Bedful of Moonlight by Raven Held (best ereader for pc TXT) 📖

he held me at arms length.
“Okay?” I laughed. It sounded like an uncontrolled bark. “I’ve never been better.”
He frowned slightly. “Maybe we should get you back home.”
“I don’t want to go home, Blake. I just want to be here, with you.”
He dropped his arms. “We should get you home.”
“Why do you keep telling me to go home? Blake.” I laughed again and dived into his arms. “I’ve missed you so much. I know it was all my fault. I shouldn’t have made you go back for the stupid yoghurt. I’ll have mango-flavoured ones forever, I don’t care. I’m just so glad you’re here –”
“What are you talking about?”
He didn’t know? Maybe all that hadn’t happened, then. I was just being stupid, delusional.
“Never mind. Let’s just –”
“Kristen? Caleb?”
I turned around. My mother was standing at the stone steps at the gate, slightly out of breath. Vines crept above her head.
“What are you two doing here?”
“Rachel,” Blake said.
If Blake hadn’t died, then maybe mom leaving us was all part of that weird nightmare too. Maybe she had never left us. This was enough, really, to make me swear off sleeping forever. See how it messes up your perception of reality?
“It’s okay,” Blake said. “She just got a little hysterical –”
“A little? I could hear her screaming right across the road. And when I get here, she’s all shaken up and crying her heart out….”
I frowned. “Mom. Stop yelling at Blake. It’s not his fault.”
Mom made to say something, but she caught a look Blake shot her that made her shut up.
Blake placed an arm loosely around me. “She said she doesn’t want to go home and rest.”
“Well, she definitely can’t go back to the marquee in this state,” mom said. After more frowning at me, she said to Blake, “I’d like to have a word with you.”
Blake looked at me. “Excuse us for a while.”
I nodded, grinning like an idiot up at him.
They walked a few metres away from me and all I could hear was the low hum of their murmurs. The conversation was visibly fraught with tension, and obviously about me. Even shaken up, as mom put it, I did not miss the tight lines her lips were set in, and the frequent glances at me. After a few unanimous nods, mom pulled out her cellphone. Her fingers were almost a blur over the keypad.
Finally, they walked back to me, mom hovering a little behind Blake, still on the phone.
“What did you guys talk about?” I grabbed his hand eagerly.
Blake turned to look at mom. She urged him on with a nod. I could not make out what she was saying on the phone, but I didn’t care very much.
“Kristen, there is someone I want you to meet. His name is Jason.”
His atypical tone of seriousness made me struggle to beat down a smirk and focus on what he was saying. “Okay, who is he?”
“He’s – a friend of mine who wishes to speak with you.”
Mom snapped her phone shut. “Jason would like to meet you now, if that’s possible.”
“How come you know him too?”
“Honey, it just so happens that we both know the same person.” She stroked my hair. “Anyway, are you up to speaking with him now?”
I was, but that didn’t mean I wanted to. Blake rubbed my back reassuringly, and I laced my fingers with his. He stared at me uncertainly, and I was aware of how he had stiffened when I touched him.
“Okay, fine. I’ll talk to him.”

