When Dreams Come True

by Margaret Daley

  * * *

  Zoey dunked the herbal tea bag into the hot water, then added a spoonful of sugar and stirred. With a glance at the kitchen wall clock, she winced at the time. Four in the morning. Exhausted but unable to sleep, she made her way to the deck and sank onto a cushioned chair to enjoy the cool spring night, the star-studded sky and the quiet serenade of the insects.

  Cupping the mug in her hands, she brought it to her mouth and took several sips of the soothing brew. Blake had been awake, watching television with her mother when they had arrived home. One look at Dane, though, had sent her son upstairs to his room where he’d become absorbed in a book about space travel. As Blake had stomped out of the den, the expression on Dane’s face had pained her as much as if she had been the one rejected by their son.

  “Lord, I need some help down here. I’m not doing too well on my own.” She drank some more of her tea and waited for some kind of divine intervention.

  Nothing but the sounds of crickets and birds filled the night. She finished her tea, no longer warm, and started to go inside to fix another cup. She would be up the rest of the night and needed fortification.

  A moan penetrated the quiet.

  She paused in rising and looked around. Another moan spliced the air. Her gaze riveted to the slightly opened window of the den.

  “No! Don’t! Get away!”

  Her husband’s pleading voice shuddered down her length. Dane’s in trouble! She rushed into the house and ran toward the den. When she burst into the room and flipped on the light, she finally realized how foolish it was not to have thought out her rescue plan. Thankfully he was alone, wrestling with the sheets on his bed, not some thug. The sudden brightness bolted him upright, his eyes wide, sweat dripping off him. For a long moment he stared at her, not really seeing her in the doorway.

  Then recognition dawned in his gaze, followed quickly by the circumstances that must have brought her into the room. He took the edge of the sheet and wiped off his face and neck, affording him time to neutralize his expression.

  “Sorry, if I woke you,” he muttered, not looking at her.

  “You didn’t. I was having some tea out on the deck. Are you all right?”

  “What time is it?” He checked the digital clock on the desk across the room. “It’s after four. What are you doing up so early?”

  “I couldn’t sleep and you aren’t going to change the subject. Are you all right? You sounded like you were fighting off an army.”

  “And you came charging in here armed with what?”

  She grinned. She glanced down at her hand that still held the empty mug and lifted it. “This.”

  Dane combed his fingers through his damp hair. “I’m comforted to know that you’re deadly with a mug.”

  “There you go again changing the subject. What went on in here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I was having a nightmare.”

  Nothing about her husband was obvious. She walked to the bed and sat. “Care to tell me about it?” Her lungs seized her breath and held it tight until her chest burned.

  The sigh that escaped his pursed lips sounded loud in the silence. “I got the thrill of experiencing nearly being burned alive all over again.”

  “Have you had this nightmare often?” She remembered his cry and wondered if there was more to the dream than he was telling her.

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug, but the taut set of them when they settled wasn’t casual. “If I’m lucky, only once or twice a week.”

  “And if you aren’t?”

  “Almost every night.”

  His clipped answer sliced through the stillness. A scowl slashed his eyebrows downward, prompting Zoey to reach toward him and brush her fingertips along his hard jaw. “Tell me about the nightmare.”

  He yanked away from her touch and shot to his feet. “I’d rather not relive it yet again tonight. Once is enough.” He headed for the door. “I’m thinking a whole pot of coffee sounds good about now.”

  “Not to a tea drinker,” she said to his retreating back.

  He disappeared into the hallway. The stiff line of her body collapsed. Her gaze swept over the rumbled sheets on the bed, the bottom one having come loose in her husband’s struggle. Rising, she remade the sleeper sofa, her hands trembling as she tucked the linen beneath the mattress.

  He wasn’t going to let her in. The urge to scream inundated her, and she fisted the top sheet in her hand until pain forced her to release her grip. The linen floated to the bed.

  So what are you going to do about it? an inner voice asked.

  Fight for my marriage?

  What choice did she have? Dane was her husband. She’d loved him once so much—that feeling had never really died when she had thought he had—and wanted to be a part of his life.

  She squared her shoulders and walked toward the hallway. Then fight she would.

  In the kitchen she watched him move about the room, looking in cabinets to locate the items he needed. This brought forward a memory of a time in Dallas not long after Mandy had been born when he’d been trying to be domestic and help out while she was recovering from having their daughter. She’d found him doing the same thing, opening and closing drawers and cabinets, searching for what he needed to use. Except back then, he should have been more familiar with the kitchen. The fact he hadn’t been only underscored how little he’d participated in their family life.

  “Can I help?” she asked from the doorway.

  He paused, glanced up from rummaging in a drawer and said, “Nope. I’ve got to learn where everything is. I want to pull my own weight around here.”

  With her shoulder cushioned against the door frame, she folded her arms and tilted her head. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Maybe I could do the laundry or learn to cook some of the meals, especially since you’re working as a counselor at the high school.” He finished getting the supplies—his new coffeepot, the special blend he’d bought, a scooper and a mug. As he measured the granules, he continued, “I know I’m supposed to be getting my strength back and taking things easy, but I’ve never been one to sit around and not do anything.”

