Yeah, and he also needs to learn algebra, but neither has to happen at age five.”

As terrified as I am to be stuck there, I can’t help thinking, Good one, Michael!

Not that Penley would ever be denied. “Fine,” she huffs. “I’ll give you a choice. If he sleeps in here, you don’t!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious. You, Sean, and Dumba can go sleep somewhere else.”

“Jesus, you’re a piece of work, Penley.”

I hear Michael’s feet land on the floor with a resounding thud. His voice sweetens for Sean. “C’mon, buddy, you and I are sleeping in the guest room.”

And off they go.

Leaving me and Penley.

Chapter 55

FOR ONCE I DON’T wake up drenched in sweat and screaming from the dream. That’s because I never go to sleep that night.

No, I don’t hurt Penley, or even say boo to her in their bedroom. I hide behind the sofa, barely moving a muscle, for another hour until I’m convinced it’s safe to slip out undetected. Out of the apartment, that is.

Leaving the building is another story.

It’s a lot easier to sneak in than it is to sneak out. Hey, Adam, would you mind looking in the bathroom again for my purse?

I don’t think so.

So I hang out in the stairwell off the penthouse until morning. A new day, a new doorman—and if Louis pauses from his imaginary sword fight with Sean to ask why he didn’t see me come in, I’ll just joke about him going blind or having Alzheimer’s.

I try to sleep, Lord knows I’m exhausted enough, but concrete steps make for a lousy pillow. After an hour or so, I give up on the hope of catching any Z’s, choosing instead to plan in my head every detail of Michael’s and my honeymoon.

The Caribbean? Maybe the Bahamas and the One & Only Ocean Club? Venice and the Gritti Palace? The French Riviera?

All I know is that when we get back, Sean can sleep in our bed whenever he wants. In fact, maybe for our honeymoon we’ll take the kids to Disney World. Why not?

At about five-fifteen, I hear the first signs of life on the other side of the stairwell door. It’s Michael leaving for his office. Five-fifteen? That’s even earlier than usual. I suppose that’s what a night in the guest room will do to you.

At about a quarter to eight, it’s my turn. For the second day in a row, I’m early for work. If I keep it up, I might just get a raise!

I let myself into the apartment. Again.

“My, someone looks tired,” says Penley with an obnoxious grin as I greet her in the kitchen. “You must have had a late night.” Wink-wink, nudge-nudge.

It takes me a second to catch her drift. My blind date with Stephen seems like a week ago, or like it didn’t even happen.

“I want all the details,” she insists.

I’m too tired and in no mood, especially because there isn’t much to tell. “He was very nice,” I say.

Penley frowns, then she shakes her head. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Kristin.”

I thought as much. So I ply her with some mindless details about the dinner, and while I don’t come right out and say it, I make it clear that her gym friend is not “my type.” For sure, I don’t want her pushing for a second date.

Then she surprises me. “Yeah, Stephen pretty much felt the same way.”

“You spoke to him already?”

“Hope you don’t mind,” she says with a shrug. “He’s a friend, after all, and I was curious.”

I can see that.

She turns and pours herself another steaming cup of c-offee, which looks delicious, by the way. One day she might actually ask if I want one.