She said against his neck, “Can you believe Kathryn wondered if we were lovers? I haven’t even known you a week.”

He was silent, thinking she didn’t sound at all angry or alarmed, perhaps only surprised, maybe even curious. She was wearing one of his white undershirts, and it was falling off her shoulder.

Julia said, “You didn’t believe anything she said, did you?” He was aware that she smelled of something soft and flowery. “Fact is, she could have heard or deduced most of it and guessed the rest. Pretty commonsense stuff, all dressed up with purple prose—that’s what I thought when she said it. ‘His core was black, his pride was purple’—and the bit about his aching feet, come on, give me a break.”

“When you say it, away from her drama and atmosphere, it does sound like some ridiculous tale a good storyteller could spin.” Cheney said, “She’s some showman. I suppose that’s her greatest skill.”

“But she did say she thought he had an author’s name.” He frowned. “Yes, she did say that.” She yawned. “You’re still dressed.”

“Yes.”

He leaned down and pulled her blanket over her. “Go back to sleep, Julia.”

Sean Savich’s eyes popped open. Something didn’t smell right. That was it, he wasn’t in his own bed or in his own room. He was someplace else, someplace scary. He knew a monster was hiding in the closet. The monster could see his bed, could see him. He was sure the door was slowly pushing open and he nearly stopped breathing. Even though Graciella had showed him there were only clothes and shoes in the closet, he knew she didn’t understand, didn’t know what he knew. This wasn’t his closet, so he knew Graciella couldn’t see the monster; it hid itself until she closed the door. And then it waited a long time before it slowly oozed out from its hiding place in the closet wall and tasted his clothes, getting his scent. The monster was coming out of the closet now, and it was bad.

Even though Graciella was sleeping in a twin bed not ten feet away from him, it wasn’t enough. No way could she save him in this strange place. Sean’s heart pounded. He watched the closet door as he slithered out of the narrow twin bed, slipped through the bedroom door, and ran as fast as he could down the hallway. It was strange, he didn’t know where to run since he didn’t know where he was. A huge black shadow barred his way. He sobbed and closed his eyes as he ran through the shadow. He was heaving when he eased inside the first closed door. He saw two people sleeping in a big bed. He raced to the bed and climbed up to burrow between them. Something wasn’t quite right, but he didn’t care because they were big and he was too afraid of what was lurking in the hall. He was safe now. Sean pressed closer. They wouldn’t let anything hurt him. Everything was all right.

At seven o’clock in the morning, Dix was jerked awake by the sudden jab of an elbow in his neck.

“He’s still asleep,” Ruth whispered.

Dix slowly lowered the little boy’s arm and turned slowly to his side to face Ruth. Sean was between them.

Dix whispered, “Nightmare, I guess. Did he wake you up when he came in?”

At that moment, they heard Sean’s name shouted from outside the door. It was Sherlock, and she sounded scared to her toes.

Ruth slipped out of bed, pulled on the robe she’d tossed over the end of the bed, and opened the door. “Sherlock, it’s okay. Sean came to sleep with us in the middle of the night. He’s okay.”

Sherlock rushed into the bedroom, as if she couldn’t believe what Ruth had told her was the truth, and skidded to a stop. She shook her head, relief pouring off her. “Oh, Sean.” Graciella came running into the room on her heels, her face pale as the moon.

Sherlock saw her little boy in Dix’s arms, dead to the world, and sucked in a deep breath. “All right, then. It’s okay.” She turned to give her husband a blazing smile.”Dillon, we’re in here.”

Dix said, “Nightmare, strange house, and we’re the first bedroom next to Sean’s. He landed here. There was no problem.”

Sean yawned, raised his head, looked at Dix and smiled. “Hi, Uncle Dix,” he said. “Where’s my mom?” And he turned to look at the other side of the bed, stretched out his small hand, and frowned. “Where’s Mama?”

“Well, that’s a fine thing for him to think, isn’t it?” Sherlock said.

Savich laughed. “Hey, Champ, you ready for some Cheerios?”

Dix got another elbow in the neck when Sean dashed out of bed to get scooped up by his father. He saw Savich whisper against Sean’s cheek, “Hey, you’re at your grandparents’ house, in San Francisco. Do you remember that?”