The Night Child: A Novel
By Anna Quinn
3.5/5
()
About this ebook
Exquisitely nuanced and profoundly intimate, The Night Child is a story of resilience, hope, and the capacity of the mind, body, and spirit to save itself despite all odds.
Nora Brown teaches high school English and lives a quiet life in Seattle with her husband and six-year-old daughter. But one November day, moments after dismissing her class, a girl’s face appears above the students’ desks—“a wild numinous face with startling blue eyes, a face floating on top of shapeless drapes of purples and blues where arms and legs should have been. Terror rushes through Nora’s body—the kind of raw terror you feel when there’s no way out, when every cell in your body, your entire body, is on fire—when you think you might die.”
Twenty-four hours later, while on Thanksgiving vacation, the face appears again. Shaken and unsteady, Nora meets with neurologists and eventually, a psychiatrist. As the story progresses, a terrible secret is discovered—a secret that pushes Nora toward an even deeper psychological breakdown.
This breathtaking debut novel examines the impact of traumatic childhood experiences and the fragile line between past and present.
Anna Quinn
Anna Quinn is an American writer and teacher based in Washington State. She is the author of the novel The Night Child. Her writing has appeared in Psychology Today, Writer’s Digest, Medium, Washington 129 Anthology, and Alone Together: Love, Grief, and Comfort in the Time of COVID-19 Anthology. She is the founder of the Writers’ Workshoppe in Port Townsend, Washington. When she isn’t writing, she’s kayaking the Salish Sea or hiking in the Olympic Rainforest.
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Reviews for The Night Child
54 ratings12 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Night Child should come with a warning label. This is not only because Anna Quinn‘s debut novel deals with repressed memories and the reasons for them. It is also because Ms. Quinn’s writing is so hauntingly beautiful that it is as emotionally dangerous as anything else the novel holds. In fact, many scenes are almost poetic in their sentence structure and ability to convey so much in a few short words. This is especially true of later scenes as Nora begins to question her sanity.The Night Child is a tough novel to read. The subject matter is very sensitive and will be a trigger read for some readers. Ms. Quinn is more explicit than anyone will feel comfortable with reading, but she does this so that we can understand Nora’s frame of mind throughout the novel. For if we are uncomfortable merely reading about these scenes, what must the mental trauma be like for someone living them, even if she is a fictional character. Throughout it all, in even the worst scenes, Ms. Quinn still finds a way to be delicate and careful in her verbiage. This too is important if only because she maintains the horror of the situation without delving into the grotesque or vulgar.In addition to those very difficult scenes, the novel is emotionally exhausting. Ms. Quinn’s writing lures you into the story so that you are emotionally invested in Nora’s well-being. Even if you may not like her as a character, which may be the case as she is not the most enjoyable of characters, her emotions are your emotions. The roller coaster ride she lands on is brutal. With virtually no moments of calm to collect yourself, it is an unceasing barrage of the rawest of emotions, leaving you drained after each reading session.Throughout it all though, there is remarkable resilience and beauty in Nora’s story and thus in the novel, making it a gorgeous read. The human mind is a marvelous instrument that finds amazing ways to protect itself during the most traumatizing horrors, and it is capable of the most astounding healing. It is this healing which is truly remarkable and makes for some of the most poignant scenes, filling you with hope. After all, if someone can survive what Nora experiences we can survive anything, which means The Night Child is the perfect reminder that not only can things be worse but that things will get better.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Well, not really something you would read on Valentine's Day on purpose, it was a little different, especially considering the day.I knew it would be emotional as per the hint in the blurb on the website. And the blurb was totally correct. A remembrance of what happened back in Nora's childhood that was affecting her was cray, cray. And I mean that in a good way. Not the event, but how she stowed it away and lived her life. That is, until her daughter reached a certain age.I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. I did not see the ending coming. Thanks to Blackstone Publishing and Net Galley for providing me with a free e-galley in exchange for an honest, unbiased review.