Chapter 9
NINE
Leah fought the temptation to stay nestled in the comfort of her bed. She reached for the thick green throw draped over the accent chair and stepped outside onto the wooden deck.
The morning view in South Haven was a welcome one. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the fresh, salty air. It was her second-to-last full day at the lake house. There were no firm plans—there hadn’t been any the whole trip—which allowed Leah to dip in and out of activities as she pleased.
A dreamless night had been a relief. The last thing she needed was a vivid dream to accompany her bathroom escapades the night before. She wanted to forget it, move on with the trip, and, once the plane’s wheels left the tarmac bound for New York, move on with her life.
Her life needed to be an Ariana-free zone—for her sanity, if nothing else.
The throw warmed her shoulders, but the breeze snuck through her thin, navy-striped pyjama bottoms. She made her way inside, tugged on the hooded sweatshirt Grace had given her two Christmases ago, brushed out her hair to avoid the devil-horn look, and slipped into her worn-out cream house slippers.
They’d seen better days, but the comfort level made her reluctant to part with them.
Voices echoed down the corridor—the kitchen was buzzing.
The twins were spilling cereal across the countertop with wild abandon.
Grace’s sister-in-law stood by the window, chatting to her followers about the importance of unplugging and taking a break from life—despite averaging ten hours a day on social media.
Kathy was making a mimosa, as she did every morning.
She only offered others a drink when she ran out of her expensive Champagne and needed to dip into Grace’s stash—who didn’t even like Champagne, but still resented contributing to Kathy’s indulgence.
Steven had just returned from an early morning round of golf and was now doting on Kathy in a cringe-worthy “cute voice.” Leah caught Grace making a dramatic barfing gesture at the sink.
Leah actually felt sorry for Steven. He had no idea Kathy merely tolerated him.
It showed in everything she did—in the way she recoiled when he kissed her cheek, cringed at his compliments, and smiled with tight-lipped indifference.
Grace, Ariana, and Ryan had all tried to get through to him over the years, separately and together, but it made no difference.
Ariana stood at the fridge, nudging Grace aside with a gentle bump as she gathered ingredients: a pack of bacon, a tray of eggs, and fresh bagels.
“Good morning, sweetie,” Grace greeted Leah, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. “How did you sleep?”
“Okay, I think.” Leah rubbed at her eyes, adjusting to the household chaos.
Ariana glanced over and gave a quick smile—it looked forced. Ryan had begun yelling at the twins, who were mid-Froot Loop throwing contest.
“Want some breakfast? Ari’s making bacon and egg bagels.”
“I . . .” Leah began, but Ariana cut her off.
“She doesn’t like eggs.”
Grace laughed. “Oh, right—your fake allergy.”
“I never said I was allergic,” Leah muttered, rolling her eyes.
Ariana stayed quiet.
“You say you’re allergic all the time,” Grace chuckled.
“Because it’s easier than explaining why I don’t like them.”
“You don’t like eggs?” Steven turned, bewildered. “Not even poached?”
“Nope.”
“Scrambled?”
“Nope.”
“Fried?”
“Dad,” Ariana snapped, “she doesn’t like eggs. That means all eggs, regardless of how they’re cooked.”
“Maybe you should try boiled. In a salad or something?”
“They’re the worst kind!” Grace laughed.
“Dad, she doesn’t want eggs, and she doesn’t need you giving dietary advice. Your food pyramid is just meat and potatoes.” Ariana dodged a pop of sizzling oil as the bacon cooked.
“Someone’s cranky this morning,” Steven teased.
Grace chuckled, her buttering hand jiggling with the movement.
“I’ll have Leah’s eggs,” Kathy offered casually, turning around.
Ariana scowled.
“Have all the eggs you want. I’m just not cooking them for you,” she said lightly—but meant every word.
“Ari, that’s not very nice, is it?” Steven frowned. “The least you could do is make eggs for your favourite stepmom.”
Grace audibly gulped. She and Leah glanced at Steven, then at Kathy, then at Ariana—whose face was turning red. Grace gently placed a hand on Ariana’s arm.
“He’s joking, right?” Ariana mouthed to her.
“I’m sure we can make some extra eggs,” Grace said through clenched teeth.
Kathy’s smug expression showed she wasn’t offended. She knew Steven’s kids didn’t like her, but her brazen confidence meant their contempt bounced right off.
Steven smiled and wandered off to play with his grandsons, as if nothing had happened.
After breakfast, Ariana pulled Leah aside.
