“I can’t take credit,” Cleo said. It was so much easier talking to Campbell than to Daniel. She could make small talk. Not very well, but she could do it. “It just comes to me.”

“It doesn’t matter how it happens. It’s still amazing. I’d like to hear more about it,” he said, pulling up in front of her motel room. “Would you like to get something to eat tonight? So we can talk?”

He didn’t want to talk about her gift. Why was it guys had to pretend? “I’d really like to,” she said, “but I have plans.” That should let him out of a tight spot without damaging his ego.

To her relief, he didn’t argue. “Maybe another time.”

“Yeah,” she said, knowing she would be long gone in a matter of hours. “Maybe another time.” She grabbed her bag and stepped from the vehicle. “Thanks for the ride.”

He nodded and gave her a friendly smile.

Inside the motel room, Cleo packed. In the process, she came across Premonition’s squeaky toys, worm medication, the special shampoo that kept his skin from getting itchy and flaky, and his vaccination papers. The harness she would keep. Maybe she’d get another dog someday.

Done packing, she lay down and waited for dark. She would need to get some rest if she was going to spend the night hitchhiking. Minutes later, she fell asleep and immediately began to dream.

Laughter. Somebody was laughing. It came from somewhere deep inside the wall behind her head.

She forced herself to wake up and found the motel room cast in shadow, the way it had been that morning, so dark it could have been night.

Laughter.

Coming from the next room.

She sat up, her bare feet rubbing against the clammy shag rug. The orange shag rug.

The laughter was still there, just behind the wall. Shrill laughter. A woman’s drunken laughter. Between the bursts of laughter, Cleo heard the rumble of a man’s deep voice.

She stood and moved closer, thinking to press her ear to the wall. She put out her hand and it disappeared into the wall as if dipped in murky water.

I’m not awake, she realized. This is still the dream.

She should have known, because it had the creepy, slanted mood of the old dream, the pumpkin dream. There was a feeling of expectation, of knowing something bad was going to happen.

She stuck her arm deeper into the wall, all the way to her shoulder. Even though she wanted to wake up, even though she didn’t want to do what she was doing, she followed her arm through the wall…until she stood in a mirror-image room of the one she’d just left. In this room, the orange bedspread was still on the bed. The orange curtains still covered the window.

She thought she was alone, but gradually realized she wasn’t. A man stood in the center of the room. His back was to her. He was bent, concentrating on a task. As she watched, he gathered the corners of the orange bedspread and began wrapping something, rolling something.

What is he doing?

Finished, he picked up the bundle. It must have been heavy, because he almost collapsed. He let out a grunt and tried to shift his weight. The bundle slipped from his fingers and slumped to the floor. He mumbled and cursed, stepping over the bedspread, grabbing it by one end. Walking backward, he dragged it toward the door, leaving a dark stain on the rug.

Cleo followed the stain, followed the man out the door to where an open car trunk waited. He looked up at Cleo.

And now she could see it was Harvey.

“Aren’t you going to help me hide the key?” he asked with no surprise or alarm. “Grab that end.”

She didn’t want to touch the orange fabric, but she reached down, gripping it tightly with her fingers.

They lifted. The bundle hardly weighed anything. Why had he needed her help?

“Get in,” he said, motioning for her to get inside the trunk along with the bundle.

She shook her head.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ride.”

She did need a ride. That was right. “Out of town?” she asked.

“Anywhere.”

“You have the key, don’t you?”

“I am the key.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not supposed to. This is a dream.”

She looked at him more closely and realized it wasn’t Harvey standing there, but Dr. Campbell. It had been Campbell all along.

“I hope you’re flossing,” he told her.

“I am.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said in a calm voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you could read my mind.”

“Get in the trunk.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to get in.”

She turned and tried to run, but her feet were mired in something thick and deep. The rug. The orange shag rug. She couldn’t make any progress. She knew he was right behind her, right behind her, right behind her-

She felt a hand on her arm.

She screamed and turned.

Cleo came awake, her heart racing, her clothes damp with sweat.

She sat up, the creepy sensation of the dream still heavy in her.

That it was dark, truly dark, was the first thing she noticed as she waited for her heart to stop pounding. She groped for the bedside lamp, found it, and clicked it on. Almost 9:00 p.m. Her body had that heavy, gritty feeling that came with a long sleep that had taken place at the wrong time of day. On the foot of the bed were Premonition’s things. It was still too early to leave town, but she had to get out of the motel for a few hours.

She cleaned up, put on a dry top-unfortunately, one she’d worn before-grabbed the stuff from the end of the bed, and headed out into the night.

Chapter Eighteen

The cuckoo clock chimed the half-hour. Wearing nothing but a pair of cargo shorts, Daniel sat slouched in one corner of the couch, bare feet on the coffee table, the remote control resting on his thigh. His hair, still wet from the shower, dripped on his shoulders, water trickling down his chest.

He looked up at the hand-carved clock, a clock that had come to America on a ship along with his Scottish ancestors. The bird disappeared and the wooden door clicked shut. Nine-thirty. The evening was creeping.

The clock was another obsession of Beau’s. Daniel preferred not to wind the bird at all. Who needed a cuckoo chirping and clicking twelve times in the middle of the night? But Beau, being the obsessive-compulsive person he was, cranked both pinecone weights to the top every morning before breakfast, giving the bird a full twenty-four hours to chirp away.

Saturday night. The Tastee Delight stayed open until ten-thirty on Saturdays. The house seemed so damn empty with Beau gone. Beau hadn’t even left the dog to keep Daniel company. Instead, he’d taken Premonition with him, explaining that he wanted Matilda to meet him.

“She has a fenced yard behind the store,” Beau said. “Where Premonition can stay until I get off work.”

Daniel knew it was good for Beau to have a job. Good for him to be somewhere where he could see a lot of people. Beau thrived on contact with others.

Here all along Daniel had been thinking of Beau as a burden, albeit a welcome one. But in reality, he wasn’t a burden at all. Taking care of his brother had given Daniel’s life a purpose, a direction. Now, with Beau increasingly more independent, Daniel was beginning to wonder where he fit in the picture.

Preoccupied, Daniel picked up the remote and flicked through the channels, not seeing anything that could serve as a distraction.

A knock sounded at the door even though he’d heard no footsteps. He turned off the TV, dropped the remote on the couch, and answered the door, flipping on the porch light at the same time.

Cleo.

He ran a tongue across dry lips.

Through the screen, she said, “I brought some of Premonition’s things.” She lifted a small, white paper bag that looked suspiciously like the bag he’d delivered breakfast in that morning. “Toys. Shampoo. He has to have a special shampoo.”