The lasagna dinner was a huge success. I made a salad of fresh spring greens and cherry tomatoes to go with it, and Connor and I scraped our plates clean. “You can make that again anytime you like.” He patted his flat belly.
I began to gather the dishes, but he leapt up and said, “You made the dinner, Lucy. I’ll clean up.”
“In fairness,” I said, “you’ve been at work all day, and I’ve been lazing about.”
“I’m sure wedding planning isn’t lazing.” Over the meal, I’d told Connor the plans we’d made. All he’d said was, “Okay.”
“You’ll need to have a look at the guest list and add people you want to invite,” I said.
“Can’t my mom do that for me?”
“She can for your family and longtime friends, but not new friends, and not people from your political life.”
“I don’t want anyone from my political life at my wedding. Except maybe Dorothy.” Dorothy had been his campaign manager on his two runs for office. “And Harvey, I guess.” I didn’t know anyone named Harvey.
“Thus,” I said, “you have to work on the list.”
“Okay.”
“And buy a nice suit. That’s about all the responsibilities you have.”
“I have to wear a suit?” His eyes twinkled.
I woke with a start, my heart pounding. I flipped onto my back, lay still, and listened. The full force of the storm had hit as Connor and I sat down to dinner. We’d spent a pleasant evening reading in companionable silence while Charles alternated between our laps, listening to the elements rage outside, and turned in early.
The old house rattled and shook, and waves crashed against the shore. I’d fallen asleep to the sounds, finding them strangely soothing. But a new sound, or maybe nothing but a feeling, had broken my rest. Beside me Connor snored lightly, undisturbed.
A scratch at the window. I sucked in a breath. “Charles, is that you?”
He didn’t answer.
I told myself it had been a tree, branches swaying in the wind, scraping against the house.
Then I remembered: no trees stood next to our bedroom windows. An image of the hooded figure who’d been watching me this afternoon flashed into my mind. That person had been outside the house, right? Not standing in the front room looking out?
Get a grip, Lucy! Charles was awake and searching for mice.
I closed my eyes. I opened them again, but I couldn’t see any better. The hall light was off, and it was pitch-dark inside the house. The blinds were partially open, but between the flashes of lightning, no other light came in. I threw aside the covers, thinking I’d check to see if Charles was all right, that was all. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Outside, a gust of wind hit the old house, shaking it to its foundations; the sea roared, thunder crashed, a sheet of lightning cracked across the sky. A dark shape, the shape of a human wrapped in a cloak, was outlined against the window. It stood perfectly still, staring straight at me. I almost imagined I could feel it reaching into my mind. Dark and malevolent.
I screamed.
“What! What!” Connor fumbled toward wakefulness.
“Someone’s outside. Someone’s watching me.”
He scrambled out of bed, throwing off the jumble of blankets, switching on the lamp in one smooth movement. I pointed, and Connor yanked back the partially opened blinds. Lightning flashed once again, illuminating the empty darkness, immediately followed by a roll of thunder.
Connor turned and faced me. He put his hands on my shoulders. “It’s okay, Lucy. No one’s out there.”
“I … I saw someone. I’m sure of it.”
“You were dreaming, honey.”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“I’ll grab a flashlight and go out and have a look.”
“No! You’re right. I was dreaming.”
He turned again and peered out into the solid darkness. The thunder faded to nothing, and soon the only sound was waves crashing against the shore. “No one’s going to be on the beach in weather like this.”
“The storm must have woken me in the middle of a dream,” I said.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” I pulled the blinds closed and returned to bed. I didn’t get much sleep the rest of the night.