Hope's Corner

by Chris Keniston

  Turning his wrist, he glanced at his watch. Two forty-five in the morning. She looked so peaceful, he hated to disturb her, but tomorrow was going to be another long day. Neither of them was going to get a very good night’s rest squished on the small love seat.

  “Pam,” he said softly. “Time for bed.”

  “Mmm, bed.” One leg slid off the couch and landed with a thud. And then nothing. Once again, she was sound asleep.

  “Okay, sleepyhead. I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” He slid his arms under her and pushed to his feet. “Good thing you don’t weigh much more than that sack of groceries.”

  Now his newest dilemma. Where to? She didn’t weigh much, but there was no way he was carrying her back to her house. And absolutely no way was he fumbling through her purse in search of her house keys.

  “One thing about grown-up children is lots of spare bedrooms,” he said, even though sound asleep, she couldn’t hear him.

  For a moment he thought he saw her open a sleepy eye and look at him, but by the time he’d made his way around the obstacle course left behind by his nephew and down the hall, she was again fast asleep.

  “Figured you’d like the frilly girl colors.” He stepped into what used to be his sister’s room. Putting one knee on the mattress, he stretched his arms and eased her onto the double bed.

  Immediately she turned onto her side, slid her hands under her cheek and snuggled into the pillow.

  “Good night, Sleeping Beauty.”

  She really did look like a fairy-tale princess. How he wished a simple kiss could break the curse she lived under. Asleep on the white comforter speckled with little pink rosebuds, no one would guess the fear and terror that plagued her.

  As unfortunate as it was, people were robbed, mugged, and beaten probably every second of the day somewhere in the country, but did they suffer from these debilitating nightmares? Could it be Jake was wrong? Or had Pam lied to her family? Had she been raped? Tonight his touch seemed to exacerbate her fears. That would fit the profile for a rape victim. But he’d touched her lots of times. A hand on her back as they had walked along or a pat of encouragement, and she hadn’t reacted like this.

  If she’d been raped, the aversion to touch, the fear, the insecurity would be her constant companion, not appear and disappear at the whim of a fitful nightmare. Maybe it wasn’t rape, but something happened, something so awful that not even in her dreams could she deal with it.

  According to Jake the nightmares started in the hospital after her attack. "What did that man do to you? What could be so horrible, so unbearable, you can’t face it?”

  Wanting to stay by her side, to protect her, to ward off her fears, he grudgingly turned on his heel. He needed to get some sleep, even though he knew, tonight, it wouldn’t come easy.

  “I don’t know.”

  The sound of her voice was so soft, so quiet Jeff wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. Spinning around, with only the dim ray of the streetlight shining through the window, he saw.

  Eyes open, a single tear trickled down her cheek, and then she said it again, “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  She’d been sleeping on a cloud. A soft fluffy cloud. She was a princess. He’d said so. She heard him. But then the cloud shifted, the voice went away, and now she’d be alone—again.

  She didn’t want to be alone. Not anymore. Her lids were so heavy, but she forced them open, focused. A glimmer of light shined on a bear. A stuffed bear. Winnie the Pooh. She loved Winnie the Pooh.

  Then he spoke again, the voice, her prince. "What did that man do to you? What could be so horrible, so unbearable, you can’t face it?”

  Tears filled her eyes. One slipped down her face. There was no cloud, no prince. Only questions with no answers. “I don’t know.”

  Too long, so very tired. She wanted answers, she wanted help. She could see the face now. The face with the voice. Jeff. He’d asked.

  “I don’t know,” she repeated. Pushing on her hands she lifted herself up, swung her legs over the side of the bed. Feet flat on the floor she glanced out the window. “Sometimes I remember snatches of what happened. Like flipping fast through a photo album. I know I blacked out before help arrived. My family, the doctors, they all said it was for the best.” A few leaves flickered with the breeze. Scattered clouds hid the stars. Neighbors most likely slept comfortably in their beds. Hands gripping the edge of the mattress, she turned to face Jeff.

  He hadn’t moved. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He swung the door fully open. Light from the hall flooded the room.