*

He was annoying. He behaved just like how Dr Oliveiro – how did I even know her? – did, only in a less ingratiating manner. Still, his endless probing made me feel like I was back in that heavily-scented room with a stranger demanding to know what the hell was going on in my head.
“How do you like Wroughton so far?”
A grunt came out of my mouth.
“I was told you had quite a scare just a while ago,” he pressed on. I hate people who can’t take a hint. “Care to tell me how you feel about that?”
“I was told you’re Blake’s friend.”
His gaze sat squarely on mine. It was disconcerting, to say the least. “Is Blake someone I should know?”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Blake was waiting for me, and I was wasting my time here. “He said you’re his friend, and that you wanted to talk to me, which is why I’m here.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, cocking his head slightly, “who is Blake to you?”
“He’s my boyfriend, Jason,” I said, feeling tired all of a sudden, for some reason. I took a sip of punch for want of something to do.
“I guess that’s why you’re so shaken up,” Jason went on. He smiled benignly at me, and I could see some wrinkles bunch up at the corner of his eyes. “It must be pretty scary watching someone almost –”
“I need to get back.” I down the rest of my punch, and looked around for Blake.
“Sure. Of course. I won’t take up any of your time now, but it was nice meeting you, Kristen.” He extended his hand.
I shook it and wandered off.
When I finally found Blake, he was with my mother. I still had some misgiving about her; I just couldn’t remember if she had left us, or if that was just something I had literally dreamed up. That almost-collision must have thrown my brain out of whack. But it was the most curious sensation ever, like a full-blown déjà vu, or something.
“I think it’s getting worse,” he was telling her.
“What is?” I asked.
He flinched slightly when I slipped my arm around his. “This fete. I swear, every year, it gets worse.”
Blake had always been a lousy liar.
“Come on, what is it?”
He reached for some biscotti. Since when did he like pastry? “How was Jason?”
“I thought he asked a little too many questions. He said he didn’t know you.”
“Well, he wouldn’t know Blake,” mom muttered, “but he would know Caleb.”
“Who’s –?” It suddenly occurred to me that I did know a Caleb. But who exactly he was, I could not remember. My brain was on a frizz.
“Does her father know about this?” mom asked.
This was starting to make my head pound. It was like being unable to push the thread through the eye of a needle. Nothing fit at all, and all you got was frustration and restlessness.
“I think so,” Blake said. “After that fire.”
Fire. Random images of a curtained window, moonlight illuminating a spot in a room, and amber hues dancing, consuming the thin fabric, shot through my mind.
Mom nodded, as though she knew what he was talking about. The edges of her lips were hard. “We have a problem. A big one.”
“What problem? Would you two quit talking in riddles already?” A crippling pain was settling around my head.
“It’s no use playing along with her, Caleb,” mom said. “It’s not going to help.”
“I’m telling you,” Blake said, “it won’t work. She’s sleepwalked twice, and both occasions were potentially life-threatening. By telling her the truth, you’ll just throw her more out of whack –”
“Oh, and I should listen to you because you’re such an expert on this?”
Blake sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. They both fell silent.
“It was about time you both shut up,” I said, wincing as another throb of pain pumped through my temples.
Mom turned to me and laid a hand on my cheek. “Kristen, honey. You have to wake up.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
It annoyed me how sad her eyes were, how sympathetic. “Wake up from what?”
Behind her, Blake sighed again and ruffled his hair violently.
“Sweetheart,” mom said, “There is no Blake anymore. I know you don’t want to believe that, but you can’t –”
As I ran away, my feet pounding on the sidewalk like lead buckets fastened to my soles, I could feel the weight of her palm – too hot, too moist – fall away. Like noise, like stares. Like everything else.


Thirteen


“He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass.”
~ George Herbert (American philosopher, 1863 – 1931)


It is disorientating – to say the least – to wake up and not know where you are or what time it is.
At least the sheets smelt somewhat familiar. The sky outside was a dull ochre with tinges of pink, so it had to be around dusk, right?
As I padded downstairs, my mom and dad, Caleb and a man I knew I had seen somewhere, but was not quite sure where, looked up from the couch. Light glared at me from all directions, and the rustle of movements rang out clearly. Daytime naps always made me feel as though I had strolled into another world when I woke up.
“Kristen?” mom said, coming towards me, dad behind her. Caleb and the man both stood up. “Are you feeling better?”
I stepped slightly away from her. “I’m fine, mom.” And then a growl erupted from my stomach, and I cringed.
Caleb grinned. “I think that calls for some dinner. Lasagne and minestrone soup, anyone?”
Dinner. Caleb and food. That was something that did not seem utterly foreign, at least. “What, no Philly cheese-steak sandwiches tonight?”
He shot me a lopsided smirk. “Hey, no-one can eat the same thing every night, no matter how good it is.”
I did not miss the glance he exchanged with the man. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“No, I don’t suppose so,” the man said. He had a buzz cut that made him look younger than he probably was. “My name’s Jason. It’s nice to meet you, Kristen.” He stretched out his hand. When I hesitated, he explained, “I’m a friend of Caleb – and your parents.”
There was something I had missed – that much was obvious. But I also knew it was something best not brought up, at least not with so many people around.
Jason left before dinner, and Jade and the rest were not home yet, so I felt bad for Caleb, stuck at the table with us. It was not his family drama to get sucked into, after all.
“So where do we stand now?” Nonchalance was the key. I took a bite of my lasagne and glanced at mom and dad coolly.
Dad squirmed a lot, and cleared his throat as though he was about to respond. Mom bit her lip and looked out the window.
“Are we going back? Is everything back to the way it was before?”
I couldn’t imagine how that would be, how that could be. Too much had happened since mom left. There was no way things could be all Audrey Hepburn and tacos anymore.
“You went through a lot today, honey,” mom finally said. “You should rest. Finish your dinner and go for a walk with Caleb, maybe. Alright?”
Caleb and I shared a look. He grinned, and I had to look away in case my smile gave anything away.

*

He was, for some reason, excited that night.
“Hyde and I have talked about it. We’ll start tomorrow, and then we’ll visit Sawyer and Grandpa in the evening.”
I blinked. “Start what?”
“Stage one of the book fair, of course. It was your idea, remember?”
“Right. Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
He peered closely at me. “Well, I don’t know what you’re aware of these days.” Before I could ask what the plan was for