“Do You Think She’s Okay?”

This morning I woke as usual at 6:25AM. Merlin, whose internal clock tells him it’s time for loud purring and affection typically paws at my nose somewhere between 5:00 & 5:30. I have always viewed my nose as “distinctive” however to Merlin it apparently resembles a mouse. By 6:40 I was out of the shower and by 6:45 in the kitchen, which was curiously dark and empty. Richard was in Nic’s room waking him, I could hear their voices speaking softly to one another, Merlin mewed at me, demanding to have a treat and Emma’s bedroom door remained firmly closed.
“Do you think she’s okay?” I asked Richard when he reappeared.
“Has this ever happened before?” Richard asked in answer.
“Maybe she wants to spend some down time with Cokie,” Richard said, though he sounded unconvinced.
“You think?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m getting worried.”
“Well what do you think could have happened?” Richard asked.
“I don’t know. She fell out of bed in the middle of the night, knocked herself unconscious or…”
“God, I thought I was the only one who had those kinds of morbid thoughts,” Richard said.
“Think I should go in and look?” I looked over at him. “I don’t want to wake her if she really is just sleeping. Maybe I should give her another ten minutes? Or I could just go in and peek, very quietly. But maybe it’s better to let her sleep…”
Richard, all too familiar with this kind of answer where I am essentially playing both sides of the net, nodded and wandered off.
Nic appeared wearing a short sleeved t-shirt, a shirt he loves and would wear to bed if allowed.
“Nic – it’s not even 40 degrees outside.”
“Yeah, but it’s really hot at school.”
“Please change your shirt.”
Nic returned wearing a long sleeved shirt, the short-sleeved shirt poking out from underneath the bottom. The whole outfit had a kind of disheveled, rumpled chic to it. Definitely not okay for school, however, even though it was “Casual Friday”. “What?” he asked, when he saw the look on my face.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked him.
As Nic turned to go, muttering under his breath, Emma shot into the study on her scooter.
“Hey! Good morning Em!”
“Good job waiting ‘til it’s light out!” she said.
“You’re not kidding!”
Emma has never slept later than the rest of us, other than a couple of times at her Granma’s house in Colorado and then only after a full week of skiing all day, every day. It has never happened in New York. The wonders do not cease…

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