  Standing in the dark with a backdrop of bright light gave Jeff the appearance of an angel, an avenging angel.

  “It wasn’t you. I don’t usually sleep well after a nightmare.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Letting go of the doorknob, he rubbed one side of his face, dropped his hand awkwardly to his side. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “No. Yes… I don’t know.” Her gaze shifted out the window to the rustling leaves. “I don’t know if I can. I’ve…never really tried.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Why try to remember something my mind wants to forget? Knowing all that happened wouldn’t bring Travis back. So why fight it?”

  “Maybe that’s the problem.” He took a step closer to her.

  “Maybe.” She shifted, stood, and walked to the door. “Or maybe this is just my punishment.”

  “Punishment?” Jeff followed her out of the room and downstairs. “Punishment for what?”

  Her purse sat on the floor by the sofa. She snatched it up, clutching it firmly against her chest, but didn’t turn to look at him. “For being alive. For surviving. For not dying like…”

  “Like your husband?”

  Silent, she nodded, then walked to the front door.

  “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Her hand froze on the doorknob. “Is it?”

  “You know it is.” He didn’t dare take another step closer for fear she’d walk out the door, and then they’d have this conversation out on the street for every neighbor to hear and gossip about for days, maybe weeks or months to come. “Talk to me.”

  “I told you. I don’t have any answers.” She still hadn’t turned to face him, but she hadn’t walked away yet either.

  In the recesses of his mind, the part that processed words before his mouth spoke, he knew what he shouldn’t say. But his gut, the part of him way down deep that didn’t care how badly he’d screwed up before, because he desperately wanted to make things right now, that part spoke up loud and clear. “Maybe together we can find some answers.”

  “Maybe. But not now. I can’t. I need to go home.” Her hand remained on the knob. Either unable or unwilling to open the door.

  “Okay. Not tonight.” He agreed, waiting a beat, wondering if he should ask her to stay or let her go. And if he asked her to stay, then what? “I’ll walk you home.”

  Still frozen in place she dipped her chin in silent agreement, but made no move to turn the knob and open the door.

  “Would you like me to keep you company until you fall asleep?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve kept you awake long enough.” Shoulders stiff, head held high, she yanked open the door.

  For a long moment Jeff didn’t think she was going to leave. Pam lingered in the open doorway, her fingers curled tightly around her purse straps. Just when he was about to suggest she stay, she crossed the threshold.

  He eased himself beside her and pulled the door shut. At the sound of the latch clicking into place, Pam turned with a start.

  “Sorry.” He wanted to reach for her, soothe her, but if he’d learned anything in the last few hours, it was how easily she spooked after a nightmare. Now her erratic behavior made so much more sense. “Shall I go first?”

  Clutching her purse to her chest, Pam nodded. “Yes. Yes.”

  Slowly he
inched his way across the yard. Pam fell into step beside him, but not so close as to risk accidental contact.

  Fearful of a repeat of the first time they’d met, Jeff’s breath caught while he waited for her to rummage through her purse for the keys. Despite tension hovering over them, nothing seemed out of place. She took no extra time, the key slid easily into the lock, the front door opened, and with a soft thank-you, she slipped quietly inside.

  Stepping off the front porch, Jeff paused, waiting for a light to come on inside. Nothing. Minutes ticked by. All the while visions of her huddled in a dark corner shaking with fear flashed through his mind in a never-ending loop. Just as he lost patience with the wait, primed to storm the house and rescue her from herself, the light in an upstairs window came on.

  She was fine. Safe. She’d gone straight upstairs without turning on a light. A few moments later her bedroom fell into darkness. She’d probably only taken the time to kick off her shoes and collapse on the bed fully clothed. There was no way he would let his mind contemplate how long she would have needed to strip out of her clothes or slip into a nightgown. No. Definitely not going there.

  Carol Ann folded her arms and leaned back in the chair at the foot of her father’s bed. "Well, don’t you look like something the cat dragged in.”

  “We don’t have a cat,” Jeff said flatly, his gaze fixed on his sleeping father.

