Sleepwalker by Wendy Corsi Staub Read Free Book Online Page B

should probably stop talking and start doing ,” Hudson says, and he grins. That’s one of Allison’s favorite phrases.
    â€œGood idea. And when you get home this afternoon, the room will be all finished. How does that sound?”
    â€œAll finished?” Hudson looks dubiously from him to the paint can to the walls. “I don’t think so, but good luck.”
    He watches her skip off, then mutters, “Yeah, I don’t think so, either.”
    Why did he have to make such a big deal about getting it done this week?
    Because you felt guilty taking off work just because you couldn’t deal with all the hoopla in the city.
    He’s never been able to deal with it. That’s why every year, right after Labor Day, he and Allison and the kids have always taken their second annual vacation: not to the Jersey Shore, but to Disney World.
    Ah, yes, the happiest place on earth. An amusement park can’t completely erase the nightmarish memories of 9/11, but it helps.
    They were forced to skip the trip this year, though. Not because Mack couldn’t get away—which was questionable—and not because J.J. doesn’t travel well—which he doesn’t—but because Hudson started elementary school this past week. Pulling her out of her Montessori preschool was never a problem, but other moms had warned Allison that the local school district frowns upon illegal absence.
    â€œIn kindergarten?” Mack rolled his eyes when she told him.
    â€œI don’t know . . . everyone says it’s a bad idea to kick off her entire school career on the wrong foot.”
    â€œI think it’s a bad idea to listen to what everyone says. People around here can be so uptight. Just ignore them.”
    â€œThat’s easy for you to say. You get to go off to the city every day and leave me to figure out how to raise these kids in a place where no one is ever satisfied and nothing is ever enough.”
    â€œWant to trade?”
    He saw her weigh her response. Whatever she wanted to say—she didn’t say it. Typical Allison. She’d told him once that she’d learned, during her hard-knocks childhood, that saying the first thing that comes to mind often leads to trouble. Anyway, she knows that Mack isn’t away from home by choice. If it were up to him, they’d probably be living barefoot on a deserted island, just the five of them, insulated from the rest of the world and the terrible things that happen in it.
    When Mack couldn’t escape New York this year with his family over September 11, he thought he’d be capable of making the best of things. It was just a day on the calendar, after all. Maybe he could just put that out of his mind; treat it like any other day and try to forget . . . forget . . .
    By late last week, though, with the city awash in commemoration and fresh terror threats, he realized that wasn’t going to happen. There was no escaping the memories . . . not even at home in the suburbs at night.
    No, especially not at night.
    That’s how it’s always been for him. When the rest of the world is asleep, Mack lies awake in bed or prowls restlessly through the wee hours, torturing himself with could haves, should haves, would haves.
    Especially lately.
    Why can’t you just get over it once and for all? You’ve put all that behind you, moved on. You love Allison in a way that you never loved Carrie.
    That, Mack thinks grimly, is part of the problem.
    Whenever he thinks he’s past the guilt, something comes along to dredge it up again. Why does he let it eat away at him? He has a great life now. Crazy sometimes, exhausting, but happy. Happy family, Happy House . . . paid for by his first wife’s death.
    Jaunty music is still playing in the next room.
    Sunny day  . . .
    Yes. It is sunny today: it’s a beautiful Tuesday morning in September.
    Just like . . .
    No .
    Mack