Hope's Corner

by Chris Keniston

  Without the slightest hint of what she’d dreamed, the shrill of her cries and the depth of fear in her eyes had his body on high alert. His heart raced in a frantic rhythm as he fumbled to undo her seat belt. He needed to get her inside and calmed down.

  In a move that would have surprised him had he taken the time to think about it, he swept her out of the car, into his arms, and carried her up the walkway to his parent’s home. He was pretty sure in all the hurry to get to the hospital, no one had thought to stop and lock the door behind them. At least he hoped not. The way Pam clung to him, her body racked with gasping sobs, there was no way he was putting her down to unlock the front door.

  “I’m sorry,” Pam mumbled into his shirt, her arms still in a stranglehold around his neck.

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” He managed to turn the knob with one hand and shoved the door open with his foot. Halfway to the sofa he tripped over one of Gavin’s toy trucks and stumbled the rest of the distance, falling unceremoniously onto the sofa with Pam still firmly in his arms.

  Gently, he lifted one hand from behind her back and raked his fingers through her hair, the way he might soothe Emily when something made her cry. Only this wasn’t the short-lived whimpers of an upset toddler. This was Pam.

  Oh, Lord, now what do I do?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Pam’s gulping breaths filled her lungs with air. Heat surrounded her. Warm, comforting, safe, so safe.

  Another deep breath and she found the courage to loosen her hold on Jeff’s neck, bringing one hand down to wipe away the dampness on her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  His fingers slid away from her hair and drew wide lazy circles along her back. The gentle rhythm slowed her racing heart. She knew she should pull away from his arms, get out of his lap and move to her own seat. But she couldn’t. If only for a few minutes, she needed someone else to be strong for her.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice as gentle as his touch.

  She shook her head and swallowed the urge to start crying all over again. “I’m sorry.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  With another deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and shifted off his lap onto the sofa beside him. “Now your shirt’s all wet.”

  “It’ll dry.”

  Calmer now and breathing more easily, her fear took a backseat to embarrassment. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Not only had she fallen apart and cried like a frightened child, she’d hauled off and slugged him.

  Jeff shifted slightly then pushed to his feet. “If I made some tea, would you drink a cup?”

  Closing her eyes, she summoned her courage. She had to do this. Face him. Eyes open, she lifted her chin and let her gaze meet his. He looked almost as lost as she felt. The pain and concern she saw etched in his furrowed brow took her from merely being embarrassed to totally mortified. “No, thank you. I…I’m fine now. I…”

  More words wouldn’t come. The way he watched her, she couldn’t think straight. His eyes studied, scrutinized. She knew he had to be debating if she was only slightly off her rocker or completely certifiable. Looking around, she spotted her purse on a nearby chair.

  “I should go home and let you get back to the hospital.” On wobbly legs, she stood, missed a step, then righted herself and grabbed her bag. “I—I’m okay.”

  “The hell you are.” He ran an impatient hand through his hair, turned to walk away, then spun back around, and stepped beside her. “Now I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s been a long day. Our nerves are rubbed pretty raw. Let me make us both a cup of tea.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Hey, it’s either the tea or I rustle up some scrambled eggs, and I can do a lot more damage to my mother’s kitchen with eggs than with a cup of boiled water.”

  The hint of a smile at the edge of his lips took her by surprise. So maybe he’d concluded she wasn’t totally insane. Or at least, no longer a danger to him, even if she had used him as a punching bag. Besides, she really didn’t want to be alone.

  She managed a feeble nod, and the other side of his mouth tipped into a full-fledged smile.

  “It’ll just take a minute.” He disappeared down the hall.

  If only life were that simple. A cup of tea and all would be well with the world. Yeah, right. Not in her world. Never again in her world.

  It had taken every ounce of self-discipline Jeff could muster not to pull Pam back into his arms and promise he’d make everything right.

  Standing in the kitchen pouring water into a kettle, he had to laugh at himself. Whether he liked it or not, he was turning into his mother. Cup of tea? What he really needed was a stiff drink.

  And who wouldn’t after a day like today? First he finds out the church board expects him to take over as head pastor of the congregation. That is, of course, if he agrees to stop leading the single females astray. Then he practically shoves his father over a cliff into a heart attack by announcing his plans to leave the ministry and rejoin the corporate world. And if that wasn’t enough to turn any sane man to the bottle, he’d gotten a ringside seat to the horrific depths of Pam’s nightmares.

  “Can I help?” Pam stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, as if that was all that held her together.

  “Not much to do.” Leaning against the counter, he waved an arm toward the simmering kettle. When Pam jerked back a step as though he were about to hit her, an angry fist tightened around his heart.

  Flashing a dim smile and pretending his sudden movement hadn’t frightened her, she inched back into the doorway. “You know what they say”—her eyes scanned the room as she spoke—“a watched pot never boils.”

  “So they say.” He didn’t dare move a muscle. Couldn’t, wouldn’t risk adding to her fears. As it was, hugging herself, unable to look him in the eye, she reminded him of a jittery junkie in desperate need of her next fix. The way her eyes darted from the kitchen door to the windows and back may have bordered on paranoia, but it was enough to make him want to double check the locks for himself.