  “Details. I know none of us slept well worrying about Dad, but you could’ve at least shaved.”

  His fingers rubbed the length of his stubbled jaw. After staring at the dark windows of Pam’s house until the sun blinked on the horizon, he’d done well changing into a clean shirt. Maneuvering a sharp blade against his skin hadn’t seemed like the best idea. He lifted his roughened chin toward his dad. “How’s he doing?”

  “Good. He just fell asleep a few minutes ago. Mrs. McCarthy from across the street came by bright and early. She took Mom to the cafeteria for something to eat.” Carol Ann’s gaze shifted to her father, then to the empty chair where her mother had spent the night and back to Jeff. “I’m glad he goes home today. Another night in that chair and Mom would need the bed beside him.”

  “When will they release him?”

  “We’re waiting for the doctor to make his rounds. If all is well, Dad’ll be in his own bed by dinnertime.”

  “Good.” Jeff dropped into the empty chair nearest his father.

  “So.” Carol Ann tipped her head, staring at him as though searching for some secondary picture within a picture. “What the heck happened to you last night?”

  “You mean besides pacing the halls of the waiting room waiting to find out if our father would live or die?” Or if I’d killed him.

  “That part I know. I also know it’s not like you to walk out the door looking like a boxcar hobo. What gives?”

  One of his sister’s more endearing qualities was her ability to see past the facade and know when something was troubling a member of the family. It was also her most annoying trait. Especially this morning.

  “You already said it. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Decided if I was going to spend the morning pacing, I might as well pace here.”

  “Hmm.” She closed one eye, and he felt as though she could see past the morning stubble and tired eyes into his thoughts.

  “You look pretty beat yourself,” he said, hoping to turn the conversation away from him. “You should go home and get some sleep. Pam’s covering the office. I can stay till they release Dad. Take him and Mom home.”

  “I’m okay. After you left, Danny came back and sat with Mom for a while. I got a few winks on one of the loungers in the family room.”

  “A few winks isn’t a good night’s sleep.”

  “Pot calling the kettle black?”

  “I’ve always thought it would be fun to have a sibling to share things with,” Sandra Quinn said from the doorway. “Even if it is name-calling.” She grinned at Jeff and Carol Ann, then stepped into the room.

  Jeff pushed to his feet. “Morning, Sandra.”

  “Morning.” She nodded. “Your father’s color looks good.”

  “He should be able to go home today.” Jeff stepped aside giving Sandra space by the bedside.

  “I’m glad. I wanted to check on him sooner, but the ER was a madhouse all night. I’d swear there was a full moon.”

  “I thought that was just an old wives’ tale,” Carol Ann said.

  “Yeah, well. There’s a reason these old wives’ tales have been around so long. I doubt there’s an ER nurse in the country who doesn’t cringe working the night shift on a full moon.”

  “You folks don’t believe in letting an old man sleep. Do ya?” Harlon opened one eye at his guests. The right side of his mouth tipped into a teasing grin.

  “Sorry, Pop.” Carol Ann jumped up from her seat.

  The smile on Sandra’s face slipped. “It’s my fault, sir.”

  “Nonsense. There’ll be time enough for sleeping when I’m dead.” Harlon lifted his arm and wiggled his fingers.

  Carol Ann immediately reached for her father’s hand and squeezed. “I don’t like it when you talk that way.”

  “Everything has its season. Death is not something to fear.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean we have to talk about it. Especially not now.” Carol Ann lowered their joined hands to the bed and brought her other hand to rest on top.

  “Well. I suppose now that I’ve seen for myself how fine you’re doing, I should be going. My shift ended twenty minutes ago, and I’m dead on my feet.”

  “I heard you had a busy night,” Harlon said.

  “Understatement of the year. Right now all I want is a big breakfast, then bed.” Sandra turned to Jeff. “I don’t suppose I can entice you to join me?”

  Jeff knew his face must have flustered a bright shade of red at the implication of the invitation.

  The way Sandra’s eyes flew open wide, she no doubt had just realized how her words sounded. “I—I, uh…” Sandra stuttered momentarily. “I mean for breakfast. Join me for breakfast.”

