Gwyn said, “Even though I just woke up, I think I could go right back to sleep again.” She smacked her lips, wiped a hand across her mouth. “But I'm also famished.”
Elaine smiled. “That's one problem easily solved.” She got to her feet and said, “I'll go tell Grace that you're ready for your breakfast. Is there anything you want, especially?”
“Whatever she wants to fix,” Gwyn said. “Anything at all. I'll eat every last crumb of it, no matter what it is.”
Little more than an hour later, when Gwyn had devoured a stack of flapjacks in sweet apple syrup, two buttery pieces of toast, two eggs sunny-side up, a cup of coffee, juice, and a raisin-filled sweet roll, she felt bloated but content. She used the bath and returned to the bed, weak-kneed and woozy but able to manage on her own. Beneath the sheets again, she felt sleep stealing over her the moment her head touched the pillows; invisible hands tugged at her eyelids.
“You rest, now,” Elaine said.
“I'm not good company.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“But I can't stay awake. I feel so…”
“Sleep all you want.”
“I will. I'll sleep… I'm so tired; I've never been as tired as this before. I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams.”
“You've been through a lot, Gwyn.”
“Goodnight, Elaine.”
“Goodnight, dear.”
And she slept again…
She woke.
She was alone.
The house was still and quiet, like a living being that encompassed her and was now holding its breath.
From the angle at which the sunlight pierced the thin under-drapes that had been drawn across the two windows, she knew that it must be late in the afternoon. She had slept nearly a full day, except for the brief period of consciousness when she'd eaten her breakfast.
They had let her sleep through lunch, which was especially considerate of them…
Thirsty, she got up again. Her legs were as weak as before, her head as light. Even the dull glow of the sun that came through the partially curtained windows was too bright for her, and she squinted her eyes as she crossed the room. She got a drink of water in the darkened bathroom, returned to bed, drew up the sheets and closed her eyes once more.
Her arms felt leaden. Her entire body seemed to have grown heavy and inert, like a lump of earth.
It was extremely pleasant to be lying there in the large bed with absolutely nothing to do… without cares of any sort… and with no tedious studying to be done, no important exams to be preparing for, no reports or term papers or speeches to be written… free from all responsibilities and commitments… Her two pillows were incredibly soft, and the starched bedclothes were soft as well — and the limitless darkness that lay behind her eyes, the beckoning world of contented sleep, was infinitely softer than anything else…
Abruptly, Gwyn opened her eyes and pushed the sheets away as if they were sentient beings trying to smother her; she had been chilled to the core by the memory of how she had once slept away entire days rather than face up to the problem of everyday life. Her problems now were a hundred times more confusing and complex than those which had driven her into her first bout with mental illness; how much more desirable they made escape seem than it had ever seemed before. However, she knew that if she gave in, if she had a relapse of the other sickness on top of her present ills, she would be utterly lost, beyond Dr. Recard's patient care, beyond anyone's help.
She sat up, perspiring, pale and shaken.
She shouldn't have slept all night and morning, and she should never have taken a nap after lunch. What's more, Elaine should have realized how dangerous too much sleep could be for her, considering her past…
Yet, she was still sleepy.
She swung over the edge of the bed, looked down and saw that the floor appeared to be a hundred miles away, impossibly distant, quite out of reach. Her stomach churned at this confused perspective; she felt as if she were going to be physically ill. She fought down that urge, aware that her body was merely seeking another excuse for her to remain in bed. Putting her feet down on the thick carpet, she pushed against the mattress and stood up, swaying like a drunkard. She grasped the headboard of the bed to steady herself, regained her balance, let go and stood entirely on her own power, feeble as an old woman, but up and around nonetheless.
She decided she would shower, change into shorts and a blouse, then go for a walk, perhaps even down to the beach to take in the last of the day's best sunshine and the cool breezes which would be coming in across the choppy water. She should always, she reminded herself, return to the scene of any trouble, rather than flee from it; flight was escape, just as sleep was, and she couldn't afford to be cowardly.
Certainly, sleep was not the answer; and rest was the wrong solution: indeed, these were clearly only parts of the problem.
She went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, worked the twin faucets until the spray was just stingingly hot enough. She let the water stream over her, until she was beet red, then finished the ordeal with a bracing explosion of the cold water, a galvanizing experience which brought her more fully to her senses than she had been all day.
She dressed casually and went to the window where she could look out at the sea, as if challenging it and all the associations that it had lately come to have. A few minutes later, still weary but ready, she left her room and went downstairs.
FOURTEEN
William Barnaby responded to his wife's summons, followed her quickly down the long front hall and joined her by the largest of the front windows, half-hidden by thick draperies, where they had an unobstructed view of the lawn. Out there, Gwyn stood by a small fountain, intent upon the four marble cherubs that poured real water out of marble vases into a small but lovely reflecting pool.
“Christ!” Barnaby said, punching the palm of his left hand with his right fist. “She's supposed to be kept in bed.”
Elaine said, “I couldn't stop her.”
“Why couldn't you?”
“I caught her when she was here at the door, ready to go out, and she was adamant. She said the worst thing she could do was sleep away the rest of the day.”
“She's right — but that's wrong for us.” Without taking his eyes off his niece, he said, “Why weren't you upstairs in her room, watching over her?”
“I can't be there twenty-four hours a day,” Elaine said.
“But you're supposed to be there when she wakes up,” he said. “That's a chore you said you'd be able to handle the best.”
“Normally—”
“We can't afford excuses,” he said. “We have to be right in the first place.”
“I was not trying to shirk my responsibility; I did not intend to give you any excuses,” she said, a hint of anger tinting her voice. “All I meant to do was give you the facts of the situation.” When he did not respond to her, when his eyes did not drift away from Gwyn for a moment, Elaine went on: “The facts are that she was given a powdered sedative in her orange juice at breakfast, and should have slept nearly until supper-time. I'm sure she woke, on and off, but she shouldn't have had the desire or the energy to get out of bed.”
“But she did.”
“Obviously.”
“Are you certain she was given enough of the sedative?”
“Positive”
“Next time, increase the dosage.”
“But we don't want her totally unconscious,” Elaine said. “We want her to wake up, on and off, so she can realize what's happening to her — so she'll think the old sickness is coming back.”
“Sure, sure,” he said. “But we don't want her out of the house again. If she should stumble upon something—”