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. or underwear!"Ack!" I gurgled, averting my eyes. "Dad! What're you doing in here, naked?!" He didn't answer. "Dad?" I turned back to him, keeping my eyes on his face. He just stood there."DAD!" I yelled.He dropped like a stone. As he hit the floor he started screaming and screaming, his limbs flailing. Stacy bolted out of her room, looking as terrified as I felt.I was about to call 9-1-1 when Dad stopped. Just ... stopped. No movement, no noise. I leaned close and could hear him breathing slowly. He was asleep.He seemed to be okay so we covered him with a blanket and went back to our own beds, frightened and confused.In the morning Dad asked if he had been sleepwalking last night, as he had woken up on the kitchen floor. We said he had, and told him what had happened."I'm sorry girls," he said, looking extremely tired. "I used to do that when I was growing up; haven't done it in at least 15 years. Hopefully it won't happen again, but if it does please don't try to wake me. My doctor. And so it would be Jack who would venture out to the wilds of Frisco, Texas, to get the lay of the land and investigate housing and amenities for their impending move. It was early on an ugly gray morning in March when Chung-un brought their aging SUV to a stop at the ticketing level of the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport. Jackson leaned over and kissed her perfunctorily on the cheek, then opened the door and hopped out. He retrieved his roller suitcase from the backseat and muttered a lackluster goodbye, before closing the door and making a beeline for the sliding doors. He checked himself in using the ubiquitous Northwest Airlines e-ticket kiosks, managing to secure an exit row seat with a certain sense of satisfaction. Jackson mindlessly navigated the security lines and x-ray machines, eventually pouring himself into a seat at his gate on the G concourse, and immersing himself in yet another Nelson DeMille crime novel. When his plane touched down in DFW, Jackson.
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