by Megan Hart
“Sisters of Mercy offered me a full-time position. So…maybe. Yes.”
A beat of silence, one she didn’t want to analyze, hovered between them. “What sort of house are you looking for?”
“Something I can afford.” He laughed. “I’ve got med school bills to pay.”
The image of Richards’s card, tacked onto Tovah’s bulletin board, rose in her mind. She thought about plucking it down and offering it to him. She said nothing. Coincidence didn’t exist in the Ephemeros. You dreamed what you were meant to, or you shaped what you desired. In the waking world meeting a man wanting to buy a house mere days after meeting a Realtor trying to sell one was simple serendipity, nothing more. She shouldn’t read into it. She wouldn’t.
“What brought you to Pennsylvania?” Tovah stirred sweetener into her coffee, though she knew it wouldn’t help. How a facility whose staff relied so heavily on caffeine could consistently ruin coffee, she didn’t know.
“A chance to work in one of the premier long-term psychiatric facilities in a tri-state area.”
She laughed, thinking he was joking, but stopped at the look on his face. “You’re kidding.”
Dr. Goodfellow smiled. “Nope.”
She looked around at the dimly lit room. “This place?”
He nodded. “When the Harrisburg State Hospital shut down, there were fewer options for patients like Henry. Private facilities can’t or don’t want to handle an indigent population. Hospital programs are designed for short-term treatment, and beds are limited. Sisters of Mercy is one of the last long-term-care facilities that take patients on a pro-bono basis.”
“You mean people who can’t pay and have no other place to go.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“And those are the sorts of patients you want to treat?”
He smiled slightly. “Someone has to.”
His answer was true, but she wasn’t sure she liked the way he’d said it. “Where were you before you came here?”
“In a twenty-bed private facility in New Hampshire. Full of wealthy bulimics and casual drug addicts with the money to rest for a little while. Tennis and golf were considered therapy.”
Tovah watched him as he described the place to her. “Sounds like a dream job, actually.”
“Not my kind of dream.” His gaze caught hers. Held it. The moment broke a second later. “Tell me about Henry.”
“He used to be lucid more often than not. The meds were working. He wasn’t hallucinating. He was coherent.” When she’d met him, Henry had spent hours talking to her. It had taken her weeks to realize that most of those conversations were happening in the Ephemeros. The lines between the waking and dream worlds had blurred so much for her she hadn’t been able to distinguish them until Henry helped her. She owed him a lot. Maybe even her life.
She watched Dr. Goodfellow stir sugar and cream into his third cup of coffee. “Aside from the fact that stuff is foul, how can you stand the caffeine?”
He looked up with a smile. “I guess I’ve built up a tolerance.”
“I’d be afraid I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep.” She indicated her cup. “I can’t have any caffeine after about three in the afternoon.”
His smile faltered, just a bit. “I’d be more concerned if, like your friend, I had trouble staying awake.”
Another moment passed between them before he spoke again. “His records are sporadic, but show he’s spent a lot of time in shelters or on the streets.”
“From what I understand, his parents tossed him out when he was fifteen or so. He lived with grandparents, on and off. When they died…” Tovah shrugged. Henry didn’t talk much about his past. Once, while putting away his pajamas, she’d found a sheaf of letters rubber-banded together. The return address had all been from the same place in New Jersey. She thought they might have been from a sister, but had never asked.
“His situation isn’t uncommon. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
Tovah shook her head, demurring. Her own coffee was growing cold, but she couldn’t stomach the bitterness. “Spider is—I mean, Henry is a great guy when he’s awake.”
“And not bashing in television sets.”
The doctor’s smile tempted her own. He didn’t seem to have noticed she’d called Henry by his Ephemeros name, not that it would’ve mattered. Sitting with him felt comfortable in a way she hadn’t expected. It was his apologetic manner. He was a good-looking man who didn’t act like he knew it. She wondered if he liked to dance.
Of course, since this was the waking world—and she’d checked, to make sure, by looking again and again at the clock to be certain the numbers didn’t change—she didn’t ask him.
“It’s the meds,” she said abruptly. “The pills and shots mess with his brain. When he wakes up, he’s disoriented and confused, that’s all.”
“Disoriented, confused and violent.” Dr. Goodfellow studied the inside of his coffee cup, then tossed back the rest of its contents and put the empty mug back on the table. “Which means he needs to be medicated for his protection and the staff’s.”
“Well, what do I know? I’m not a doctor.”
Dr. Goodfellow sighed. “I want to help your friend. I really do.”
“Really? You’d be one of the first, I think.” She sipped cold coffee to cover the bitterness in her tone. “Most of the doctors who come through here see him as a case in a textbook. He doesn’t fit the profiles or the protocols, so they don’t know what to do with him. They want to pump him full of drugs and free up a bed, that’s all.”
His silence filled the space between them, but she didn’t regret what she’d said. Spider was a person, not just a patient, and she was as equally frustrated with him for his unwillingness to function in the waking world as she was with the medical professionals, family and friends who’d given up on him.