  “You could always get to know your family.”

  His movements halted for a few seconds, as though he’d been flash frozen, before he resumed making his coffee. When he completed his task, he turned slowly, leaning back against the counter, his hands clutching its edge. “Does that include you?”

  She nodded, her throat contracted. She swallowed hard and finally said, “Most definitely if we want this marriage to succeed.” Do you want it to succeed? she left unasked. “Now more than ever the children need a stable environment,” she added, not completely ready to put her heart totally on the line.

  The scent of coffee infused the air, almost enticing her to have a cup. The darkness beyond the window behind Dane reminded Zoey of how little sleep she’d gotten since her husband had returned two days ago. With tired, burning eyes she stared at her husband while he took the kettle from the stove and filled it with water. He set it on the burner and then opened the cabinet where she kept her assortment of teas.

  “What would you like to drink? I figure we might as well start our day. It’ll be five soon.”

  Stunned by his gesture—he had never prepared her tea before—she didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally because he was waiting patiently for her to answer him, she murmured, “I’d like my English Breakfast tea. That’s usually what I drink in the morning.”

  The whistle on the kettle blasted a shrill sound, and Dane quickly removed it from the burner. After he filled a mug for her, he dunked the tea bag into the hot water. “You used to take one teaspoon of sugar.”

  She moved toward the refrigerator. “I still do, but I also put half and half in, too.”

  He slid her mug along the counter toward her. “That’s new.”

  She busied herself stirring her tea, thinking of all the new things in her life. Since his disappearance there had been a se
ries of changes one after another. She wasn’t the same person he’d married fourteen years ago. Would he love the woman she had become?

  With his mug in hand, Dane made his way to the table and sat. Zoey was different, more self-assured. He was also different from the man who’d left her to go on an assignment that lasted longer than it was supposed to. There were still gaps in his memory, but he did know one thing: he had changed. He wasn’t the same man he was two-and-a-half years ago. Could they find the love they had once had for each other? Or had they changed too much, destroying any chance to make this marriage work?

  “I know you didn’t go to church much when we lived in Dallas, but why don’t you come with us this morning?” Zoey took the chair across from him and blew on the hot liquid in her cup. She’d realized she’d already asked him once that night, but she knew it was a good place to begin his healing if he would let God into his life.

  He remembered Felicia Winters, the soccer game and all the people—all the questions—and didn’t think he was ready. There was no way the parishioners at Zoey’s church would let him quietly come to the service and not want to know every detail of what happened for those years he was gone. “Not this week.”

  “Does that mean you will one Sunday?”

  “No” hovered on his lips, but he didn’t want to disappoint Zoey yet again. “Maybe.”

  “Good, because both Mandy and especially Blake are very involved in the church. It would be a wonderful way to get to know them.”

  “Resorting to blackmail?” He sipped at his coffee, observing a play of emotions flit across her face. Confusion finally won out over anger.

  “Blackmail? I’ll never resort to blackmail to get someone to come to church. You can’t force someone to believe in God. That doesn’t mean I won’t try to educate, but never blackmail.”

  He tilted his head toward her. “Sorry, my mistake. I’m glad the children are involved.”

  “You are?”

  He snared her with his gaze. “Yes, Zoey. Your faith is important to you, and I want our children to know about the Lord. It isn’t that I don’t believe. I just don’t see where He’s the answer for everything. He certainly wasn’t there for me in the jungle.”

  After taking a large sip of her drink, she put her mug on the table. “So you think He needs to be everywhere making everything wonderful and blissful for everyone.”

  He winced at her emphasis on every. “Shouldn’t He?”

  “This from the man who prides himself on being independent? God has given us a brain to think with. We have choices we can make. He isn’t orchestrating every movement of our life.” She leaned toward him, her expression intense. “But He is there for us when we are hurting and need guidance. He’s like a parent. He loves us and helps us, but as we have to with our children, He lets us make our own decisions and face the consequences when we make a mistake. We can’t live our children’s lives for them because they will grow up and move out on their own.”

  Silence descended. Dane gulped down the last swig of coffee and thought over Zoey’s words. It made sense. He even wished he had the kind of faith she did, but he couldn’t see turning his life over to anyone. He was the one who had finally left the jungle. He was the one who would have to put his life back together. He was the one who would have to remember why the plane had crashed in the first place.

  “Mommy, I can’t sleep,” Mandy said, shuffling across the kitchen with Mrs. Giggles in one arm while she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Can I stay up with ya and Daddy?”

  Mandy stopped by his chair. Dane scooted it back and patted his lap. “Sure, princess. It’s nearly time to get up anyway.”

  Mandy climbed up and sat with her doll cradled against her. She used his chest as a cushion for her head while she fought a huge yawn. “Good. I had a bad dream.”

  “Oh,” Dane murmured, thinking back to his own. He could almost feel the heat of the fire. He could almost smell the smoke and charred remains of the plane. He trembled, drawing his daughter nearer, hoping she never had to experience a nightmare like that one. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “I lost Mrs. Giggles. I looked and looked. Couldn’t find her.” She yawned again. “I had to make sure she was…okay.” Mandy’s eyes drifted closed.