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A special thank you to Edelweiss, NetGalley and Blackstone for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.Nora Brown is a high school English teacher. She leads a low-key life in Seattle with her husband, Paul, and six-year old daughter, Fiona. After dismissing her class for Thanksgiving weekend, Nora sees the face of a young girl. She is filled with terror and confusion—is she hallucinating or could this be related to the headaches she has been having? The next day while on vacation, Nora sees the face again and is left shaken and disturbed. She consults with a neurologist and eventually sees a psychiatrist to work through the visions and what they mean. Through these sessions, Quinn moves the narrative. We learn that Nora is the victim of a traumatic childhood and as a result has suffered a psychological breakdown. As the plot unravels so does Nora as she begins to fear that what happened to her could happen to her daughter. The character dissension is sharp and swift and Nora's husband—who has stepped out on their marriage—is less than supportive. He has completely checked out of the relationship and has little patience for her. As stated, this book is not for the faint of heart—there is sexual violence, child abuse, death, mental illness, and suicide.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Night Child: A Novel by Anna Quinn; (4 1/2*)The Night Child was an emotional roller coaster for me. I identified so much with the protagonist that my gut was in a clinch the whole way through the book. The novel was not scary but I found it so intense. I look forward to reading something else by this author.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Nora is a high school teacher with a knack for connecting with at risk students. She’s also the mother of a 5 year old daughter, and has a husband who is cheating on her, a fact which she is aware of but not wanting to deal with. One afternoon, sitting in her classroom after school, she sees a vision of a young girl with blue eyes. It leaves her rattled and confused. Then, a day later, she sees the face again, and this time it speaks, telling her to remember the Valentine’s dress. Her husband is dismissive and doesn’t really want to hear about it. Nora goes to doctors; when they find nothing physically wrong, she sees a psychiatrist. During the session, she suddenly starts speaking in a little girl voice, and says she is Margaret. This is when stuff gets really serious. Nora’s –Margaret’s- past starts coming back to her, and it’s not pretty. Not only is it ugly, but she begins to see how it’s affected her entire adult life. When I requested this book from Net Galley, I thought it was a supernatural horror story rather than what it is. This is kind of a hard book to read because of what Nora went through as a child. People who have undergone sexual abuse may find it very triggering. But for all the bad, there is signs of growth and renewal. This is a very well written book, but not one I would have picked up knowing what it was about. Most of the characters aren’t very well developed; they are very secondary to Nora and Margaret and what they are going through. Four and a half stars.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This book is not a comfortable read, and the subject is one of the most hideous. In this story Nora, a high school teacher and mother of a six-year-old girl, starts seeing visions of a small girl with blue eyes. She consults a psychiatrist who helps her to remember some long forgotten, deeply buried childhood trauma. The story describes how Nora step by step uncovers what happened in the past and how she slowly breaks apart on her way there. The additional circumstance that her husbands seems to be cheating on her is as unsettling as the nearing Valentine's Day, which has special significance to Nora.The book was very emotionally disturbing and hard to digest, especially after learning that it is based on the author's memoir. I admire the courage and immeasurable strength it must have taken to revisit the past. I also read that writing helped her to deal with it, and on the way she created a remarkable novel.(Thanks to Netgalley, the author, and the publisher for a copy of the book, all opinions are my own)
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This was an emotional story about Nora, in a loveless marriage, who begins having visions. These visions frighten her, and cause Nora to re-examine her whole life, and what secrets may be in her past. Nora and Paul's marriage of 15 years hasn't been good, their 6 year old daughter, Fiona, recognizes the stress in the marriage. Nora is having problems with her high school English students, and isn't able to help them when they need it most.
Beautifully written, achingly sad.
#TheNightChild #AnnaQuinn - Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Riveting story, well-written, powerful emotions evoked. I’m glad this one wasn’t an audiobook.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5(This review will be on my blog All the Ups and Downs soon).
When I first read this synopsis, I thought The Night Child by Anna Quinn was going to be a ghost story. The synopsis really drew me in. However, there was nothing paranormal about this book. It is a story about emotional trauma and child abuse. I still enjoyed The Night Child though.
The pacing for The Night Child does start out a little slow, but it still held my attention somewhat. (I think the writing style also bothered me which made it seem slower, but I got used to it.) However, it did speed up after a few chapters, and I found myself immersed in the story Anna Quinn had created. Once the pacing picked up, I had trouble putting The Night Child down.