“Miss Connelly,” he said softly. “I’m different.”
Tovah looked up, into his eyes, expecting now to see a hint of smarmy smugness. A doctor’s arrogance. Or maybe even condescending pity. But as she studied Martin Goodfellow’s face, she saw only sincerity.
“I believe you,” she said.
Chapter Four
Television didn’t interest her, and she’d finished all her library books. She’d fed Max, completed all she could stand to do on her latest assignment for work, and folded all her laundry. Tovah thought with longing of her bed and darkness, the sweet temptation of slipping into a world where she could put aside the problems of her waking life. Where she could run and dance, or fly if she chose. She wanted to be asleep.
It was only 8:00 p.m.
She would force herself to wait until at least nine and try not to count the minutes. She’d take a long shower and deep condition her hair. Maybe change the sheets. Surely those tasks would make the time go faster.
She stopped herself.
She would not allow herself to be like an alcoholic counting the minutes until she could have another drink, or an anorexic measuring every bite. She would not allow this craving to become an addiction. Not again. Yet even as she tried to convince herself, she knew it was too late. Denying herself the pleasures of sleep was as much, if not more, a sign of her unhealthy dependence on the Ephemeros. She’d told Henry he couldn’t sleep all the time, but she knew too well how tempting it would be to do just that.
She would stay awake until ten, now, to prove she could. She would organize her computer files, or scrub her toilets. She would—
The phone rang, and she jerked at the sudden shrill. Caller ID showed a familiar number, and though normally she’d have let the machine pick up, she was grateful for the distraction now. She answered, bracing herself for the leap of her heart that refused to go away, no matter how many times she remembered she was supposed to hate him. Her throat had closed a bit, but he spoke before she could, giving her time to ease herself into speech.
“Tovah? It’s me. Kevin,” he added, as though once upon a time his voice hadn’t been the first thing she�
��d heard every morning and the last she’d heard at night. “How are you?”
“Great. Fine. You?”
Casual chatter that said nothing. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of Max’s snores. They centered her, reminded her of where she was. No matter how she wished it, this was the waking world.
“I’m good, too.” He paused.
She waited. He hadn’t called just to chat. She wasn’t going to waste time with inanities.
“I saw the house next to you for sale in the real estate magazine.”
This wasn’t what she’d been expecting, exactly. “And?”
“If they can get that sort of price for it, maybe you want to think about selling.”
Tovah looked around at the house she’d kept along with her grandmother’s silver and the dog. “Why would I want to do that?”
“You could get a nice ground-floor apartment. Or a rancher.”
“Kevin,” she said evenly, “I can manage stairs, okay? Why did you really call?”
She strained to hear the sound of another voice in the background, the bubble of feminine laughter, perhaps, or a baby crying. How old was the baby now, anyway?
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Tovah put a hand to her forehead to ward off the headache trying to stab her between the eyes. She cradled the phone against her shoulder and covered her eyes with her palm.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay, Kevin?”
She had a list of answers to that, none of them useful.
“I got a letter from the insurance company about the settlement.”
“I’ve had about two dozen.”
He sighed. “Tovah, don’t be like that.”
“I’m not being like anything, Kevin.” She stopped herself from saying more.
Once there had never been silence between them. Even when they weren’t speaking, there had never been a void like this, unfillable. It made her heart hurt, and she hated herself for not hating him more.
She wanted to draw up her knees and press her face to them, the way she used to. Unable to do that, she settled for burying her face into the cushions of the couch. They smelled of dog, though Max wasn’t supposed to lie there.
“So, they’re close to settling, then?”
“I think so, yes. The lawyer says so.”
Friends and family had counseled her to fight for more, but at the time all she’d wanted was to cut him free. Let him go. She’d loved him too much to fight for pennies. The divorce mediation hadn’t taken long. She’d agreed to take on the medical bills and fighting with the insurance company in exchange for whatever payout they might deign to give her. Kevin had taken half their savings, the car and the furniture, moving on with his life and new partner without even looking back.
More silence that he wasn’t content to keep. “So…I guess we should talk about filing those papers.”
Though Tovah’d been the one to tell him to go, she’d never actually filed for divorce. Her reasons had started out complicated and then eased into simplicity. She didn’t have the money right now to file for divorce, and Kevin, despite his new girlfriend and life, had never bothered. Tovah didn’t want to guess at his reasons.
“If that’s what you want.” Instant regret took over at those words. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she wanted him back.
“Yeah…well…” Kevin cleared his throat. “Here’s the thing. My lawyer also got a letter from yours about the settlement. And my lawyer says the mediation agreement we signed needs to be revisited.”
Her breath burned in her lungs until she let it out. “Revisited?”
The soft huff of his breath tickled her eardrums. “He says the amount we originally agreed on was equitable, but with the new arrangements from the insurance company…and…we could use the extra cash.”
We.
It still stung, even now.
“I’m sure you can.”
“Because…”
The hesitation in his voice set off alarms in her head, and she lifted her face from the pillows. She didn’t want to hear this. Not this, the inevitable, the news she’d been waiting to hear since the first time a woman had answered his phone.
