sixty-seven

On Easter Sunday, Merrit woke to the sound of hail pounding the roof. She climbed out of bed and opened the curtains. A grey pelt of hard rain flattened the celandine and daffodils, and weighed down the top of the marquee. Merrit imagined the tent caving in on itself from the weight of the hail, imagined being let off the hook. She didn’t let herself fantasize too far down that track, however, because Liam was looking forward to her debut as matchmaker.

The event felt more like a tryout, and she didn’t hold out much hope that she’d put on a great performance. She recognized the itchy tension in the pit of her stomach: stage fright.

Merrit let the curtains swing shut and tried to decipher what she felt beyond stage fright. She came up with nothing but an uneasy question mark, something she’d forgotten to examine what with the festival and Nathan and Liam’s health distracting her thoughts.

She pulled on jeans and a sweater and headed toward the kitchen, where the smell of coffee greeted her when she swung through the door. Liam sat at the kitchen island. She sighed with relief. Just the two of them for a change.

“Not a bother,” he said. “The weather, I mean. Hail’s not enough to keep a good party down.”

Through a blur of hard rain, Merrit discerned a mini SUV parked in front of Fox Cottage. Its dingy blue color blended into the atmosphere. “Nathan is here?”

“Inside the cottage since about two this morning,” Liam said. “Let himself in with the key you gave him, I imagine.”

Merrit pulled on her wellies and slipped out the back door. The hail stung her face and, within a few steps, beaded her sweater. She ran to the cottage and eased open the front door to the smell of fresh paint and fungal griminess. She beelined to the bedroom with the closed door. The wood felt cool against her ear when she leaned against it. From inside the room, she heard mutterings.

She caught her breath, only now aware of how hard her heart pounded, imagining Nathan spread-eagled on the floor like Elder Joe. Thank Christ for the sounds of a bad sleep.

She raised her fist to knock and paused. She wasn’t sure what to do. Within the room, the old bed springs squeaked, followed by a groan. Merrit eased open the door. Nathan sat up in bed. He wore the same encrusted jeans as a week ago when she’d visited him at his house. He didn’t acknowledge her presence as she stepped into the room. In fact, he appeared to be asleep with his eyes open, peering at a vision only he could see.

Merrit shouldn’t wake him up, that much she knew, but could she touch him? He might lash out, might mistake her for a nightmare figment. Yet she refused to leave him like that.

She approached him on tiptoes. Nathan’s mouth moved over silent words punctuated by whimpers that reminded her of the dying squeals of a squirrel—short, sharp, and mortally afraid. Merrit lowered herself onto the bed beside him. She placed an arm around his shoulders and leaned him against her. He complied but otherwise didn’t respond. His mutterings continued between the whimpers. She wrapped her other arm around him in a hug.

Five minutes turned into fifteen, and after a while his head sagged against her shoulder and his breathing deepened. She shifted him onto his back. He stirred, and from one second to the next, he bolted upright with a strangled yell and shoved Merrit off the bed. He pressed himself against the wall with eyes wide and fists clenched. A few more seconds later, he came to and recognized Merrit as Merrit. He scrambled across the bed to help her stand. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Startled, that’s all.”

“I need a warning label. Caution while sleeping.”

“Is that normal?”

“Ay, pretty much, when I sleep at all.” He curled back onto the bed. He barely dented the mattress, as if someone had sucked out his marrow while he slept. The benefits of his overnight stay in the hospital had dissipated. The skin around his eyes had a crêpey texture, and specks of blood dotted his chapped lips.

“Nathan,” she said.

“Mmm?”

“Why are you here?”

He pulled the covers up around his head. “I thought it might be safer.”

She clicked the bedroom door closed behind her, wondering, Safer for who?