The plot for The Night Child is an emotional one, but it is written well. Personally, I felt like the abuse scenes could have been less graphic. They weren't very graphic, but they were graphic enough. Perhaps the author wrote the scenes as such so the audience would get a better understanding of what Nora went through. Another thing I wasn't fond of was how in one chapter, it's mostly all political. I could have done without the politics. I didn't really see the point. Plus, Nora is a teacher, and as far as I'm aware, teachers aren't really supposed to get political with their high school students. Anyway, the rest of the plot is done very well. We get to witness Nora's life spiraling out of control because of her abuse as well as what else is going on around her such as the distance between her and her husband as well as what is happening to one of her students.
I did enjoy the world building in The Night Child. It had me feeling all sorts of emotions ranging from anger to sadness to frustration and many others along the way. It was very easy to stay immersed in the story, and I always felt like a fly on the wall in Nora's world while reading this book. The Night Child is mainly set in 1996 and 1997, but it does have some flashbacks to 1965. The author, Anna Quinn, uses politics to help set the time. As I've said before, I could have done without the politics. There are many other ways to show specific events of that time. I didn't feel like there were any major plot twists in The Night Child, but I didn't mind. As for the ending, I wanted a bit more closure. I wanted to know more.
I thought the characters were decently written. Nora is the main character, and I felt like I was given enough details about her life to where she felt real enough. There were times I felt really bad for her, and it annoyed me how her husband, Paul, treated her. I loved Margaret though. I felt she was fleshed out well. I enjoyed reading scenes with her in them. I also liked the character of Fiona, Nora's daughter. I thought she was written well. I would have liked to read more about James' and Nora's relationship though.
Trigger warnings include child sexual abuse, emotional trauma, mental illness, alcohol (not excessive, violence, and swearing.
Overall, The Night Child was an enjoyable read. The plot was interesting, and the world building was written well. I would recommend The Night Child by Anna Quinn to those aged 17 and older. - Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Wow, this book was really, really hard to read. In that I mean it was emotionally taxing. The writing is so heart felt and delves so deep into the psyche of the topic you will be exhausted. I would definitely recommend this book but it is not for the faint at heart. Thank you Blackstone Publishing and NetGalley!
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Nora Brown lives a quiet life with her husband and six-year-old daughter in Seattle. She's an English teacher at a high school. It's the last day before Thanksgiving break and she'll be going away with her family, but before she leaves her classroom she sees a girls face floating on top of the drapes. She's terrified - does this mean she's going crazy or is she just tired? Over Thanksgiving vacation she sees the face again, and this time the girl whispers "remember the Valentine's dress." Nora eventually talks to a psychiatrist where a secret that was hidden deep within is revealed.
The best part of this book, to me, is that it's short. I feel bad for saying all this but the characters weren't really fleshed out, the writing was just okay and I couldn't really get into the story. I figured when I read in the blurb about Nora seeing a face there would be a little bit of a thrill, some tension, SOMETHING! But what happened in the book wasn't what I was expecting. But kudos to the author for writing about a serious subject, something that some people can relate to and maybe even make them feel like they're not alone and that it's not their fault.
Thank you to Netgalley and Blackstone Publishing for a copy of this book.1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Anna Quinn does an outstanding job with her debut novel, The Night Child. After a bit of a slow start, her writing soon had me engrossed in the story and I read right through until the end.Nora, a young teacher and mother, sees a vision of a small child and from there, she embarks on an emotional rollercoaster as past events from her childhood come to light.We all have those moments when a smell, a song or a situation will churn up a memory from our childhood. Just imagine if those memories caused intense fear. This is just part of what Nora endured as she discovered the truth from her past.I thought it was a bit frightening in relation to Nora’s post traumatic stress and split personality and I felt such empathy for her as she worked through these issues. Readers should be warned there is sensitive subject matter relating to child abuse and references to suicide. Many thanks to NetGalley and Blackstone Publishing for allowing me to read an advance copy and give my honest review.
Book preview
The Night Child - Anna Quinn
Child
CHAPTER ONE
November 27, 1996
Nora glances at the clock above the classroom door. Thirteen minutes until she will retreat with her husband and daughter to the Washington Coast. Every Thanksgiving since she and Paul have been married, fifteen years now, they’ve rented a room at the Kalaloch Lodge, a 1930s inn standing on a bluff above the rocky shore. Though it’s only a few hours from Seattle, it feels as if they’re visiting a distant relative, and it’s better than sitting together, alone in the city.
