Nor (Wattpad Featured Story, WriteAffair finalist)

Chapter 38: Bedtime Stories

The knock at my bedroom door can only be Maggie. It's almost eleven on a school night, and I've just changed into my PJs. "Hey," she says as she looks in at me. "Wes is here. He wants to talk to you."

"Wes?" I start over, then stop as I remember what I'm wearing. I look down at myself. It's not that bad, just grinning moons and stars. Oh, who am I kidding? Could I be any more juvenile?

But I don't have time to change. Maggie is staring at me, and Wes is waiting. I walk out with her, trying to hold my head up and look dignified, nonchalant. It's just PJs. Everybody wears PJs. Well, except Maggie – she likes to wear my dad's shirts, or those short nighties with the spaghetti straps. Hmm. Wes might wear PJs. Aww, Wes in PJs – what a cute thought!

Wes is sitting on the couch, or sinking in it, really. The cushions seem to be half-swallowing him, his arms and legs sticking out of its mouth. His head is resting on the top, set back so that he can see an upside-down view of us walking up.

"Wes? Are you OK?"

"Yeah." He inches up a little, and I notice the muscles pulling and knotting under the back of his shirt. He shifts sideways, looking up at us. "I'm just really tired."

"Yeah, I can see that. I've seen you bad but not this bad."

"It's all thanks to your dad," Maggie informs me.

"What do you mean?"

"He hasn't been going in to work."

"He hasn't? Then where's he been going all this time?"

"He's been going to the police headquarters. He wants to be involved in the investigations for Gerringer's murder."

"R-really?"

She nods at Wes. "Am I right or am I right?"

"I guess he's not here, huh?" he says, sounding a touch wary.

"No. He gets back pretty late these days."

"So you guys have been running the offices?" I ask him in disbelief. "On your own?"

"Yeah. It was OK at first, but now people are getting edgy. They want to talk to him, not us. And we've got things we need him to look at, but he keeps putting them off. "

"Have you tried talking to him?"

"Tried, and failed."

"How about Maggie?"

She shakes her head. "He's not going to listen to me, either."

"But he does. I've seen you do it lots of times."

"Not on this, Nora. Believe me, it won't work. You haven't seen how he gets when he starts talking about Gerringer. He won't shut up, and he doesn't even hear what you're trying to say to him."

"Well, he can't keep this up," Wes says tiredly. Some of his hair is sticking up in funny directions, and his eyes are squinted from lack of sleep.

Again, I feel that guilt, like this is all my fault even though I'm not the one who killed the police chief.

Maggie leans one hand on the couch, peering down at Wes with concern. Her tall figure shadows his face. "Why don't you stay here for the night, Rivers, rather than go home and have to drive back in the morning again?"

"No."

"Why not? You'd save a lot of time, and the last thing I'd want is for you to fall asleep at the wheel."

"I'm OK. I just need some coffee."

"I'll get it," she and I offer at the same time. We turn to face each other, blue eyes on gray, stunned for a second.

"It's OK," I assure her. "It's my house."

"I remember you once told me something different."

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind, go ahead. Go get Wes his coffee."

I walk off into the kitchen, their voices softening behind me to a low murmur. I can't hear the words, no matter how hard I try to listen. I take a look around, finally choosing to take down my own personal coffee cup. I bought if from Artie's café – it's deep green and pictures an office full of beans. There's even a bean manager with a tie. I guess that would be Wes right now, except Wes isn't smiling. Nor does he have such a round head.

I toss a spoon into the sink, a little too hard, and it bounces and clatters. Normally, I wouldn't care if Wes was talking to some random woman, but this is Maggie, my dad's girlfriend. It seems a little weird. I don't want to seem paranoid, but they look so perfect together. I hope it's just my imagination, not just for my sake, but theirs too.

" … don't think he'd like it," Wes is saying when I come out. My eyes widen for a moment, but as he lifts his gaze to my face, his eyes are open, smile genuine. "Thanks, Nor," he whispers as I hold the cup out to him. His hands have to close over mine before slipping gently off.

"What were you talking about?" I ask innocently.

"I was just saying your dad wouldn't like it if I stayed here."

"Oh. Yeah. That's probably true."

"I was just trying to help," Maggie explains herself.

"I know," he answers her. "But this is what will help." He takes a drink of the coffee, his eyes shut, his breath paused. Both she and I stare at him in that moment, like he's some piece of art to admire quietly.

"I don't know," Maggie murmurs, sighing. "It's like Danny's obsessed. You know one of the Captains just became the new Chief?"

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Doherty or something. But it's funny, because Danny'll tell me, 'Oh, I told Doherty to do this' or 'I got Doherty to try that."

"Which means …. "

"I think Danny's pulling his strings. I don't think this new Doherty guy is anything like Gerringer. Gerringer was Danny's friend, but he was tough. He'd never let anyone tell him what to do."

"Yeah," Wes returns, frowning wearily. "I knew him too. The question is, what am I supposed to do to get Danny to stop all this?"

"I don't know. Everything would be OK if we could just find out who did it. Otherwise, you might end up acting director of Sullivan Company."

He makes a face at this. He quickly finishes up his coffee, going to the kitchen to dump the cup into the dishwasher. "It's pretty late. I'd better get going, ladies."

Maggie follows him to the door, but I stay on the couch. I see him mumble something to her before he turns to look at me over his shoulder. "I'll see you, OK, Nor?"

"Yeah."

"Sweet dreams."

I stare at him, and he grins, nodding at my PJs. Embarrassed, I turn away like a blushing child as he steps out. By the time I want to say something back, Maggie has already locked the door softly behind him, and it's too late.