Butterfly Dreams

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Butterfly Dreams Page 11

by A. Meredith Walters


  Six feet under.

  A general sense of depression descended and I tried not to get dragged down by it.

  Life and death and contemplating morality could be a serious mood killer.

  Because the truth was we were a group of people with heart problems. Even as we lived our lives and tried to go on like normal, our mutual fates hung like a heavy weight around our collective necks.

  Death was, and always would be, a very real possibility for the people sitting in this circle with shock and grief on their faces. We lived our lives under its shadow every single day.

  It was something I had been struggling with since my heart attack. Something I couldn’t ignore but tried not to dwell on. I was desperate to live my life anyway.

  But then you get slapped in the face with a reminder that everything was temporary. I knew that everyone had the knowledge that one day it would all be over. No one was exempt from dying. But for someone like me it was so much more immediate. Because I had already seen what it’s like on the other end. I had seen the white light. The dark tunnel. And as much as I hated to admit it, the thought of what lay beyond terrified me.

  I was scared shitless of dying.

  So I did the only thing I could do.

  Learn how to live all over again.

  Corin made another gasping noise. She was shaking and chewing on her bottom lip, gnawing through flesh. A small bead of blood blossomed at the corner of her mouth.

  “Corin. Are you all right?” I whispered. It was a stupid thing to ask. I could tell she wasn’t. I was pretty sure she was close to freaking out.

  “Corin?” I said her name again, trying to get her attention.

  “Let’s start tonight by going around the room and saying the first thing on your mind. Let’s get those feelings out in the open. They do more damage staying bottled up,” Candace instructed kindly, sitting down in her chair.

  “Corin?” I gripped her arm and gave it a little shake, but she wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes were trained straight ahead. Wide and unblinking. I wasn’t sure where she was, but I was positive she wasn’t here.

  “Jennifer, let’s start with you,” I could hear Candace saying, but my focus was on Corin.

  “Corin!” I said a little louder, my hand still wrapped around her arm. Finally she looked at me.

  “I can’t—” she rasped, shaking her head back and forth.

  “Do you need to go outside and get some air?” I asked, trying to meet her eyes. She didn’t acknowledge me. I picked up one of her rigid hands and folded it between my palms. She felt cold. Ice cold.

  Shit.

  She wrenched her hand free and I tried not to be hurt by her rejection. But damn it, I was.

  “I just can’t believe he’s gone. I spoke with him only yesterday. He called to give me his wife’s recipe for carrot cake. He was in a great mood. He said he had a doctor’s appointment on Friday but he felt good about it. He was supposed to talk about the new pacemaker.” Tammy was crying. Several other group members were sobbing not so silently, adding to the chorus of anguish.

  “It sounds so horrible, but I’m terrified that will happen to me. That I could be playing with my granddaughter or watching a movie with my wife and poof. That’s it. I’m done. No warning. Just gone,” said Carl, the forty-year-old taxi driver with coronary heart disease, and there was a murmur of agreement from most of the others.

  There it was. The tangible dread. So thick I could taste it.

  One by one Candace went around the circle and let everyone give voice to their shock. Their terrifying fear of their own mortality. And with every person’s words, Corin became more and more agitated.

  I tried saying her name a few more times but she continued to ignore me.

  “Corin. Do you have anything you’d like to say?” Candace asked after she had gone around the circle.

  Corin remained mute, her trembling hands an iron vice in her lap.

  “Corin?” Candace repeated, and I looked at the woman beside me, recognizing a brokenness in her eyes that I had felt in my bones so many times before.

  “Corin,” I whispered, leaning in close, touching her arm. Connecting.

  She jerked away and got to her feet. Without another word she fled the room, leaving a room full of people gaping after her.

  Candace immediately went to follow but I stopped her.

  “Let me. She and I…well…we’re friends,” I said. Candace nodded and patted me on the back.

  “Okay, but come and get me if you need me,” Candace offered, looking concerned for Corin.

  “I will. I think Geoffery’s death has hit her hard,” I excused, knowing deep down it was a lot more than that.

  “I understand. We all do,” Candace sympathized.

  I walked out into the hallway, calling her name. There was no response and I didn’t see any sign of Corin. Where did she go?

  I walked out to the enclosed courtyard—she wasn’t there.

  “Corin?” I called out. No answer.

  I searched every room, every shadowed hallway, and she was nowhere in sight. It was obvious she had left.

  I pulled out my phone and typed out a quick text. I had never texted her before. But I was starting to get really worried. I just kept thinking about her face as she ran from the room.

  She looked as though ghosts were chasing her.

  Where are you? Are you okay? -Beckett

  I leaned against the wall, waiting for her to respond.

  One minute.

  Two minutes.

  Nothing.

  I checked my phone but there wasn’t any response to my text. So I wrote another one.

  Please, Corin. Let me know you’re all right. I’m going out of my mind here.

  One minute.

  Two minutes.

  Three.

  Then my phone chimed just as I was ready to jump in my car and start trying to track her down.

  I’m fine. I’m sorry if I worried you.

  That was it.

  Can I come and see you? I texted back.