This book has no plot, no conflict,
mumbles Jason, a sixteen-year-old underachiever who surprised everyone, including himself, when he passed the AP English test and secured a place in Nora’s class. Now it’s her job to get him into an Ivy League school—God, the way his mother hovers and pushes!
You’re an idiot,
Elizabeth says to him. Gorgeous, brilliant Elizabeth, the girl who does everything possible to disturb. The girl who smears black around her eyes, dyes her hair an unnatural obsidian, and cuts it into angry asymmetrical lengths that hang over half her face.
They are discussing Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, and they are distracted—impatient for the weeklong break. What do the rest of you think?
Nora asks in an unusually quiet voice, walking between the rows of desks. She knows she should say more—she loves this book. She wants to discuss daring writers—how they sometimes veer off traditional plot trajectories, that not every story has a beginning, middle, and end, and yes, Jason, there is conflict! Look at the power the father exerts over the son, the need of the mother to keep her son a child forever, how badly Lily wants to paint. There’s so much Nora wants to say, so much she wants to ask them, but a headache is growing from the base of her skull, like someone piling stones in her mind, flattening her thoughts, weighing her down.
Plot means action,
Jason says.
God, the action’s in their heads, you cretin,
Elizabeth says, drawing skulls on the cover of her notebook and darkening the eye sockets, her fingers thin as pencils, her nails bitten to the quick, the stubs of them painted pitch black.
No wonder she killed herself,
Jason says with a smirk.
Darkness falls across Elizabeth’s face then, but before Nora can say anything, the bell rings, the bodies bolt out the door, and Elizabeth is gone.
Nora walks slowly to her desk and collapses into her chair. She looks at the empty desks. I don’t know any of you,
she says, wearily. She used to be energized by teaching, awakened and alive, used to go home and say, How did I get so lucky, that this is what I get to do?
She used to allow students to write what they wanted, what they needed to, recommended books to them, offered options until their faces opened and their defenses dropped. But now, so many kids crammed in a small space, so many government requirements and ulterior motives—she has grown depleted and a bit hopeless.
It happens then.
A subtle movement of air behind her. More than a quiver of wind, more like someone exhaling. She turns around quickly. No one. But again, in front of her, another whisper. Her skin tightens and a chill shoots through her. She turns around. No one. Another movement. What is it?
she says, aloud.
Oh, God. Panic tightens her chest and chokes her breathing. In front of her, a girl’s face, a wild numinous face with startling blue eyes, a face floating on top of shapeless drapes of purples and blues where arms and legs should have been. Their eyes meet and terror rushes through Nora’s body—the kind of raw terror you feel when there’s no way out, when every cell in your body, your entire body, is on fire—when you think you might die.
A moment later, the face is gone.
Nora sits for a few moments, heart beating fast, still in its grip. What the hell was that? Did some little asshole put something in my coffee? Am I so tired I’m hallucinating? Shit.
She takes deep breaths, rubs her eyes hard with the heels of her hands, and stares at the place where the face had floated moments ago. Nothing. Nothing is there any longer. The face has gone. Okay then. You are fine now. You are fine. You just need rest, that’s all. Just some rest.
A man’s voice behind her says, Ready for the break?
She turns around, blood still pounding in her ears. John,
she says, her voice a whisper. John in his slouchy tweed blazer, his hands plunged into his jean pockets as if he were just a teacher killing time between classes, not the principal of Lincoln High. The strength and warmth of him as he leans against the doorframe. The broad set of his shoulders, the ease of his grin, touch her and, in this moment, calm her racing heart.
You okay?
he asks, closing the door and walking into the room.
She blinks fast, tries to blink away the blue eyes still bright at the edge of her mind. For a moment she considers telling him, telling him what happened—they’ve been friends for so long. She considers telling him, but her mouth doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel like it can move enough to describe what she saw, but she tries to speak anyway, though only two words, "I’m fine," come out and the words seem muffled, seem far away, not her voice at all, and she doesn’t attempt to say more. She stands then, even though her legs tremble and for a second she holds onto the desk and John reaches for her with both hands, clutches her arms, asks her again if she’s okay and she says again that she’s fine, just tired, and she smiles a little to reassure him. He drops his hands when she reaches for her coat on the back of the chair. She pulls her coat on, buttons it slowly, watches her fingers push each black button into its hole, aware her fingers don’t feel like they belong to her at all. And now, his hand touching her arm again.
