of wine, Dagny noticed it was nearly midnight. “I have to go—”
“No, you don’t.”
“—get my things from the car.”
He walked her to the car and carried her bag inside. They climbed a metal spiral staircase from the living room to the second floor—a large open space that served as Mike’s studio. Dagny wanted to linger, but Mike tugged her up another staircase to the third-floor bedroom. He lifted her onto the bed, then lay down beside her, kissing her neck as he unbuttoned her blouse. She reached over and turned off the lamp, wrapped her right hand around his neck, grabbed the hair above his collar, and pulled him to her lips. The blood rushed close to her skin, a familiar feeling that she couldn’t place until she realized—yes, this is what it feels like to be alive.
CHAPTER 7
February 1—Chula Vista, California
God, he hated that dog.
Tucker was scratching at the sliding glass door. The kids were screaming about going to bed. Martha was doing the dishes and talking on the phone to her mother.
Fred Lubers rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger, trying to stifle the start of a migraine. He slid open the back door and the German shepherd ran out.
“No! No! No!” the kids yelled in unison.
“You have to go to bed right now!” he yelled back.
“Fred, I’m on the phone!” Martha yelled. “The kids won’t go to bed. Every night, it’s World War Three,” she complained to her mother.
Fred lifted six-year-old Gina into his arms and headed upstairs.
“It’s not fair. I went up first last night,” she complained. Her pigtails twirled in the air as she shook her head.
“You’re older, honey. You have to set the example.”
Four-year-old Josh stood half-naked at the bottom of the stairs, laughing and pointing at his ascending sister. “You’re going to bed first!”
Fred reversed course and carried Gina back down. “Just for that, Josh, you’re going to bed first. There’s no taunting, okay?”
Josh stomped his foot, but only once before Fred scooped him up and started up the stairs. Gina began singing, “Josh got in trouble. Josh got in trouble!”
Fred shook his head but continued up the steps, carrying Josh into the bathroom and setting him atop a step stool in front of the sink. “Time to brush your teeth.”
Josh looked up. “I don’t want to.”
“It’s not an option.”
“I don’t need to brush them. I drank a lot of water.”
Fred didn’t follow the logic of this argument but didn’t feel like pursuing it further. “Just brush.”
“No.”
Tucker was barking at something in the backyard. If that dog kept it up, the neighbors were going to complain again. Fred knelt down and looked Josh in the eyes. “Josh, I have a headache. Please just do this for me.”
His son smiled. “Okay, Daddy.” Josh brushed his teeth, spitting out his toothpaste near, but not into, the sink. Fred cleaned up the mess and carried Josh into his bedroom.
“Jammies, Josh.”
“Which ones?”
“You get to pick.”
“Football.”
“Okay.”
Josh put on his pajamas and crawled into bed. “Will you read me a story?”
Fred didn’t feel like reading to Josh. He wanted to put Gina to bed and then get some sleep. He had to catch a 6:00 a.m. flight toNashville with a layover in Salt Lake City. Steve Hammond from corporate was going to be there for his presentation. He needed to be at his best.
“Which one, Son?”
“The cookie mouse.”
Fred grabbed
If You Give a Mouse a Cookie
from the bookshelf. He actually liked this one. “If you give a mouse a cookie,” Fred began, then turned the page. “He’s going to ask for a glass of milk.” Josh fell asleep before Fred could finish the story. He turned off the lights, closed the door partway, and headed down for Gina. She was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“Tucker keeps barking, Daddy.”
“He probably sees a raccoon or something, honey.”
“Tucker sounds mad.”
She was right. Tucker was
“No, you don’t.”
“—get my things from the car.”
He walked her to the car and carried her bag inside. They climbed a metal spiral staircase from the living room to the second floor—a large open space that served as Mike’s studio. Dagny wanted to linger, but Mike tugged her up another staircase to the third-floor bedroom. He lifted her onto the bed, then lay down beside her, kissing her neck as he unbuttoned her blouse. She reached over and turned off the lamp, wrapped her right hand around his neck, grabbed the hair above his collar, and pulled him to her lips. The blood rushed close to her skin, a familiar feeling that she couldn’t place until she realized—yes, this is what it feels like to be alive.
CHAPTER 7
February 1—Chula Vista, California
God, he hated that dog.
Tucker was scratching at the sliding glass door. The kids were screaming about going to bed. Martha was doing the dishes and talking on the phone to her mother.
Fred Lubers rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger, trying to stifle the start of a migraine. He slid open the back door and the German shepherd ran out.
“No! No! No!” the kids yelled in unison.
“You have to go to bed right now!” he yelled back.
“Fred, I’m on the phone!” Martha yelled. “The kids won’t go to bed. Every night, it’s World War Three,” she complained to her mother.
Fred lifted six-year-old Gina into his arms and headed upstairs.
“It’s not fair. I went up first last night,” she complained. Her pigtails twirled in the air as she shook her head.
“You’re older, honey. You have to set the example.”
Four-year-old Josh stood half-naked at the bottom of the stairs, laughing and pointing at his ascending sister. “You’re going to bed first!”
Fred reversed course and carried Gina back down. “Just for that, Josh, you’re going to bed first. There’s no taunting, okay?”
Josh stomped his foot, but only once before Fred scooped him up and started up the stairs. Gina began singing, “Josh got in trouble. Josh got in trouble!”
Fred shook his head but continued up the steps, carrying Josh into the bathroom and setting him atop a step stool in front of the sink. “Time to brush your teeth.”
Josh looked up. “I don’t want to.”
“It’s not an option.”
“I don’t need to brush them. I drank a lot of water.”
Fred didn’t follow the logic of this argument but didn’t feel like pursuing it further. “Just brush.”
“No.”
Tucker was barking at something in the backyard. If that dog kept it up, the neighbors were going to complain again. Fred knelt down and looked Josh in the eyes. “Josh, I have a headache. Please just do this for me.”
His son smiled. “Okay, Daddy.” Josh brushed his teeth, spitting out his toothpaste near, but not into, the sink. Fred cleaned up the mess and carried Josh into his bedroom.
“Jammies, Josh.”
“Which ones?”
“You get to pick.”
“Football.”
“Okay.”
Josh put on his pajamas and crawled into bed. “Will you read me a story?”
Fred didn’t feel like reading to Josh. He wanted to put Gina to bed and then get some sleep. He had to catch a 6:00 a.m. flight toNashville with a layover in Salt Lake City. Steve Hammond from corporate was going to be there for his presentation. He needed to be at his best.
“Which one, Son?”
“The cookie mouse.”
Fred grabbed
If You Give a Mouse a Cookie
from the bookshelf. He actually liked this one. “If you give a mouse a cookie,” Fred began, then turned the page. “He’s going to ask for a glass of milk.” Josh fell asleep before Fred could finish the story. He turned off the lights, closed the door partway, and headed down for Gina. She was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“Tucker keeps barking, Daddy.”
“He probably sees a raccoon or something, honey.”
“Tucker sounds mad.”
She was right. Tucker was
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