“He unzipped his pants and pulled out…pulled… I thought this was it. He’d finally get it over with. But he turned to Travis and smacked his face. ‘Come on, you don’t want to miss this.’ When Travis didn’t respond, he hit him harder. ‘Showtime,’ he said and hit Travis again.
“I couldn’t stand it. I rolled over and screamed, throwing my weight against him . He spun around and pinned me against the floor again. His fingers wrapped around my throat. ‘Don’t tell me what to do, bitch.’ I couldn’t breathe.”
Pam’s hands clutched at her throat like she’d done last night in his mother’s kitchen. Bile lurched to his mouth. Dear God, was this what she remembered in her nightmares, felt, saw? A half-naked pervert, torturing her and her husband, and now robbing her of her last breath?
“I felt him shove up my skirt. Couldn’t breathe. His fingers, rough and scratchy, brushed against my stomach. I heard my panties rip. Even with only one hand on my throat, the pressure was so strong. I pulled at his arm. Had to breathe. I couldn’t breathe.”
Closing her eyes, she drew her knees up to her chest and hugged her legs. “That’s it. It’s gone. I don’t see anymore. Don’t remember. I guess that’s when I passed out.”
Pam rocked in place, and he wanted desperately to pull her onto his lap and promise he’d protect her for the rest of her life. But he didn’t doubt if he touched her now, she’d shoot through the ceiling. She might not remember the final violation, but she remembered enough.
“I did come to for a few minutes. I remember rolling along on the gurney down what must have been my driveway. Greg, my husband’s partner, walked alongside, holding my hand, telling me everything would be fine. I remember a voice telling him that he couldn’t ride in the ambulance, that he’d have to meet us at Medical City. Then everything faded to black again.” She rested her chin on her knees. “When I woke up, I didn’t remember. Jake told me Greg came by to drop off some papers for Travis. He must have gotten there just as I blacked out. The doctors assured me that the creep didn’t… I mean there was no evidence he…” She closed her eyes and somehow drew her knees closer to her chest. “Greg said he pulled the creep off me before anything more could happen. But I don’t remember Greg showing up or saving me.”
“I’d like to meet Greg someday.” He hadn’t meant to speak. He wanted to let her talk until she didn’t have anything else to say. Besides, he wasn’t sure of the right thing to say, to do. But right or wrong, for the first time since she'd started talking, she turned and locked her gaze on his.
Tears pooled in her eyes and cascaded over her lower lashes. She didn’t blink, didn’t unwrap her arms to wipe them away, and didn’t seem to care she’d lost the battle to stay the watery reaction. Her gaze lingered a moment longer. “Every time I dream, I let him win. I don’t want the bastard to win.”
It didn’t take much to lean forward and draw her onto his lap. She hadn’t let go of her legs. She remained balled up in his arms. Her head resting on his shoulder, she cried in earnest. Tears gushed, and still she kept her arms wrapped around herself in a protective fetal embrace.
Jeff whispered into her hair. “We won’t let him win.” He had no idea why he’d said that, but he knew he meant it. Even though he had no idea what triggered the dreams, or what it would take to make them stop, he knew he would not let that bastard win.
How many times was she destined to fall apart in this man’s arms? She knew she was crying like a baby, but she also knew she couldn’t stop. Except for the police, she’d never told anyone else what little she remembered from that night, and not even then did she remember all she’d just shared with Jeff. No stranger to tears, for over two years she’d cried for the man she loved, for the life they’d never share, and the children she wouldn’t give him.
But never had she let herself face the terror, the fear. Like a geyser unstopped, a flood of emotions overwhelmed her. The pain, the panic, the horror clawing over each other was too much to control, too hard to suppress. That night she hadn’t cried. She wouldn’t give her assailant the satisfaction. When she came to from the nightmare, she’d been too numb to cry. Fighting to move on, to survive, she kept her feelings bottled up neatly inside her. And now, Jeff had forced her to uncork the tightly sealed bottle, and she didn’t think she would ever stop crying.
“Let it all out,” Jeff whispered, drawing slow comforting circles along her back. At the same time, the long nimble fingers of his other hand slowly brushed her hair.
Cocooned in his warmth, she felt the pressure in her chest ease. She wasn’t sure exactly when she’d released the strangling lock her hands held around her knees and turned into his chest, gripping his shirt tightly in each fist. Nor did she notice when the heaving sobs weakened to breathless whimpers. Loosening the hold on his shirt, she laid her hands flat against his chest. The rapid rhythm of his heart beat under her fingertips. Heat seeped through the thin cotton of his shirt. How she’d missed the comfort of another human being, a man.
She liked the way Jeff smelled. A raw earthy smell of soap, and leather, and maybe fresh air. If she let herself forget, she could almost see herself staying here forever.
Forever?
Jolted by the shocking implication of her mind’s musings, she shot up straight and practically jumped out of his lap.
“It’s all right.” Jeff cooed her back against his chest, into his arms, his soothing comfort impossible to ignore. Right now, tonight, all she knew was that for the first time in a very long time she felt safe, really safe.
Jeff probably should have carried her upstairs and put her to bed, but he needed to hold her as much as she had needed a good cry.