  Dane looked at Zoey over the top of his daughter’s head. “Should I take her back to bed?” he whispered.

  Mandy blinked her eyes open and struggled to sit up straight. “No, Daddy. Don’t want to lose Mrs. Giggles again.”

  Zoey listened to her daughter’s words, a heaviness pressing down on her chest. So many times dreams were a manifestation of an anxiety. Did Mandy—like her—fear Dane would leave them and become lost again? She had just assumed her daughter would be all right because she seemed so happy to see her father.

  “You won’t, princess.”

  Dane’s voice caught on his last word. Zoey saw the troubled look in his eyes and knew he was wondering the same thing as she. A person could only mask feelings for so long before they came tumbling out. They were already seeing Blake’s. Dread over the months to come encased Zoey in a cold blanket. She was a counselor, used to dealing with people’s problems, their emotions, but she didn’t know if she could when it was her own family facing turmoil. She realized that was the last few days’ exhaustion talking. She didn’t have a choice. She would have to deal with it.

  Mandy snuggled closer to Dane. “Daddy, Cindy’s got a playhouse in her backyard. Can I have one? Then Mrs. Giggles would have her own home.”

  “Amanda Marie!”

  Zoey started to say more when Dane cut in. “I’ll see what I can do. That would be a good project for me. Maybe Blake can help me.”

  Mandy’s sleepy expression brightened to a huge grin. “Really?”

  Dane glanced at Zoey, a question in his gaze. “If your mother thinks it’s okay.”

  “You’ve just been manipulated.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it isn’t a bad idea.”

  “Mommy, what’s man—” Mandy’s face screwed up in a frown.

  “Manipulated is when you get someone to do what you want them to do even if they don’t want to.”

  “But, Daddy does.”

  Dane chuckled. “She’s got you there. What do you think the chances are of me getting Blake to help with the playhouse?”

  Hugging Mrs. Giggles tighter to her, Mandy closed her eyes. “Blake loves to build things.”

  “Good,” Dane said with a smile.

  “She’s right, but…” Zoey let her sentence trail off into silence because she hated to wipe the eagerness from her husband’s expression. She had her doubts that Blake would. Her son could be very stubborn—much like his dad.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Zoey had needed Samuel’s sermon today about going with the flow. She wondered if he had directed it at her. They had talked a few times since Dane had returned and Samuel knew what she was feeling.

  Mandy and Blake entered the house first with her taking up the rear. Her empty arms felt strange without Tara in them. But her mother had insisted on taking Tara home with her from church. She’d declared she wanted some alone time with her youngest grandchild.

  “What’s for lunch?” Blake asked in the middle of the kitchen.

  “Sandwiches.”

  “Peanut butter?” Mandy pulled up the stool so she could reach a top cabinet.

  Her daughter’s limited list of foods she would eat contained few choices for lunch except peanut butter. I should take stock out in a company that makes it, Zoey thought, then said, “Yes. Blake, what do you want? I have the makings of a ham or turkey sandwich.”

  “Ham.” Her son’s head jerked around at the sound of a hammer reverberating through the air.

  Blake walked toward the back door with Mandy on his heels. Zoey moved to the window over the sink and spied Dane in the backyard, pounding a nail into a two-by-four.

  “What’s he doing?” Blake asked, frowning.

  Mandy yanked on the handl
e, thrusting the door open. “Daddy’s started my playhouse!” She rushed out onto the deck, grinning from ear to ear.

  The frown on her son’s face deepened to a scowl. His teeth dug into his lower lip. “I was thinking of making one for Mandy.” He spun away from the open door and stalked toward the hallway.

  That had been the first time she had heard Blake say he was going to build a playhouse for his little sister. “Why don’t you help your dad?”

  He halted, his arms stiff at his sides. “If he wants to do it, he can. I don’t have the time anyway.”

  Her son stomped down the hall and up the stairs. Zoey took a deep breath, any peace she’d felt after Samuel’s sermon vanishing. Go with the flow? How can I when the flow is heading toward a waterfall?

  The sound of Mandy giggling drew Zoey’s attention. She stepped into the doorway and watched her daughter with Dane, her adoring gaze turned up at him as she listened to what her father had to say.

  He looked toward Zoey. His penetrating look jammed a huge knot in her throat as though a fist was stuffed down it. Finally she moved out onto the deck to the railing.

  “I’m gonna fix lunch. Would you like a ham, turkey or peanut butter sandwich?”

  Mandy tugged on Dane’s shirt. “Peanut butter, Daddy. It’s the bestest.”

  He glanced down at his daughter for a few seconds, ruffling her hair. “Just peanut butter?”

  “Oh, no. We have grape or strawberry jelly.”

  “Which do you suggest I have with my peanut butter?”

  Mandy cocked her head, her forefinger tapping against her chin. “Well, I had grape yesterday. I think strawberry.”

  With a twinkle in his eyes, Dane peered toward Zoey. “Peanut butter and strawberry for the both of us. We’ll eat out here if that’s all right with you.”

  “We’re gonna have a picnic!” Her daughter jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

  “First, Mandy, you need to change out of your good dress.”