“Did you enjoy it?” she asked.
“I did. Thanks.”
Ariana fiddled with the silver ring on her middle finger. “Listen, I think we should talk about last night.”
“What about last night?” Leah asked, puzzled.
“What you said to me,” Ariana replied cautiously.
Leah blinked, confused. She’d avoided Ariana for most of the day and barely exchanged two words with her at dinner—aside from asking her to pass the salt.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I-I understand,” Ariana stammered. She offered a tight smile.
“Ari . . .what did I say to you?”
“You don’t remember?” Ariana looked surprised.
Leah shook her head. “I remember dinner. Then I took a bath and went straight to bed . . .” Her voice wavered at the end, as if she was asking for reassurance.
“Oh.” Realisation dawned on Ariana.
“What?”
“You came into my room and had a whole conversation with me.”
“Erm . . .no? I didn’t see you again after—” Leah’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, shit!”
“You were sleepwalking!”
“I was fucking sleepwalking!” Leah gasped.
It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was never funny.
She used to think sleepwalking was a sitcom exaggeration.
Sleep-talking she could accept, sort of—her friends used to joke about it at sleepovers.
She’d even researched it endlessly, trying to figure out what it meant.
Was she in control? What if she did something dangerous or illegal—how would she prove she was asleep?
It was one giant mind-fuck.
“What is it with this place?” she muttered. “I can’t visit without ending up in the woods or the wrong bedroom.”
“Maybe it’s my presence,” Ariana joked.
“Hmm.” Leah gave it some thought.
“I was joking!”
“Well, you might have a point. You have seen me sleepwalk more than anyone—except my mom. Oh, and Dolly, our old neighbour.”
“Why Dolly?”
“I had an obsession with the ornamental hedgehog on her lawn. She used to walk me back home a few times a year.”
Leah thought the episodes had stopped when she hit her twenties—until she was twenty-five and Grace found her in the kitchen, petting a brand-new toilet brush. Thankfully, it was unused. Grace filmed it, and they’d laughed for days. They named the brush after Leah’s childhood dog, Bryan.
“Are you worried it’s getting worse?” Ariana asked.
“How could it get worse?”
“You could walk into traffic and get hit by a car?”
“Well, then I’d be dead. So worrying wouldn’t help much, would it?” Leah laughed.
“I’m serious. Anything could happen! I used to worry so much—” Ariana stopped herself again.
Leah noticed it throughout the trip—Ariana constantly catching herself whenever she started to talk about their past.
Leah waited.
“I used to worry something might happen to you.”
“And now?” Leah teased.
“I still worry,” Ariana said quietly.
She didn’t have the right to worry about Leah anymore—but hearing her say it brought a strange, comforting ache. Depressingly, it gave Leah a sense of satisfaction. Ariana still cared. That had to count for something.
“So . . .what did I say?” Leah asked.
Ariana played with the zip on her sweatshirt and gave a nervous laugh.
“You’re seriously dragging this out,” Leah said.
“I don’t remember all of it—some gibberish.”
“But you wanted to talk about it?”
“Yeah, I just meant . . .like, y’know, talking about what we’ve got planned today,” Ariana stumbled.
Leah wasn’t buying it. “What do we have planned?”
“Uh . . .ask Grace. She made Pinterest-inspired mood boards for every day. I don’t want to ruin her fun.”
Nice save, Leah thought.
“Right. So just to clarify—you don’t want to talk about what we talked about last night?”
“Do you remember what we talked about?”
“You already asked me that,” Leah said with a smirk.
“Okay.” Ariana nodded, satisfied.
“You’re being weird and it’s freaking me out.”
“You know what? Now that I think about it, maybe I dreamt the whole thing.”
“You dreamt about me coming into your room to discuss plans for today? Riveting.”
“Guess it makes sense. The convo was so boring, I should’ve known you were sleepwalking. There’s no way you’d walk into my room in the middle of the night for that.”
Ariana didn’t meet her eyes.
“I’m confused—”
“I think Grace wants me. I’ll talk to you later.” Ariana walked off toward the kitchen.
Grace was tending to a sniffly Ezra, and any planned itinerary quickly flew out the window.
Leah sat with the question: Did I really sleepwalk?
She noticed her clothes on the floor that morning, not folded neatly on the chair. There were drops of water by her nearly empty glass. It wasn’t unusual for her to knock things over while sleeping—but usually the sound would wake her. Unless she was in a deeper sleep.
The signs were there.