“Hi,” I begin, suddenly unsure of what to say next. “We met on Wednesday night, when I was walking my dog. Do you remember?”
The man continues to stare, still in that same bathrobe, his hands clenching the armrests. They are so boney, so frail. I’m about to open my mouth again, prod him some more, when slowly, his gaze turns toward mine.
“Oh, yes,” he says, his voice soft and wet. “I remember.”
I exhale, smiling weakly. I knew this man was real. I knew he was. Suddenly, I feel ridiculous for even doubting it.
“I hope you don’t mind. I know it’s late, but I just wanted to ask you a few questions. I tried stopping by during the day on Friday, but—”
“We didn’t meet on Wednesday,” he says. His voice is so fragile, so quiet, I have to take a few steps forward, straining to hear. “You seem to be the one who doesn’t remember. Or maybe you’d just like me to forget.”
I take another step forward, confusion settling over me.
“I’m sorry … have we met?” I ask. “I can’t seem to place you—”
The man continues to rock, his eyes back on the street again. I catch a quick twitch in his lips, and I wonder if maybe he’s senile.
“Lots of times,” he says, and although his voice is soft, it seems entirely lucid. He doesn’t seem confused. “You’re Isabelle Drake.”
The shock of hearing my name on his lips, my full name, causes me to stumble a bit, as if the words themselves had reached out and shoved my shoulders back. It is entirely possible that he knows who I am—after all, the whole town knows who I am—but this seems to be more than that.
The way he says it feels like I should know who he is, too.
“When have we met?” I ask now, eying him carefully. “I really don’t think we have.”
“Couple years ago,” he says. “You used to walk by at night.”
I can feel my eyes widen as I try to make sense of what he’s saying. I never used to take Roscoe for walks at night; that just started recently, after Mason was taken. After Ben moved out. After I stopped sleeping.
“I’m sorry, I think you’re mistaken—”
“No, I’m not.” He shakes his head before letting out a low, wet cough. “You live right there.” He nods his head in the direction of my house, then looks back at me. “I may be old, girl, but I’m not crazy.”
I think of what Dr. Harris told me earlier: how sleepwalkers can have entire conversations, sometimes, without even realizing. How their movements can seem so lifelike, so lucid.
“Keep your doors locked so you don’t wander outside.”
It had happened with Margaret before: sitting on the floor together, playing with dolls. Her not even realizing I was sleeping.
“What did we talk about?”
“Not much,” he says. “You introduced yourself the first time, then after that, we just nodded to each other, exchanged waves.”
“That can’t be right—”
“That’s why I was surprised to see you the other night,” he continues. “It’s been a while. Didn’t think you’d be coming back—not after everything that’s happened, anyway.”
I think back to the way he had looked at me before; his eyes blank, staring. So he had seen me after all. He had just been confused when I introduced myself, acting as if we were strangers. As if we had never met before.
“And when did this stop?” I ask. “Me walking by? When was the last time?”
“I think you know the answer to that,” he says, that chair creaking louder.
“Let’s pretend I don’t.”
“It’s been a year,” he says, nodding to himself. “Almost to the day, in fact.”
“A year,” I repeat. “And you’re sure about that?”
“Oh, I’m sure. March of last year.”
“And why are you so sure?” I ask, the ground beneath me starting to sway.
The man turns to look at me, finally, his cataracted eyes like two crystal balls and an amused look on his face, like we’re rehashing some kind of inside joke that I don’t understand. I suddenly have the distinct feeling that whatever this dance is between us is something we’ve done before. Something he very much enjoys.
“Because,” he says at last, a twitch of a smile appearing on his lips, “you had your kid with you that time.”
CHAPTER FORTY
I push myself back into my bedroom and slam the door with too much force. Roscoe perks up, confused, and I know I’m being loud enough to wake up Waylon, but right now, I don’t care.