TWO O’CLOCK IN THE morning was a rough time of day if you were someone’s insomniac houseguest.
You can’t sleep. But you can’t really get up and wake the whole house.
For a while Myrtle resigned herself to contemplating the guest room ceiling. If she were at home, she’d get up and be productive—put away the pots and pans she’d put in the sink to soak, fold some clean laundry, pay a couple of bills. Or do a few crossword puzzles. But here she had a feeling she’d just bang into things and wake Jack up. Everybody knows the rule—you don’t wake sleeping toddlers. Ever.
The other thing she’d do, if she were home, was go on a walk. Naturally, she’d end up at Miles’ house. Miles was an insomniac too, bless him, and she’d almost always see a light on and go over and knock on his door. They’d ha