The clock on the mantel said four in the morning. Somewhere around midnight she let go of her legs and let her hands clutch his shirt as she cried. By one o’clock the tears had slowed, and her hands had come to rest gently on his chest. Once she sprang up, her expression painted in fear. By two o’clock she’d fallen sound asleep still in his arms. For the last two hours he’d held her close and stroked her hair. He needed this time, to calm down, to think. But more than anything he needed to know she was safe and protected, and there simply was no way he could let go of her. Not yet. His insides felt raw with pain and anger.
He’d stopped praying for wisdom and instead ran every memory of every psych class he ever took through his mind. Somewhere in the recounting of the night had to be the small detail, the trigger for her nightmares, but what?
His fingers stilled in her blonde hair. It was long and fine, and reminded him of winter wheat. He hated what she’d had to suffer at the hands of that animal, that she’d had to relive it again last night, but his mind kept circling back to the one thing he couldn’t grasp. Something he’d heard was the key to the nightmares. Wasn’t it?
It had to be. But the more he thought of it, the more he realized any of a million little details could be the answer. The color of her attacker’s clothes. Except, she’d see black every day. Maybe the style of his shirt or his shoes? She didn’t mention what shoes he wore. Perhaps every time she saw white sneakers or gray cowboy boots, her subconscious remembered that night and taunted her with nightmares. Or it could be the color of his eyes? His hair? The smell of the bastard’s breath? Damn!
He’d gone over her story again and again, back and forth, and was no closer now to understanding how to help her than the first day he’d watched her from his mother’s kitchen window.
Something had to be done, and he didn’t know what. He could see only one option. First thing in the morning, okay, later this morning, he would call his old college roommate. Caleb would be able to tell him how to handle things until Pam could arrange to go to Poplar Springs. Caleb was good at what he did. No, he was great at it. Caleb would be able to unravel the information and find the root of the problem. He had to.
Everything in Jeff screamed the answers were right in front of him. Only where? Which part? Damn it. What wasn’t he seeing?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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Making love in the morning. How she loved making love in the morning. The feel of a man’s morning stubble under her lips. Strong hands stroking, caressing, dragging fiery sensations from corners long forgotten. Oh, how she missed this.
Missed?
Pam’s eyes shot open. Oh, God. Not only was she sprawled across Jeff’s chest, she was gnawing at his chin like a starving kitten lapping up fresh caviar. Oh, God.
Somehow they’d fallen asleep spread out on the narrow sofa. Jeff underneath her, his arm wrapped around her hip holding her in place, his other hand on her shoulder, his fingers barely moving. And good grief, how the heck had she managed to wind her leg around his? Their bodies snuggled close, if she shifted an inch she’d rub against… Oh, God.
She had to move. Slip away. Break free. But how without waking him up? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There had to be a way to extricate herself without giving away her currently precarious position. Then she felt it. His fingers froze. His steady breath seized in his chest. Busted.
As far as dreams went, this one was spectacular, except, this wasn’t a dream. He’d fallen asleep with Pam in his arms, and now she was…kissing him?
Or maybe that part had been the dream and now he was… Oh, Lord, he wasn’t? Was he? Yeah, no doubt about this one. He had her trapped against him with one arm and roaming fingers on his other hand had slipped inside the edge of her blouse and were playing a contented tune on a patch of bare shoulder.
If she, heaven forbid, wiggled an inch to the left, there’d be no hiding his morning glory. And from the stiff way she braced herself in his arms, he was pretty sure she’d already come to the same conclusion.
Seminary had failed to teach him the appropriate response to this particular situation. And much to his chagrin, what he really wanted to do was totally out of the question. His only option was to suck it up, not make a big deal, then apologize for the rest of his natural life. Of course getting his hand out of her blouse would probably be a good start.
Releasing his hold on her, and letting his arms fall to his sides, relief swept through him as Pam rolled off the sofa, saving them both any further embarrassment.
“Sorry about that.” He sat up, not ready to stand.
“No, I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I…I…thank you.”
Thank you? For what? Letting you go instead of kissing your socks off?
She tucked her hair behind her ear and took another step back. “I think I needed a good cry. I really do feel better. Thank you.”
Right. The nightmares. Her attack. Get your mind out of your pants and get real, Jefferson Parker. “You know that won’t be enough?”
She hugged herself. “Enough?”
“It’s good to talk. And to cry. Very cathartic. Only…” He hesitated a moment, wondering if it was too soon to push forward, to mention Caleb. “We still need to find the connection between what happened and your nightmares.”
“Just telling someone seems to have lifted a weight I didn’t realize I carried. Maybe that’s all I needed.”
“I doubt it’s that easy. As horrible as your dreams are, I don’t think they’re a way of reliving the trauma. If they were, I would think they would happen with more regularity. I believe there’s some unconscious reminder that’s triggering them, but what?”
“I don’t exactly relive what happened. At least I don’t think I do.” Touching the arm of the sofa as though about to sit, she took another step and instead sat in a nearby chair. “When I lived in Dallas, the nightmares came every night. If I slept through a night peacefully, it was more the oddity than the norm. Not until I moved home did they almost go away.”
