Chapter 9

Laura tossed and turned all night long. She couldn't sleep, she checked the wall clock and it was already three-thirty. In the end, she finally gave up, showered, smeared on some moisturizer and dressed in clothes she dug out of a trunk and smelled like mothballs. Old clothes, the kind she used to wear before she became a social gadabout. Corduroy trousers, wool socks, a heavy sweater, and a pair of ankle-high boots she had to clean before she could put them on. She couldn't remember why she'd saved all these clothe. Maybe she knew one day she would need them. "I guess this is that day," She muttered to herself as she made her way downstairs to the kitchen where she would have made coffee if she had any. But since she didn't, she reached for her daughter's heavy jacket and left the house.

Laura couldn't remember the last time she'd been out and at four-thirty in the morning.

What would Steven Morrison think or say when he opened the door to see her standing there? Well, she would find