I stared in horror at the tangled sheets and blanket. The empty bed.
I heard a sigh. And raised my eyes to the window.
“What are you doing in here?” Peter asked. He was perched on his window seat. His red hair had fallen down over one eye. He wasn’t wearing his
glasses. One pajama leg was rolled up nearly to his knee.
“Peter, you’re here!” I cried happily. I dove across the room and tried to wrap him in a hug. But he dodged away from me.
“Why did you come in here?” he asked, brushing back his hair with one hand.
“I—I—” How could I answer that? “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Why aren’t you in bed?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I studied his face. “So you’ve just been staring out the window?”
He nodded.
“And you weren’t down in the basement?” I asked.