“I see.” Somehow, moving to Hope’s Corner had made a difference. But how? “I wonder if you’d consider sharing with someone else?”
Tucking her chin against her neck, she looked startled at the request. “Sharing?”
“Talk to someone. A professional. Find the trigger, make the connection to what causes the nightmares.”
“What causes the nightmares? My husband was murdered, and I survived. Isn’t that enough?”
“I think there’s more to it than just post-traumatic nightmares. Do you remember me mentioning my friend Caleb from college?”
She nodded and gripped the arm of the chair.
“I think he might be able to help find exactly what happens during the day that brings on the nightmares.”
She nodded again, her expression less startled, but wary. He waited, expecting her to say something more, but she remained silent still nodding her head.
“Then I take it you agree with me?”
She continued to nod. He wondered if maybe she was convincing herself more than answering him.
“I’ve got his number at home. I’ll call you with it as soon as I get to the apartment.”
Expecting her to keep nodding, it surprised him to see her stop and reach for her purse. Did that mean she didn’t want him to give her the number?
“Pam? You do want to see him don’t you?”
Flipping open her wallet, she pulled out a folded sheet of stationary. Paper in hand, her gaze shifted to his with such intensity he could feel her determination come across the room in powerful waves.
“I want whatever will make this stop. It has to stop.”
“Jefferson Davis Parker. Have you lost your mind?” Etta Mae’s voice blasted through the receiver with such force, Jeff pulled it away from his ear.
Pam had insisted on making him breakfast before he left her house. Neither mentioned the previous night or awkward awakening. They ate scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and chatted about his niece, the new baby, the fund-raising proposals, next week’s board meeting, Mrs. B’s double chocolate chip cookies, and pretty much anything that would keep the mood light and…normal.
About ten minutes ago he’d come in his front door in search of Caleb’s phone number. He was about to dial his friend when the phone rang.
“Morning, Ma.”
“Don’t you Morning, Ma me, young man.”
Uh-oh. His full name was one thing. Young man usually meant time to duck and cover.
“What were you thinking?” she carried on. “The phone hasn’t stopped ringing, and it’s not even eight o’clock.”
“I’m sorry, Ma, but I had a long night. What exactly are you upset about?”
“Oh, Lord, grant me patience.”
“Ma.”
“You, young man, may have had a long night, but you should at least have had the decency to keep the whole blessed neighborhood from finding out. How could you?”
“What does the neighborhood have to with my…” Oh, crap.
“Mrs. McCarthy must have worn out the battery on her pacemaker running across the street to tell me about my son, the pastor, making whoopee with my young widow neighbor.”
“It’s not what she thinks, Ma.”
“No? Well, Mrs. Jackson down the street, and Mrs. Harper on the other side of Pam are thinking the same thing. By now half of Hope’s Corner is thinking the same thing.”
Oh, brother. He hadn’t given any thought at all to what people would think of him leaving Pam’s house so early in the morning. He’d even waved at Mrs. McCarthy as she kneeled over her begonias pulling weeds. Damn.
“Jefferson?”
“Sorry. Pam has nightmares.”
“And that is exactly the problem. A man of your position shouldn’t know Pamela Sue has nightmares.”
“No. I mean her jitters and nerves are caused by nightmares. Last night she told me about them. It was very difficult for her. She cried herself to sleep. I couldn’t leave her alone. I never gave a thought—”
“No, you didn’t.” She paused. “That’s all there was to it?” For the first time since he’d answered the phone, her voice lowered to its normal octave.
“I was about to call Caleb. Give him a heads-up about Pam when the phone rang. She needs real help. This is out of my league.”
“I see.” He
could almost hear his mother sit down and nod her head, considering the new possibilities. “I’m glad you were there for her, Jeff, but this does pose a problem.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I know.”
“So what do you think?” Jeff asked, juggling the phone on his shoulder while searching for a mate to his black sock.
“You’re on the right track, but I suspect it’s not so much something she told you but something she didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Jeff glanced at his watch. Eight fifteen. Pam was probably already settled in her office.
“The mind and body are very good at self-protection. It’s not unusual for an accident victim to develop retrograde amnesia. In order for the body to heal, the mind wipes away any memory of impact. Often victims never recover memories of what happened, sometimes for up to hours before the life-threatening situation. It’s easier to forget and move on than to have to deal with the resulting emotions.”
“How does that relate to Pam? She remembers the night in vivid detail. At least she does now.” He sat, pulling on his socks.
“Or so she thinks. My guess is there’s something she’s blocked out, doesn’t remember, and that something is trying to break through.”
“I thought you said it was easier for the mind to simply forget the difficult and move on?”
“With a simple accident that’s true. But if there’s more involved, for instance if the patient feels responsible for the death of another person, say a passenger in the vehicle they were driving, a loved one, the inner battle to atone versus to forget can create unbearable turmoil.”
“And that’s what you think Pam has?”
“I don’t know. But from the little you’ve told me so far, I wouldn’t rule it out.”
“Well, it’s a start. How soon can you see her?”
“Yeah, well, that may be a problem.”
Hope's Corner Page 17