Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [42]
Then he went into Eliza’s room. At first he could not see her; his daughter had lately taken to burrowing under a barricade of covers and pillows when she slept. He tiptoed in, and saw a small hand reach up, and wave to him. He came forward.
“Why aren’t you asleep, Lize?” he whispered.
“I was having a dream,” she said. But she didn’t seem frightened.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and stroked her hair. “What kind of a dream?”
“About the beast.”
“Uh-huh . . .”
“The beast was really a prince, but he was placed under a powerful spell by a ‘chantress.”
“That’s right . . .” He stroked her hair.
“Who turned him into a hideous beast.”
She was quoting the movie almost verbatim.
“That’s right,” he said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Lize. That’s the story.”
“Because he didn’t give her shelter from the bitter cold?” She was quoting again. “Why didn’t he, Dad?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Because he had no love in his heart,” she said.
“Lize, it’s time for sleep.”
“Give me a dream first, Dad.”
“Okay. There’s a beautiful silver cloud hanging over your bed, and—”
“That dream’s no good, Dad.” She was frowning at him.
“Okay. What kind of dream do you want?”
“With Kermit.”
“Okay. Kermit is sitting right here by your head, and he is going to watch over you all night.”
“And you, too.”
“Yes. And me, too.” He kissed her forehead, and she rolled away to face the wall. As he left the room he could hear her sucking her thumb loudly.
He went back to the bedroom and pushed aside his wife’s legal briefs to get into bed.
“Was she still awake?” Susan asked.
“I think she’ll go to sleep. She wanted a dream. About Kermit.”
His wife nodded. “Kermit is a very big deal now.”
She didn’t comment on his T-shirt. He slipped under the covers and felt suddenly exhausted. He lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes. He felt Susan picking up the briefs on the bed, and a moment later she turned off the light.
“Mmm,” she said. “You smell good.”
She snuggled up against him, pressing her face against his neck, and threw her leg over his side. This was her invariable overture, and it always annoyed him. He felt pinned down by her heavy leg.
She stroked his cheek. “Is that after-shave for me?”
“Oh, Susan . . .” He sighed, exaggerating his fatigue.
“Because it works,” she said, giggling. Beneath the covers, she put her hand on his chest. He felt it slide down, and slip under the T-shirt.
He had a burst of sudden anger. What was the matter with her? She never had any sense about these things. She was always coming on to him at inappropriate times and places. He reached down and grabbed her hand.
“Something wrong?”
“I’m really tired, Sue.”
She stopped. “Bad day, huh?” she said sympathetically.
“Yeah. Pretty bad.”
She got up on one elbow, and leaned over him. She stroked his lower lip with one finger. “You don’t want me to cheer you up?”
“I really don’t.”
“Not even a little?”
He sighed again.
“You sure?” she asked, teasingly. “Really, really sure?” And then she started to slide beneath the covers.
He reached down and held her head with both hands. “Susan. Please. Come on.”
She giggled. “It’s only eight-thirty. You can’t be that tired.”
“I am.”
“I bet you’re not.”
“Susan, damn it. I’m not in the mood.”
“Okay, okay.” She pulled away from him. “But I don’t know why you put on the after-shave, if you’re not interested.”
“For Christ’s sake.”
“We hardly ever have sex anymore, as it is.”
“That’s because you’re always traveling.” It just slipped out.
“I’m not ‘always traveling.’ ”
“You’re gone a couple of nights a week.”
“That’s not ‘always traveling.’ And besides, it’s my job. I thought you were going to be more supportive of my job.”
“I am supportive.”
“Complaining is not supportive.”
“Look, for Christ’s sake,” he said, “I come home early whenever you’re out of town, I feed the kids, I take care of things so you don’t have to worry—”
“Sometimes,” she said. “And sometimes you stay late at