Sleep Disorder

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"Please, please don't do this to us, Clare!" Roderic pleaded from the imported flagstone steps of the great house.

Us, Clare thought. Thirty years old and still living with his mother. Jesus!

His voice called out nasal and forlorn behind her. "I'd give anything for you!"

How many times had she heard that in the last nine months? Big deal! She wanted to shout. Can't you take a hint? There's nothing I want from you! Instead, she turned.

"Look. It's not working out," she said.

He looked befuddled.

"What are you talking about? Things are great! You said you'd many me!”

“Oh, Roderic, I did not," she lied.

Early on, eight long months ago, that was exactly what she'd said. At thirty-one, she wasn't getting any younger. And Roderic had millions. Or, rather, his mother did.

"I'm sorry. I just can't see you anymore."

He went utterly vapid. "Is it…another guy?"

"Of course not!" she lied again. How dare he accuse her of sleeping around!

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