Nora,
he says. What is it?
She wants to say something but she can’t, and she plucks up her book bag and rushes out of the classroom and down the orange-tiled hallway and out the front door. The cold November air like a slap. She stops. Draws in the cold air deep, and it’s the cold air, the startling sharpness of it, the white puffs from her mouth, that begin to anchor her to the present. Thank God. She doesn’t want to have to explain to Paul what happened—he would only worry, might use it as a reason to stay home rather than travel. He is not one to relax all day long, let alone an entire week.
Nora! Nora! Over here!
Paul shouts from the rolled-down window of his black Saab.
She walks, speeds up her pace, wants to appear normal, speeds toward him, speeds toward the concrete noun of him, so real and specific in his black car, the car reorienting her even more, and the shock of what happened has almost completely subsided now, though she can still feel the residual fear of it, a light dusting of it throughout her entire body.
Just your imagination,
she whispers, her mouth working better now, and by the time she opens the car door and slides in, she feels almost completely normal.
You okay?
Paul starts the engine. It’s started to drizzle, and he flips on the windshield wipers.
Yeah.
She drops her book bag on the floor between her legs.
Hi Mommy!
Fiona shouts from the back seat. Are you excited to go on our trip?
Nora takes one more deep breath and turns toward Fiona with a smile. Her daughter’s small freckled face flushed with excitement, her arms wrapped around a stuffed orca. Absolutely,
Nora says, clicking her seatbelt. Absolutely.
CHAPTER TWO
November 28, 1996
In the hotel, Nora pulls open the heavy curtains and is immediately comforted by the wide expanse of beach, water, and sky. The tide plunges in, silver-colored water flashing whitecaps like a thousand gulls who might at any moment lift up to the sky, light meeting light. Fiona, already on the beach, happy to be alive, laughing and chasing a white feather, her blonde hair flying wild. Paul strides behind her, hands in his pockets. He moves differently here than he does at home. Here, in the beach grasses, he is easier, but at home, when she sits with him at the kitchen table, the purple lupines in a vase between them, his tranquility vanishes behind his preoccupations and she feels an overwhelming urge to knock the vase over.
Lately, the way he is makes her (and Fiona too, Nora can see it on her face) feel unnecessary and alone. Fiona often asks her why Daddy is so busy, but Nora’s explanation is nebulous, and she’ll say, It’s a big job to sell big buildings.
But he’s acting like someone who’s having an affair.
They’d met when Nora was searching for a small house to buy in West Seattle and Paul was her Realtor. He’d patiently shown her house after house until she’d suddenly changed her mind—realized she wasn’t ready to buy an entire house, and rented a forty-foot houseboat named Mucho Gusto with bamboo floors on Lake Union because it was something she’d always wanted to do—live on the water, live in a floating home. Paul had warned her that houseboats required a lot of upkeep because water is corrosive and accelerates deterioration—she’d be constantly painting and varnishing. She’d moved there anyway, lived contentedly, felt more connected to the world than ever before, until marrying him a year later. They’d moved into a bungalow then, on Capitol Hill, because the constant rolling back and forth of the houseboat made him nauseated.
Paul was five years older than her, steady and ambitious. At the time she liked that—he had a life of his own and didn’t need her for validation or inspiration, but now it seems, he doesn’t need her for anything. Not even sex. Not that their sex life is great, or was ever great—it isn’t. It wasn’t. But still. Red flag waving high in the sky.
She hasn’t told him about the hallucination. She’s convinced herself it was a dream brought on by exhaustion, a freakish moment that’s over now. There’s no sense in telling him about it. She can’t deny though, she is still disturbed by the girl’s face, the blue eyes. Yes, the blue eyes bother her. There was something significant about them, something more than a random fleeting remnant of a nightmare.
She pushes a worn upholstered chair closer to the window, sideways so she can hear the waves and avoid the glare. Sinking into the plump cushions, she leans her head back, closes her eyes, and breathes in rhythm with the ebb and flow of the ocean. Her grandfather told her once, as they sat on the shore of Galway Bay, that on the ebb, the waves gathered up secrets and carried them away to other places, and on the flow, the secrets spilled into new places until they were heard. She’d asked him if he had ever heard any secrets but he’d just put his finger on her lips and said, "Listen."
In this moment, she is content.