“We’re getting married.”
“It’s about time.” Each word, a nail hammered into her, no matter how lightly she said it. “I’m sure Dalia will appreciate it.”
Three months old, she remembered now. The baby, Kevin’s daughter, was three months old. Tovah had never seen her, though she imagined she’d have Kevin’s eyes.
“Yeah. I guess she will.” Oh, how she remembered that rueful chuckle. “But listen, Tov—”
“You’re telling me you want to revisit the divorce agreement because you think I’m going to get more money?” Each word, a thorn ripped from her flesh.
She took no enjoyment in how miserable he sounded, or from knowing he’d probably been urged into this by his new fiancée and his lawyer. “Yeah.”
“But you’re calling to see if I’m okay.” She layered the word with grief masquerading as disdain. “Wow. Well, really, Kevin, if that’s how you show concern, I’d much rather you didn’t worry about me.”
“I still do,” Kevin said in a low voice.
Tovah imagined him cutting his gaze to the side to make sure he wasn’t being overheard. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that, either.”
Silence again, a space between them that could never close. Not with all the sorries in the world. She put her finger on the disconnect button.
Then she hung up.
Max woke up and, whining, licked away her tears as she clung to his neck. When her sobs had ceased he squatted on his haunches, head tilted, and watched her. The curve of his mouth and lolling tongue was the same, but there was no question his expression was perplexed sorrow, not a smile. Tovah wiped her face and patted the couch beside her until he jumped up and put his head in her lap.
Sitting that way, she looked down at her legs, stretched out. The right, nicked and scarred from a lifetime of activity, reached all the way to the tufted ottoman. The left ended in a smoothly scarred cap of tissue just above the knee.
“He says he’s sorry,” she said. “Well, guess what. I’m sorry, too.”
The problem was, sorry didn’t buy beans, as her grandma had been fond of saying. Nor would it take them back in time to the night of the accident, when slick roads and a sleepy driver had ended in tragedy. If asked what she could’ve saved that night, her leg or her marriage, Tovah would have chosen her marriage. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been given a choice. She had to live without both.
Sorry couldn’t turn back time. There was only one place she could go where things would be the same as they were, at least as far as her body was concerned.
“I’m going to bed,” she told Max, and went upstairs to seek the land of dreams.
She was cautious this time. Spider’s warning had been merited, and though she’d managed to get away from the shaper who’d tried to do…whatever he’d meant to do, Tovah was not about to let herself get into a situation like that again.
She entered the Ephemeros on edge, wary, shaping nothing at first until she could make certain she knew what she wanted and certain to always know where to find her exit light. No club this time, though she ached to dance and flirt and drink to wash the taste of Kevin’s conversation from her tongue. She stretched her body arm by arm and leg by leg and let her will surround her, seeing what came up.
One by one, the details appeared. Grass. Trees. One small patch, the borders blurry with the hint of mountains in the distance. But for now, just this one small place where she could sit in the sunlight.
She’d encountered bad things in the Ephemeros before, even since she’d learned it was a real place, not just fantasy. Nightmares still existed. Spider claimed they did for a reason. Bad dreams were usually limited to the sleeper having them, or the guide who decided to help them through. She�
�d encountered bold shapers who didn’t understand or didn’t care about the etiquette of forcing their will upon others, but they were rare. The Ephemeros never unshaped around her the way it had during her last visit with Spider. Parts shifted and moved, sometimes startlingly, but nothing had ever shaken the fabric of the dream realm before.
Spider had been scared, reason enough for her to be wary, too. Yet now, tipping her face to sunlight she’d created to have perfect brightness and heat, Tovah found it hard to concentrate on anything bad. Surely this place would always be this good and perfect and sweet, so filled with glory?
“Tovah.”
Startled, she opened her eyes. “Ben!”
He gestured around him. “Nice place.”
“Yes.” A running brook appeared not too far from where she sat. His touch, not hers. She patted the grass beside her. “Have a seat?”
Ben sat, his long legs stretching out beside hers. He had a rod in one hand and cast at once, line whirring before settling into the water with a small plink. “How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
He also tipped his face to sunlight. “Fine.”
“What are you trying to catch?”
Ben reeled in the line, cast it again. “I should be able to catch whatever I want, right? Isn’t that the way it works?”
She’d never heard Ben sound so bitter. “Spider would say you’ll catch what you need to catch. Maybe not what you want.”
Ben tossed the rod to the grass. “I know what Spider would say.”
Tovah reached to pluck a flower, watching him. “Have you seen Spider recently?”
“Yes.” Ben squinted at her. “He told me what happened.”
“What do you think it was?” She turned toward him and pulled her knees to her chest to rest her chin on them both.
“I’m an expert?” Ben shook his head. “I don’t know.”
She studied him. She wondered if she’d ever be able to put aside the memory of how his mouth had felt, and his arms, and how safe he’d made her feel for those brief moments before he’d realized he was dreaming and let her go. Probably not, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.