in my dream hung above me like a flare, luminous in their import. I closed my eyes to avoid the open-heart emotions inside me.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” he said, sleep in his own voice.
It was a dream, only a dream, I reminded myself. This was a hotel room and a couch. I smiled, sat up, and opened both eyes. “I’m so sorry I fell asleep here. I’ll help pay for the room.”
He laughed, looking down at me. “You’ve got to be kidding. You were adorable. One minute you were talking and laughing, the next you were curled and—”
I grimaced. “I do that. When I’m done, I’m done. I didn’t disturb you, did I?”
“No. . . . I’d have let you sleep even longer, but we have to pack the bus and play in Jacksonville tonight.”
The blinking light of the clock across the room caught my eye. “It’s ten o’clock?”
Jack sat down next to me on the couch. He wore a pair of tattered jeans and a black T-shirt, looking like a young boy.
I stretched. “It felt great to sleep so long . . . .”
“Then you must’ve needed it.” He reached over to touch my arm, or maybe my face, but his hand wavered in the air, then fell in his lap.
“Not really . . . I’ve slept a lot lately. I was just so . . . comfortable.”
“You were on a couch.”
“No . . . comfortable in a different way.” Then I realized how I must have looked: wrinkled clothes, messy hair, morning breath. I jumped up. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”
“You had a bad dream in the middle of the night . . . you remember?”
I closed my eyes, opened them. “It wasn’t a bad dream. . . .”
“You were calling out like you were scared.”
“I wasn’t scared . . . I was—” I held up my hand. “Just a dream.”
I stood, stretched, and went to the bathroom to stare at my well-rested self. Where were the purplish-green bags under my eyes? The listless look of fatigue? I grabbed a cloth and washed my face, then used a corner of it to brush my teeth with toothpaste from a crushed tube. I tried to fix my hair, but I needed a shower. My car? Where was my car? The world came rushing on at me like a released thunderstorm.
I came out of the bathroom, attempting to pull some of the tangles out of my hair. “My car.”
“We’ll drop you off.” He grinned. “You are so damn cute.”
“I need to get home . . . .”
“I know. Your cell phone has been ringing off the hook, by the way.”
“Oh,” I groaned. “How could I not have heard it?”
“You were . . . in a coma.” He stretched. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and then we’ll get out of here.”
I lifted my cell from my purse, flipped open the cover. Eighteen missed calls. I glanced at Jack; my heart puffed up, then deflated. “They’ve probably sent out a search crew by now.”
“Call and let them know you’re okay—we’ll leave in fifteen minutes.”
I took the phone and walked out onto a miniature deck off the room, closed the French door behind me. I stared at the phone, trying to decide whom to call—and then dialed Charlotte’s number first.
“Where the hell are you?” Her voice came through the line without a hello.
“Savannah.”
“What?”
I laughed. “I’ll explain later . . . when I get home in a couple hours. Just relax. Will you tell everyone I’m okay? I’ll call you when I get home.”
“You know Peyton is looking for you.”
“I figured.”
“Listen, Kara. Call me when you’re in the car on the way home. I want to tell you something before you talk to Peyton.”
“What is it?”
“Just call me from the road, okay? And how is Jack?”
“Good, he asked about you. And it’s not what you think . . . I didn’t spend the night with him. Or I did, but not like that. And—”
“Yes?”
“I’ll call you when I get to my car.”
“Good idea, Kara.” She laughed. “I sure hope you had a great time . . . getting me all worried like that should most definitely have been worth it.”
“Absolutely,” I said, and glanced back into the room; Jack stood in front of his open suitcase with a towel wrapped around his waist. “I’ve got to go.”
“Call me.” Charlotte hung up without saying good-bye. I stood and stared out over the courtyard. Jasmine sprayed across the cobblestones and a gazebo