  “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe another time.”

  “Another time.” She nodded with a nervous quickness, then patted his father’s hand. “Glad to see you looking so well, Pastor.” Lifting her hand in a brief wave, she turned and hurried out the door.

  “That was nice of her to stop by. She was an answer to prayer last night. I’d been asking for your mother for so long I was beginning to think not a blasted person on duty could hear worth spit. Then Sandra came in to visit, and next thing I knew, she'd escorted your mother past all those by-the-book nurses and brought her straight to me.”

  Carol Ann patted her dad’s hand. “It was sweet of her to help.”

  “Did I miss something?” Etta Mae stood in the doorway. “I just saw Sandra Quinn rushing down the hall like a cat with its tail on fire.”

  “End of shift,” Jeff answered. “She’s probably just anxious to head home.” And a bit flustered, he thought.

  “Hmm.” Etta Mae leaned back far enough to peek down the hall. “Hmm,” she repeated.

  He wasn’t all too sure what his mother’s huffing was all about, but at the moment, he had bigger things to concern himself with. Like talking his father into staying on as senior pastor and getting to the bottom of Pam’s nightmares.

  And while he was at it, maybe he could end famine in Africa and bring peace to the Middle East.

  “Why, dear, you look like you’ve lost your best friend. Whatever is the matter, child?” Abigail Clarke set aside her daily crossword puzzle.

  Still awake and counting cracks in the ceiling at the break of dawn, Pam had dragged herself out of bed and gone through the motions of the day. A cup of tea and peanut butter toast for breakfast, a shower, a few minutes at the computer to check her email, and then off to work. Except both numb with exhaustion and hyperaware with nerves, she was ready to crawl out of her skin.

  When the leaves from the
trees brushed against the office window with the breeze, she’d lifted off her seat. Each time the phone rang, her heart took off racing like a greyhound after a rabbit. By eleven o’clock she knew it was time to stop stalling and call Jeff’s friend in Poplar Springs. When she reached for her purse, instead of pulling out the phone number she’d kept safely tucked away, she decided to call it a day and headed for the old Keller place.

  Now that she was standing in front of Mrs. Clarke, she had no idea what to say.

  “Is it young Jeff?” the old woman asked.

  Pam shook her head, and jerked awkwardly when Ms. Abigail touched her arm.

  “Oh, my.” Abigail Clarke stepped back, carefully eyeing her. The seconds ticked by, feeling like hours, before the woman spoke again. “Did I ever tell you my daddy raised some of the finest horses this part of the country had ever seen?”

  Again she shook her head. Without words Ms. Abigail sank into her favorite reading chair and rummaged in the basket beside her for her needlework. It had amazed Pam that with the gnarled and arthritic fingers of a ninety-seven-year-old woman, Ms. Abbie could still crochet such delicate doilies.

  “He did. Folks came from near and far for one of my daddy’s yearlings. Brought him their sick and troubled horses too.” She glanced up over her wire-rimmed glasses just as Pam took a seat in the velvet parlor chair. “Daddy had a way with horses. He’d watch and listen. When the horse was ready, he’d tell Daddy what was wrong.

  “Some folks even said Daddy had a magic touch.” Abigail chuckled. “No magic to it. Patience. Can’t rush a good horse. Daddy always waited for the horse to come to him. Too many trainers, bad trainers, would impose their will on a horse before the horse was ready. Daddy never liked the word ‘breaking’ for a horse. Always called it ‘gentling.’

  “See.” Abigail pulled the string hanging to the side, then counted a few stitches. “The trick is patience. A patient man could learn to understand the horse’s language. If he puts back one ear or two, what he means when he moves his lips like he’s chewing, or lowers his head. Daddy understood the language of horses. I wish now I’d paid more attention, but it was my brothers who learned Daddy’s way. Of course it’s been ages since the family’s been in the horse business. Must be nearly thirty years since we sold the stables. My nephew, Peter, George’s boy, moved to California right after graduating college. Started working with computers before most of us knew what a computer was. My brother Henry and his wife never did have any children.”