The One Where Veronica Doesn't Get a Good Night's Sleep

Veronica sat up in bed, unsure what woke her. Shackleton had stretched himself out across her feet. His head and tail draped off either end of the bed.
Groggily, she leaned in towards the alarm clock. One in the morning. There was no reason to be awake. Go back to sleep. Pulling covers back to her nose, she realized what had woken her: the total absence of sound. The heater was chugging away, rattling the vents and there was no wind. Perfectly quiet.
The only way out of bed when it was this cold to do it fast. Veronica whipped the covers back quickly and her bare feet landed on the cold wooden floor. She shuffled to the window.
The inside of the glass fogged and vanished and fogged again as her breath hit the panes. Not cold enough for frost but cold enough.
Outside was a figure of a woman, sitting on the lawn. A black dog sat protectively next to her. She was wearing a sweater but no real coat and had a notebook of some sort opened on her lap. The woman’s curly head of bowed over the notebook.
“Christ,” Veronica muttered. She slipped on a warm, fleecy robe and shoved her feet into shoes as fast a possible.
Down the stairs and out the door. No need to be quiet when Cheryl was outside on the lawn.
Crossing the living room, Veronica could see the front door was opened. The air was bitterly cold. She paused to grab the dusty green and tan afghan from the back of the rocking chair.
Shackleton jumped to his feet excitedly as Veronica made it to the porch. Cheryl did not seem to notice.
“Mom?” Veronica asked softly.
No response.
Veronica crouched down next to Cheryl and placed the afghan around her shoulders. “What are you doing out here?”
Cheryl raised her head. Her eyes where vacant and pupils tiny pin pricks. This couldn’t be good. “What,” she murmured.
“What are you doing outside? It’s freezing.”
Cheryl patted Veronica’s hand affectionately. “You’re such a good girl.”
“Let’s go inside.”
“I wanted to draw the house at night.”
“Okay. How about going inside.”
Cheryl slowly rose to her feet but was very intent on explaining her artistic vision. “At night, there’s solitude and peace and this other quality. The way the light, the moon, you know. It’s unsettling. Sometimes, if I’m in the kitchen by myself I think I can hear it. Makes my hair stand on end.”
“Okay. Let’s go inside now.”
“Do you ever feel that way?”
“What way, Mom?”
“Like you’re late to the scene of a crime and no one wants to explain what happened, so you have to figure it out.”
“Everyone feels that way sometimes,” Veronica said.
“No they don’t!”
“Mom, please.”
“Don’t patronize me.” Cheryl struggled out of Veronica’s grip and grabbed the notebook away from her. “Listen to me. I’m trying to tell you something important.”
“Fine. What, what do you need to tell me?”
Cheryl’s shoulder shagged. “I can’t remember.”
Veronica steered Cheryl back inside and onto the coach. Cheryl landed there in a crumpled heap. Patiently, Veronica took the notebook out of her hands and placed it on the carpet. Next, she took Cheryl’s feet and put them up on the coach. Finally, she covered Cheryl with a quilt.
Cheryl’s voice was small. “Why is it you act more like the mom than I do?”
“Because I have to.”
“There’s something bad inside this house.”
“I know about the ghost in the china cabinet. You got another Virgin Mary statue and that will keep him pacified.”
“Not that. The ghost’s isn’t malicious but there’s something in here that wants to hurt you. That’s why the dog was sent here to protect you.”
“Who told you that?”
“Shackleton. He likes the name, by the way.”
“Go to sleep, Mom.” Veronica kissed the top her head quickly.
“Good night dear. Take my notebook. Don’t let anyone find it.”
Veronica picked up the notebook and returned to bed. In the morning she was going to have to tell her father what happened: that Cheryl had another episode and that the dog was talking to her. Maybe she’d have another stay at a hospital, maybe more pills to take. Veronica was too tired to think about tomorrow.

The next morning Cheryl was gone.

“And that didn’t strike you as unusual?”
“No. Mom left lots of times. Sometimes to the hospital, but you saw that coming because of an incident. The crisis. Sometimes she went to stay with Aunt Jackie in Denver, resting.”
“And how did the family take that? Cheryl being away so often?”
“You got use to it. No one said anything. I mean, I had to make dinner and do housework while Mom was away but otherwise we never talked about it.”
“How about your father?”
“He seemed to be in a better mood.”
“Did they ever fight before one of Cheryl’s rests?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes, how?”
“I don’t know. You just get use to life being a certain way and you don’t question it. Mom went away periodically and came back better.”
“You like bug words.”
“I like to read.”
“Why do you feel the need to show off your vocabulary?”
“It’s not showing off. I use the word that seems to fit the situation best.”
“How long was Cheryl gone for?”
“Two weeks. She came back sometime on Christmas Eve.”

Christmas morning, Veronica stumbled bleary eyed downstairs. It was fifty thirty in the morning, too early, even if it was Christmas. Kath couldn’t wait, jumping on the Veronica’s bed in anticipation, begging Veronica to wake. Christian tried to put on a cool demeanor but he was clearly excited. Shackleton caught the excitement and ran in tight circles in the room but not barking. He was sharp like that.
Cheryl was sitting besides the tree, wrapped in a robe and wearing thick plaid slippers, as if she had been there all night.
No one asked where she had been or when she got back. Kath and Christian took their stockings and dumped the contents on the floor.
Cheryl caught Veronica’s eye and smiled. “Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

“Did you know the girl?”
“What girl?”
“The blonde one in the snow. Did you know her?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Strange, as small as town as Sun City is. Could there be someone you didn’t know? You pride yourself on knowing everyone.”
“Maybe she’s not from around here.”
“Not from around here. Right. A stranger drives into the middle of absolutely nothing to stop in your driveway and ask your father questions.”
“It could happen.”
“You didn’t know her then, but do you know her now?”
“Yes, I know of her.”
“Tragic what happen to that girl. Why don’t you explain to me what happen for those two weeks while your mother was missing.”
“She wasn’t missing. She was in the hospital.”
“Did Keith say that? Did he drive ten hours through the night and arrive safe and sound back at home in time for breakfast?”
“He didn’t say that.”
“He didn’t’ say anything. And there’s no record at Osawatomie of your mother checking in for treatment. No one knows where she was. She was missing.”
“Aunt Jackie’s?”
“No. What happened while she was missing?”