  I was half out of my mind wanting to see her. I knew pushing Corin was a bad idea but at that moment I didn’t give a shit. I needed to make sure, with my own eyes, that she was fine. I didn’t want to take her word for it.

  Not tonight.

  I frowned, getting frustrated.

  Tomorrow? How about we get breakfast?

  Radio silence.

  “Damn it, Corin,” I growled under my breath. There were times that she didn’t make caring about her very easy.

  Later. Mornings are the enemy.

  I smiled. Relieved that she was joking with me. But I’d feel better if I could just hear her voice.

  Midmorning then. Let’s have tea at the park.

  My phone chimed almost instantly.

  Tea at the park? Are we 12? Only if we can play on the jungle gym.

  Then there were the times that caring about Corin was the easiest thing in the world.

  —

  Corin was already at the park when I showed up around midmorning. I hadn’t been able to focus at work. I had been too focused on seeing her.

  I jogged from my car, tea sloshing over the edge of the Styrofoam cups, burning my hand. I was out of breath by the time I reached the bench where Corin was sitting. I stopped, wheezing a bit, trying to catch my breath.

  She was chewing on her thumbnail, the wind blowing her hair in every direction. I tried not to stand there and stare at her like a creeper, but it was hard. I enjoyed looking at her.

  “Corin,” I called out. She looked up and gave me a strained smile.

  “Hey,” she said in a strangled voice as I approached.

  “Here you go. One nasty herbal tea. No latte.” She took the cup and I noticed that she was careful not to touch me.

  It was sunny and on the warm side, but she was still shivering as though she were freezing from the inside out.

  “Can I have a seat or am I going to be forced to stand the whole time?” I
joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Sure. If you don’t have an aversion to sitting in dried bird poo.”

  “A little poo never hurt anybody,” I remarked, though I made sure not to sit in it before taking a spot beside her.

  I quickly took a drink of my own beverage, trying not to think too much about the very awkward vibe that Corin was giving off.

  “So…” I let that one word fade away. Carried off. Into nothing.

  Way to make things comfortable, Beck.

  “Sorry about last night. I keep making an ass of myself in front of people. It’s a talent of mine.” She licked her lips and stared at her hands.

  “I can think of worse talents to have. Like golf.”

  Corin’s lips twitched into something that resembled a smile but didn’t quite get there.

  A woman walked by pushing a stroller. I noticed a soft smile on Corin’s face as she watched them disappear down the hill. She finally looked at me, her brown eyes regretful.

  “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I really am sorry,” she said, wrapping her hands around her cup.

  “Stop apologizing. It’s okay. You were upset. I get it. Did you know Geoffery well?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I mean I spoke to him in group some. Nothing worth noting. But he seemed like a nice man.”

  “He was. A little heavy-handed with the mints, but definitely a great person. And it doesn’t really matter if he was your best friend or a complete stranger. It’s hard not to feel grief when people pass away suddenly. It’s called compassion,” I told her.

  Corin snorted. “Compassion, huh? I’ve never been accused of being compassionate before.”

  “You give yourself way too little credit, Corin.”

  Corin stared out at a stream, present in body but not in mind.

  “Did you know that Geoffery was a medic in the Vietnam War?” I wanted to get her talking. Her introspective silence was disconcerting.

  “I had no idea,” Corin exclaimed, looking at me again.

  “Yeah. He was injured and honorably discharged. After that he became a war protestor. That’s how he met his wife.”

  “Wow. You’d never know that by looking at him. You know, with the flat caps and all,” Corin said. “How did you know all this?”

  “I like talking to people. I like to know their stories. I want them to know that I care about who they are and what they’ve done.” I gazed into Corin’s eyes and hoped she picked up on what I was trying to say to her.

  “Or you’re just a busybody,” she joked half-heartedly.

  “Or that,” I shrugged.

  “You’re a good guy, Beckett. I barely know you and you’re always riding to the rescue. Like my own personal white knight.”

  I bumped her shoulder with mine. “I have a thing for damsels in distress.”

  “But who saves you, Beckett?” she asked softly, and my smile slipped.

  “I don’t think that I need saving,” I responded.

  “Are you so sure about that?” she asked me, raising an eyebrow. I felt a stab of awareness in the center of my chest. Why did I always get the sense that she saw more than I wanted her to? More than I had ever let anyone see?

  Corin sighed loudly.

  “You must think I’m a real whack job,” she muttered.

  “Nah. No more than everyone else I know,” I quipped, glad we weren’t talking about me anymore.

  “I can’t help it. It just sneaks up on me. Before I really know what’s happening. It’s the most horrible feeling…”

  “Like you’re dying?” I filled in for her.

  She kicked the dirt with her shoe. An oddly endearing gesture.

  “I don’t have long, Beckett. I just know that my time is running out.” She sounded resigned. But also scared.

  I thought again about my own questionable health and could understand that fear.

  “But who saves you, Beckett?”

  I leaned down. Close. Almost cheek to cheek.

  “Stop thinking about your life in increments. Seconds. Minutes. Days. Look at the bigger picture and embrace whatever time you have. Don’t look constantly toward the end. Enjoy the right now.”

