Eyes by Joanne Fluke Page A

year. Was her marriage in trouble? Or was he just grasping at straws, hoping that someday she’d be free to start a new life with him?
    * * *
    It was dark and they were in bed. Connie snuggled up to Alan’s back and sighed. Her stomach was queasy and her head felt weightless, like a balloon filled with helium on a string. Was she getting another of her headaches?
    She hadn’t had a migraine since she’d moved in with Alan. In the past they’d been horrible, keeping her flat on her back in bed for days, unable to eat or even open her eyes. This one seemed coiled, at the very top of her skull, like a rattlesnake ready to strike.
    She’d gone to the doctor several years ago, and he’d given her medication. There were warning signs for migraines—Connie knew them all. The doctor had told her to take a pill the moment she started to see the bright patterns of yellow and red start to swirl behind her eyelids.
    But the patterns weren’t swirling; they were flashing. And they were flashing in a regular rhythm. On, off. On, off. Keeping time like a metronome. Was this really a migraine? Or was it something else?
    Cautiously, Connie opened her eyes, but she didn’t experience the familiar flash of pain. And then she saw what was making the pattern, a red neon sign that was blinking on and off.
    Dew Drop Inn. Connie mouthed the words, but she didn’t say them aloud. Alan was a light sleeper and she didn’t want to wake him. But there was no place called the Dew Drop Inn near their condo. Where were they?
    On a trip. They’d taken a trip and they were in a hotel. But where had they gone? And why? Connie wished she could remember, but she felt completely disoriented, and her stomach was churning alarmingly. She took a deep breath, that seemed to help, and then she moved very slowly to the edge of the bed. Her mouth was dry. She was terribly thirsty. A glass of water might help.
    She reached for the light. There were always lamps on both sides of the bed in hotels. But she stopped as she touched the bedside table. A light would wake Alan, and he had trouble getting back to sleep if she woke him in the middle of the night.
    Connie’s bare feet touched the floor. She was surprised to feel the linoleum, not carpet. Alan didn’t like to stay in cheap hotels, but perhaps he’d been tired after driving all day and this had been the only place he could find.
    As she stood up, Connie’s head began to whirl. Uncomfortably woozy, she reached out for the wall to steady herself, realizing the source of her problem. This wasn’t a migraine. It was a hangover. She’d had too much wine with dinner. Alan must have decided to stop here because she was too sick to go any farther.
    Heat rose to Connie’s cheeks, and she knew she was blushing. How embarrassing! She hoped Alan wouldn’t tease her about this when he woke up. But perhaps he would have a hangover, too. She could hear him snoring; he only snored when he’d had too much to drink. It was a good thing they’d stopped here for the night and not attempted to drive any farther.
    As she thought about it, Connie became less embarrassed. At least she wasn’t the only one who’d gotten drunk. They’d have a good laugh about this in the morning, and they’d make a pact never to drink too much in the future. Connie knew she’d keep her promise. The way her stomach was rolling and lurching, she didn’t think she’d ever be tempted to drink again!
    She moved slowly, inching her way across the unfamiliar room. She didn’t want to stumble over any furniture and wake Alan. There had to be a bathroom. Every hotel room had a bathroom. All she had to do was find it and she could drink some water and take some aspirin.
    As her hand found a doorknob, she resisted the urge to giggle. She hoped it wasn’t the outside door! She didn’t have on a stitch of clothing, and she didn’t want to