  “I, uh… I guess I could…”

  Her eyes fixed on the back door.

  “Shall I make sure it’s locked?”

  Her gaze swung from the door to him. “Would you mind?”

  The desperation in her eyes tripped over the relief in her voice. Both sucker punching him in the gut.

  “No problem.” Except of course for how did he move from the sink to the back door without startling her out of her skin again? Slowly he lifted his right arm along the cabinet until it was high enough to point to the door. “I’m just going to step over there.”

  She nodded, tightened the hold on her waist and shimmied sideways along the wall. From the corner of his eye, he watched as she eased her way farther into the kitchen, and away from the back door. My God, what happened in her dreams? “All locked up. Nice and tight,” he said with more enthusiasm than necessary.

  “I, uh…thank you.”

  “What are friends for?”

  The abrupt whistle of the teakettle snapped the brittle tension-filled air. He bolted forward to ease the sharp siren while Pam opened a nearby cabinet and retrieved two mugs.

  She’d spent enough time in his mother’s kitchen to be as familiar with the layout as one of the family, yet her movements were slow and deliberate. He wondered if she was silently talking her way through every action. Take two steps to the sugar bowl. Open the silverware drawer. The milk is in the refrigerator. He watched as she briefly paused, her gaze surveying each target before proceeding with the next step.

  Despite her obvious unease, her painstaking efforts produced an old ceramic pot warmed under the traditional mantle of a silver cozy, two Tweety Bird mugs, a creamer of milk, a bowl of sugar, and two spoons on a large Shaker-style wooden tray.

  His uncle Bob had made the tray for his mother years ago. It was her favorite and it didn’t surprise him that Pam had chosen that particular tray over the others in t
he cabinet. But all her efforts at normalcy couldn’t mask the nightmare’s aftereffects. Her hands still shook with a palsied rhythm. Even tightening her grip until her knuckles whitened with pressure wasn’t enough to raise the tray with a steady hand.

  “Let me.” He reached over to help. Too swift in his movements, he brushed his arm against hers and silently cursed himself when she dropped the tray to the counter with a rattle. “I’m sorry."

  “No. I’m the one who—who should apologize. This isn’t a good idea. Your family needs you. You should be with them. I should go home.” She closed her eyes, blew out a short breath, then met his gaze with a determination borne of sheer will. “I’ll be fine.”

  “The tea is already steeping. I can’t drink that whole pot by myself, and besides, Mom’s couch beats the waiting room sofa for comfort hands-down.” Not waiting for a reply, he lifted the tray and walked out of the room, leaving her no choice but to follow.

  “Has anyone ever told you you're a very stubborn man?”

  Jeff was pleased to see her arms hanging loosely at her side. Perhaps getting her dander up was the best way to chase away her nerves. “Nope, not a one. Do you like milk in your tea?”

  She shook her head. A narrow crease formed between her brows.

  Taking a seat on the sofa, he reached for the pot and began to pour. “One lump or two?” he asked without looking up.

  “One.” She lowered herself onto the sofa beside him. “I really can take care of myself, you know?”

  “Mmm.” He nodded, scooping a spoonful of sugar. “I prefer mine like the English.” He handed her the mug before pouring a bit of milk into his own. “I don’t know why, but the tea always tastes best if you pour the milk first.”

  “And exactly how does an East Texas boy know how the English drink their tea?” Holding the cup to her lips, she blew gently over the steaming liquid.

  “I dated a girl from Suffolk for a few months in college.” He was pleased to see Pam’s hand less shaky. “Not only did she pour the milk first, but teabags were sacrilege.”

  Pam’s nose crinkled and her head tipped to one side. “Why the heck would someone from England want to go to school in the middle of Texas?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?”

  With a casual shrug, she set her cup on the end table. “I don’t know. I think if I had a chance to study in a foreign country, I’d pick someplace more exciting.”

  “You mean like New York or Los Angeles?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Or Chicago or San Francisco. It’s a big country.”

  “True, but Austin is growing in popularity, and UT is rated one of the fifty best universities in the world. Besides, the cost of living in Austin is a heck of a lot cheaper than living in New York or California.”

  “Maybe.” She picked up her tea and took a sip.

  The haunted look in her eyes had faded, and a steady hand held her mug. Jeff wondered if now was a good time to ask about the nightmares, or if he should count his blessings that she wasn’t cowering in a corner and leave well enough alone. For now.

  Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe the nightmares had taken an odd turn and she wasn’t really sitting in Etta Mae’s living room chatting with her boss about the cost of living in Texas but was actually sound asleep in her own room and would wake up any minute. Maybe this was a new way for her subconscious to stop the insanity that messed with her head and her life. Or maybe she really had woken up swinging, and Jeff was the only thing tethering her to what was left of her sanity.

  Silence grew thick as they sipped their tea. Jeff sat back, looking relaxed. His ankle perched on his thigh while one hand balanced the mug on his knee. The other arm draped casually along the edge of the sofa, his fingers inches away from her shoulder.

  He kept his gaze on the nearly empty mug. A few more sips and it would be time for her to go home. Then as always, in the empty house, she’d be all alone.