  The girl with death in her eyes glanced up at me, her wet eyes suddenly clear. I tried not to feel embarrassed by my cheesy advice. Because I truly believed the words I had just given her.

  Even if I did sound like some Mr. Miyagi rip-off. Or a really bad fortune cookie.

  Corin must think I was a total douchebag.

  I felt suddenly light-headed but I wouldn’t think about that. Not now.

  “The right now, huh?” She wasn’t laughing at me. She wasn’t smirking or looking at me like I was an idiot.

  She said it matter of factly. Seriously. As though what I had to say really did have some merit.

  A thought came into my head unbidden. A strange thought. A powerful one.

  “But who saves you, Beckett?”

  Just maybe I was looking at her.

  I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. She didn’t pull away. Not this time.

  And I didn’t either.

  “Absolutely. It’s all any of us can do.”

  Neither of us said anything else. So we sat there in the sun, listening to the sounds of kids laughing on the playground, and I knew that this woman was filling a hole inside of me that I hadn’t realized was there.

  We finished our drinks and I got to my feet. “Can I push you on the swing?” I asked, holding out my hand.

  Corin grinned. “Only if I can bury you in the sandbox.”

  I laughed.

  She laughed.

  Some things just felt right.

  Chapter 10

  Beckett

  “How often have you been feeling light-headed?” Dr. Callahan asked, her stethoscope pressed against my chest as I took deep, long breaths. In and out.

  “It started a few days ago and has only happened a handful of times. It passes after several minutes but I figured I should come and have myself checked out.”

  Dr. Callahan moved the cold stethoscope across my skin and I tried not to flinch. Couldn’t she at least warm it up first? Or buy me dinner before she stuck her hand up my shirt?

  “For most people a little light-headedness is nothing to be concerned about. It could be a drop in blood pressure after standing up suddenly. Dehydration. Not getting enough sleep.”

  I forced myself to smile. “I’m just special like that, huh?” I joked, but it sounded weak in my ears.

  “Of course you are,” Dr. Callahan smiled. She listened to my chest, moving the stethoscope around.

  “Your heart sounds good. Your lungs are clear. But let me just check your ICD to make sure it’s still working properly. Were you doing anything strenuous when you experienced the dizziness?” Dr. Callahan asked, removing the stethoscope and letting my T-shirt fall back into place.

  I shook my head. “Not really. I thought maybe it could be low blood sugar or something.”

  Dr. Callahan nodded. “It very well could have been. But let’s just make sure it’s not something more serious.”

  My phone chirped in my pocket and I pulled it out while Dr. Callahan got the paddle to check my ICD.

  Want to grab a tea? Maybe I’ll go crazy and have a muffin.

  I grinned at Corin’s message. Something had changed between us that day in the park. We breached some invisible barrier that had been between us.

  As if Corin finally decided that she didn’t need to keep me at arm’s length. And I decided I most definitely wanted her in my life.

  Her messages were usually short. Random observations. Sometimes biting critiques meant to be jokes.

  She was an odd chick. But it was odd that I appreciated. She was different. A little paranoid. A bit too obsessed about my health and hers. But she was also a good listener. Picking up on things that other people didn’t. Sometimes her observations made me squirm but she was usually right on the money.

  And I like
d making her laugh. Because I knew, without her ever having to tell me, that it was something she didn’t do often enough.

  Wish I could but I’m at an appointment. You still want to grab some dinner after the workshop tomorrow?

  A big pile of gooey lasagna, just for you.

  Sure, if you want me to force-feed you coffee for dessert.

  You really don’t have to come you know, she responded a second later, ignoring my faux coffee threat.

  I was having a hard time convincing her that I was coming to her pottery workshop for me. Because I genuinely wanted to go.

  She seemed to think that I felt sorry for her. Because of the panic attacks.

  Because her heart was so much like mine.

  It was a role reversal for me. Typically I was the one people felt sorry for.

  I’m not talking about this again. Figure out where you want to eat. No flesh of the unborn please.

  Joy killer.

  I chuckled under my breath and put my phone away.

  Corin Thompson was becoming important to me. We connected in a way that didn’t make much sense.

  Maybe we were bound by our barely functioning hearts. Maybe we were tied by our mutual experiences with death. It was intense, whatever the reason. She wasn’t someone I would have chosen to spend time with before.

  She was prickly and self-conscious. She was blunt and at times rude.

  But she also had a wicked sense of humor that showed itself at random times. She was obviously very passionate about her pottery studio.

  We had been thrown into each other’s lives, and I was thankful for whatever put her on that sidewalk that day in the snow.

  “Everything seems to be working fine, Beckett. You can put your shirt down,” Dr. Callahan instructed. She made some notes in my file and put the paddle away in a drawer.

  “I don’t see any reason to be concerned, and the dizziness could very well have been a result of low blood sugar, like you suggested. But remember that it’s important if you feel light-headed again, you come to the emergency room immediately so we can see what’s going on. It could be nothing, just like this time. But as you know, it could be very serious as well.”

  I swallowed around the lump in my throat.

  “I will dance right over here, doc. No worries.” I winked at her and hopped down from the examining table. I covered my fear so well even I believed me.

 

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