But breathing like this, letting her guard down, is a mistake, for it is only a few minutes later when again she feels rising panic, the same agitation of air she’d felt in the classroom. She opens her eyes. There, less than ten feet away, inches above the bed, the girl’s face forms out of nothingness. Oh, my God, not again. Please, not again. The face, obscure and veiled in blues and violets, hangs there for a few seconds and then, as quickly as before, disappears. And now here is a voice, a perfectly clear child’s voice, a voice that is not in her mind, but above her, saying, "Remember the Valentine’s dress."
Nora’s heart seizes for a moment, then races and pounds loud, and before she has a chance to calm herself, to even consider what has happened, shoes bang on the stairs and Paul and Fiona burst through the door. Fiona rushes in, flushed and eager to show Nora her treasures. She holds out her yellow pail and tilts it so Nora can look inside.
See! Aren’t they pretty?
Her daughter’s voice slips around her like a lullaby, and her heart rate slows. She leans over and peers into the pail. It’s hard to resist reaching in and touching the feathers and sea glass, but her hands are shaking, so she keeps them folded on her lap. Beautiful honey, just beautiful,
she says.
I’m going to sort them into sizes and colors,
Fiona says, rushing into the alcove where she will sleep.
Honey,
Nora calls to her with effort, close the door behind you please. Mommy wants to talk with Daddy for a moment.
Fiona pauses in the doorway and looks at Nora nervously. Mommy—is everything okay?
Yes, honey. Everything’s fine,
Nora says lightly, though of course everything is not.
What’s going on?
Paul says, once Fiona’s door is closed. He sits on the edge of the bed and unties his hiking boots.
I don’t know,
she whispers, drawing in a deep breath.
What do you mean, you don’t know? What’s up?
He stands, pulls his T-shirt over his head, and walks over to his suitcase. He opens it and grabs a blue wrinkle-free shirt.
I don’t know. God, I … I … feel like I’m having a nervous breakdown or something.
He turns to her, buttons his shirt. C’mon, Nora.
He pulls off his jeans, pulls on his tan khakis, zips the fly. You’ve just got too much on your plate, that’s all. You never should have taken that department-chair job.
Paul—
He checks his watch. Reservations are in fifteen minutes. Get dressed up, you’ll feel better. Eat something. Christ, you’re so thin! Probably half your problem.
He pulls on his brown dress socks while he says all this.
She wants him to be different, to be concerned, but she knows he can’t be. He’s in the middle of a huge business deal and the anxiety and the pressure of it (and seductive thrill of it too, he loves this kind of stuff) is off the charts and he can’t let anything distract him. In the beginning of their relationship, his ambitious nature—a promise of a halcyon future, more "Clair de Lune than
Ride of the Valkyries," his focus and drive, attracted her, but in this moment, she wants more. Kind words. An embrace. Something. But he has already walked away from her toward the mirror across the room, picked up his comb. The salty air makes his blonde hair unruly, and it’s hard for him to smooth it.
I saw something, Paul, an apparition or I hallucinated or I’m going crazy or something.
She hears the instability in her voice and knows she is dangerously close to crossing a line. Still, she has told him.
He turns toward her, the comb midair. He holds her gaze longer than he has in a long time. What the hell are you talking about?
I saw something. A face. A girl’s face. Twice.
Nora shivers and crosses her arms tightly across her chest.
What do you mean?
He drops the comb on the dresser and looks at her, looks worried.
A lump comes up in her throat. She presses her knees together tightly. Folds her shaking hands. In the classroom—yesterday—right after I’d dismissed the kids, I, I …
He runs his hands through his hair, keeps watching her. She can’t tell what he’s thinking.
I saw a girl’s face. She had blue eyes. And she said—
A face spoke to you?
His eyes darken. Everything about his face tightens.
The window is still open and the waves shush in and out, in and out. Somewhere, the discordant squawk of a gull.
Paul,
she says, realizing she is, after all, unprepared to talk about the voice, to say what she’d heard—Remember the Valentine’s dress—without sounding crazy and frightening him more, would you take Fiona to dinner by yourself? I know, it’s Thanksgiving, it’s just that, if I rest—
For a moment, he says nothing. Then suddenly, his face softens. Please come with us,
he says gently. He walks over to her, takes her hands and brings her to her feet. "We came here to relax, right? We’re both really stressed, that’s all.