Start the story here.

She woke with a crick in her neck. Daniel was already up. It was strange to feel the emptiness on his side of the bed. With a luxurious groan she stretched her full length. Fingers splayed out as wide as they could. Toes pointed to each corner of the mattress. The sore spot in her neck still ached, but it felt better than before and was dampened by the stretching and she was content. For a moment she almost thought to stay in and really sink into the depths of the bed, curl into the sheets, hog the blankets and doze. But no, he would be waiting, her husband. With a coffee cup in hand, hunched over his lap top answering emails from his boss.
She rolled over to her side and slipped her feet over the edge of the bed, slowly getting up, one muscle at a time. At the end of the stairs, and still feeling delightfully sleepy, she noticed Daniel’s laptop was closed. Instead of typing away at an email, his hands both gripped, the sides of his mug. And he was staring down into the murky brown coffee with gravity. The tendons on his neck stretched long and stiff. She sniffed as if for a clue.
“Where did you go last night?” he whispered, hearing her enter.
“I fell straight to sleep,” she replied. The coffee maker was empty, she noted as she reached for the urn and found nothing but a few grounds swirling lazily in the groves of the glass bottom.
“No, I mean after that,” Daniel’s tone grew sharp.
“What do you mean?” she said, “I just woke up now.”
“Tell me where you went,” Daniel’s voice was loud now. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” she said, “I went to bed last night and then I woke up late this morning.”
“You weren’t there when I got out of the shower last night,” Daniel said.
“I don’t know what to tell you,”
“Well, you weren’t there. The bed was just empty.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“Clearly, you did.”
“Not that I can remember.”
“You can’t remember?”
“No, I don’t remember getting up!”
He set down his cup of coffee. She crossed her arms.
“Well, then maybe you’re sleep walking?” he suggested. But he didn’t really seem to believe it from the sigh in his voice. Either that, or he was taking her sleep-walking very personally, as if she didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with him.
“Maybe,” she admitted, “but I’ve never done it before. At least that I know of.”
“Should we, I don’t know, take you to see some one? A doctor maybe?” he wondered aloud to his coffee.
“I feel fine,” she said. “In fact, I slept really well last night.”
“Still,” he continued, “it seems dangerous to have you out of bed in the middle of the night, doing….things.” he waved his wrist in circles suggestively.
“Hmmm,” she neither consented nor denied. Perhaps she was doing “things” while she was sleeping, but if she was, it didn’t seem to be doing her bad. She walked back over to the cabinet where the coffee filters were kept and began the process of making more coffee for herself, peeling back the flimsy top filter from the other layers of filter cups.


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