Some Quiet Place

finger, up to the glowing machines with the green lines that prove her heart is still beating.
    Maggie doesn’t have much time left.
    I lean my head against my hand and lift my gaze to the dim outline of the window. Outside, day is dying. The curtains are drawn and there’s no way to see the sunset. Quietly, I stand and stride over to the glass. I pull the curtains open just a little. Sit down again. The chair creaks beneath me. Maggie sleeps on. Hues of pink and orange fall over her face. In that instant, it’s almost easy to pretend she’s like any other teenage girl, sleeping. Something inside of me twitches, like an electric shock.
    Maggie’s fingers curl suddenly, as if she senses me, or maybe she’s finally traveled to a better place. I was dreaming about the ocean. I start to reach forward, reacting to an odd instinct to smooth those straggles of hair out of her face. But then I lean back, clenching my hand into a fist to stop myself. It would be cruel to wake her up.
    Silence trembles around us. The darkness isn’t a menace now, but an understanding friend. There’s a clock somewhere in the hall, ticking a warning to me. I should go. I will go. Just as soon as the sun sets. For this moment—just this moment—I lay my head down on Maggie’s bed and close my eyes.
    This time I have no place in the dream. I’m only an observer.
    “Damn it, answer me!” The woman with the strong chin and crinkled eyes stands on the front step of the stone house, hands on her hips. She glares out at the trees as if they’ll shrink from her and reveal something. “I’m not joking!”
    Suddenly there they are, two teenagers emerging from the green shadows. Their clothing—simple shorts and T-shirts—is dirty. The woman watches them approach, unmoving even when the boy wraps his arm around her shoulders. They’re both smiling as they greet her. She’s angry. “Where have you been?” she demands. For the first time, I notice that there are streaks of gray through her hair.
    The question kills the boy’s mirth and he shrugs, averting his gaze. When it’s obvious he refuses to answer the woman turns to the girl. Unlike her sibling, her eyes sparkle. “We were just in the woods,” she informs their mother. Her smile is still secretive. “We were dancing.”
    At this, the woman’s frown deepens. “Were you alone?” There is suddenly fear in her voice. “Tell me you were alone,” she orders when neither of them responds.
    The girl looks out to the trees, as if even now she’s drawn to them. “We were alone, Mom,” she parrots. “I’m sorry.” She embraces her, trying to placate, but she doesn’t look away from those quivering shadows.
    “We’re fine,” the boy says.
    Glancing around warily, like something else might come out—something far less welcome—the woman ushers them into the house. “No more going to out there without asking me first,” she instructs. “And no more dancing. All right?”
    The boy agrees, but the girl glances over her shoulder one more time as she follows her family inside. She pauses in the doorway, mouths something—a name—and an Emotion shimmers into view behind her. The Emotion is achingly lovely, and she grasps the girl’s shoulder hard. The girl doesn’t even flinch. Her expression is soft and dreamy. All her focus is on someone in those woods, someone who is watching her just as intently. His face is hidden in shadows, but he lifts a hand in a wave. The girl blows a kiss.
    “Honey, what are you doing?”
    Slowly, reluctantly, the girl turns her back on the woods and goes inside, closing the door behind her. The Emotion visiting her vanishes.
    She is Love.
    Mora looks at me with her big, brown, dewy eyes. “What do you think?” I ask the cow, her teats warm in my hands. Swish, swish. The sound of milk squirting into the pail is familiar, rhythmic, and my muscles relax. Mora shifts and huffs through her nose, taking no interest in my dream. She focuses on the hay in front of her.
    The barn is still. The cows chew slowly, their jaws going around and around. Suddenly, though, the peace is disrupted. My senses sharpen and my nostrils flare, recognizing the scent. It’s the presence I encountered on the way to school, the one I followed out into the woods that night—the hooded woman.
    A breeze rustles my hair. I’ve been expecting this visit, and this time, I’m ready.
    “It’s almost time,” a low voice says behind me.
    I turn, unsurprised. “Time