She nearly crawled inside him. She pressed as much of her body against his as was physically possible. This close, he could practically see her thoughts. He could definitely feel her fears, and it made him regret having said he might go away under any circumstances. All he could do was hang on tight and reassure her. They remained that way for almost two hours, till Morgan finally fell asleep.
After putting her down, Gus didn't even try falling back to sleep. He needed something to occupy his mind. Predawn television didn't cut it. The newspaper had yet to be delivered. His eyes drifted toward the framed photographs on the dresser. There were at least a dozen of them. The frames were old, some of them from the days when he and Beth were just living together. Over time, however, the pictures had changed. It was an interesting progression, he thought. It used to be him and Beth. The two of them snow skiing. The two of them at Haystack Rock. Then came the engagement and wedding pictures. The baby pictures followed. Morgan in her bassinet. Morgan and Mommy. He scanned the entire dresser.
There wasn't a single picture of him and Morgan.
Curious, he went to the closet and dragged down the old shoe boxes that held all their photographs. Over the next several hours, he went through them slowly, box by box, oldest to newest. The old ones were familiar and brought back memories. The new ones, however, were truly new to him. He hadn't been the photographer for any of them. He wasn't in any of them. He hadn't even seen most of them before.
He returned to the older ones, back to a time when he was still part of the family. His favorite was one he had taken of Morgan in her crib when she was just eight months old, before things really started to tank between him and Beth. A ray of sunlight streamed through slats on the Bermuda shutters. It angled perfectly toward her crib, shooting like a laser beam. Morgan stared at it intently, reaching for it, trying to grasp it in her tiny fingers. Gus snapped a perfect shot that captured the moment exactly. Friends and family who saw it had the same reaction. "Just like her dad. Mad because she can't have everything."
Looking at it now, Gus saw it differently. There was no anger or frustration in baby Morgan's eyes. It was simple fascination. The look of determination was so strong that if you stared at the photo long enough, you couldn't help but put aside your own grown-up notion of the laws of physics. You'd swear she could reach out and grab it, even bend it and twist it as she wished. She had the innate gift of making the impossible seem possible, but that didn't make her a hopeless overachiever like her dad. As the years had made clear, she also had the wisdom to leave certain things be and enjoy them for what they were.
That made her more like her mother--the Beth he remembered.
"Daddy?" He looked up, startled. Morgan was standing in the doorway, still in her pajamas. "Are you going to take me to school?"
He checked the clock and groaned. It was already after nine. "Oh, boy. We're late." He quickly started stuffing photographs back into the boxes. In his haste he spilled a bulging stack all over the rug. Morgan came to help gather them up. She handed him one after the other. It was slower that way, but Gus liked the teamwork. "Thank you," he said as she handed him the last one. "Should I get ready for school?"
He was about to say yes, then reconsidered. She probably hadn't noticed that her father wasn't in a single one of the dozen photographs she'd just handed over, but he certainly had. He had planned to take another run at Shirley Borge, but she probably could use another day to cool off anyway. "Morgan, why don't you and I take the day off?"
"And do what?"
"Anything you want. Go ice skating. Go to the zoo. Anything at all."
Her eyes brightened. "You mean we're going to play hooky together?"
"Yeah," he said with a thin smile. "I think it's about time."
It took just minutes to fill his duffel bag with the basic necessities, though everything was folded and arranged with precision. One change of pants, two clean shirts. Extra thermal socks and underwear. Three long-sleeve cotton turtlenecks and a heavy wool sweater. A toothbrush and toothpaste. A straight-edge razor with just a bar of soap, no shaving cream. A Swiss Army knife, flammable steel wool, and some waterproof matches.
His weekend in the mountains would require little more. The retreat was just one day away. Already, he could feel the increased flow of energy, feel the change in his level of vibration. Energy was power. Power was his sustenance--his power over others.
The window shade was drawn and the room was dark, though not completely black. A four-watt bulb in the bathroom cast a faint glow that reached all the way to the bed. He could see only because his pupils had adjusted, and he could see quite well. The pattern on the bedspread. The curves beneath the covers. Her head resting on the pillow.
He took a silent step forward, then another, till he was at the edge of the bed and standing directly over her. She was sound asleep. No surprise. After what she'd been through this past week, she couldn't possibly know night from day.