  “Would it be—?” she asked.

  “Pam, I think—” he started at the same time.

  “Sorry,” they echoed.

  Jeff shifted, unfolding his leg, to place his drink on the table. “You first.”

  “I was going to ask if I could have another cup.”

  He hesitated a moment. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

  It only took a few moments for him to fill their cups and return beside her. Now that she had him for the duration of another cup of tea, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to hear what he was about to say. Maybe if she didn’t ask, he’d sip his drink and leave well enough alone.

  “What happened?” he asked, never lifting his gaze from the mug held tightly in his hands.

  So much for that idea. She pushed to her feet and took a few steps around the large square coffee table. “I wonder if your mom still has some of those peanut butter cookies she baked the other day.”

  “Pam?” He stood and stepped beside her, placing his hands on her arms.

  She tried, she really tried not to jump at his touch, but she couldn’t stop the shivers that rushed up her spine, or the rock that settled in her throat and clogged her airway. Her heart beat double time, and her feet sprinted of their own volition.

  Clasping at her neck with both hands she struggled to breathe. If only he hadn’t touched her. She could still feel the pressure on her neck. Just like in her dreams. So much pain.

  “Pam?” Jeff almost vaulted over the table to reach her.

  “Don’t.” She held out one hand. “Please.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  It was all she could do to shake her head. “Please. I…I should go.”

  “No. I won’t touch you. I promise I won’t touch you, if you don’t want me to, but you’re not leaving.”

  This was ridiculous, silly, absurd, childish. A hundred words ran through her mind. Like a little kid, she was scared of the boogeyman. Only Jeff wasn’t a threat, and she knew it. And yet when he'd grabbed her arms, even though his touch was as tender as a mother cradling her newborn babe, the fear, the terror, surged through her veins unbidden, the way oxygen filled her lungs. She had no control to stop it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing and talk to me. Just talk to me.” He eased back a few steps giving her room, but for what? To breathe? To think? To speak?

  God how she hated feeling this way.

  “Pam?” He took a seat on the love seat closest to her. “Can you sit down?”

  She looked around the room. What she really wanted was to go to him. Have him wrap her up in the same warmth that had calmed her when she had first woke up, but she didn’t dare move, never mind sit beside him.

  “I can’t,” she mumbled.

  “Sure you can.” He gently coaxed her the way someone might speak to a frightened child or an injured animal. “One step at a time.”

  One step at a time. Travis’s voice flowed through her thoughts. “My husband would say that to me all the time. It’s how I get through things without him. One step at a time. One day at a time.”

  “You loved him very much.”

  It wasn’t really a question, but she nodded anyway.

  “High school sweethearts, right?”

  “Sort of.” She hitched a shoulder. “We started dating his senior year. So I guess, maybe, but not all through high school.”

  “I didn’t really know him. Knew his family. He has an older brother Larry?”

  She nodded.

  “Heck of a football player.”

  “Yeah, he was.” She felt the tension ease from her shoulders. “He lives in New York now. Got a hotshot job out of college and is happily traveling the world.”

  “Not bad for a kid from Hope’s Corner.”

  “He always had a bit of wanderlust. As soon as he and Travis had saved up for a car, Larry talked Travis into traipsing all over. Dallas, Houston, Austin, San Antonio.” She didn’t know how it happened, but she’d moved a few feet closer to where Jeff held out his hand to ease her into the seat beside him.


  “You ever go with them?” he asked.

  “No. I think Travis wanted to make as many memories with his brother as he could. We all knew, once Larry left Hope’s Corner, it would be for good.”

  “I thought it would be like that for me too, but as you can see, I came back.”

  “Hometown boy after all?”

  “Let’s just say sowing my oats wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

  “You mentioned something about that the night we had dinner at the café.”

  Jeff rolled his eyes and actually squirmed. A hint of red crept up his neck and made her laugh. The sound of her own voice startled her. So did the realization that her heart was beating a normal rhythm, her breathing was easy, and her hands weren’t shaking.

  They’d talked for hours. Even though every time Pam mentioned Travis’ name a soft look filled her eyes and he'd felt a chisel prick at his heart, he still encouraged her to keep talking. With each story, she relaxed a bit more. Soon she was leaning against him, and he was rubbing her shoulders. By the time she got to Travis’ law school graduation, she was sprawled out on the small sofa, her head in his lap, and he was raking his fingers through long strands of hair the color of sunlight.

  With a lazy effort to hide a yawn, she’d mumbled something about Pammie’s Luck winning by a nose. Then she lost her battle with the sandman, and her eyes fell shut. Little by little the broken and shattered look that had covered her earlier in the night had slipped away. Now he looked down at the sweet, self-assured woman he’d grown to love.

  A woman who was clearly still in love with her dead husband.

  Not that it mattered. He had no business loving Pam. His life was about to take a major detour. Starting a new career from scratch at his age wasn’t going to be fast or easy, and Pam was in no condition to tag along for the bumpy ride.

  If he’d had any sliver of doubt that she needed professional help, watching her react to a nightmare up close and personal was more than enough to convince him that she couldn’t go on this way. The question at hand was still the same. What to do? What should he do?