Talking In Your Sleep...

by Hunter, Samantha

“It’s hot.”

  “Use your AC.”

  “I don’t have AC. There’s only one small window unit in the house and it is too noisy. Why don’t you close your window?”

  “Why should I close my windows? You’re the one screaming in the middle of the night.”

  She squared her jaw, supposing there was no reason not to tell the truth on this one. “Well, I’m not closing my window either—it’s too hot.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  She stifled a yawn, moving toward the door. “I don’t know who you’ve been hearing at night, but people are out on the streets all the time—it was probably something out there.”

  “It’s the same voice, saying the same things. In fact, it’s your voice. I’m sure of it.”

  Sending him what she thought was the coldest look she could manage, she yanked open the door. “You’re imagining things. Thanks for your concern, but I’d like to go back to bed.”

  He moved toward the door, shaking his head, and looking at her with a smile that had her knees buckling. Then she caught herself.

  “I’m Rafe by the way. Rafe Moore,” he said slowly, watching her closely as if to catch her up, and she hoped she gave nothing away.

  “Good night, Mr. Moore.”

  She didn’t offer her own name, and simply arched an eyebrow when he paused, waiting. Blowing out a breath, he nodded once, his lips tightening. She almost felt bad, but she didn’t want to give him one ounce of encouragement.

  “Call me Rafe. We’re neighbors, after all. Good night.”

  Joy sank down by the door, utterly mortified. She’d held her own, but her dreams were obviously getting out of control.

  Rafe wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t be going back to sleep tonight. In truth, she hated that she was contributing to his insomnia. He seemed nice, really, and was obviously a good guy, concerned about his neighbors, ready to help. He had a really cute accent, too….

  Shaking away thoughts of her hunky neighbor, Joy couldn’t risk going back to bed and the dreams starting up again. Not tonight. She didn’t know why she was having them—she didn’t even care for sex all that much. The few serious relationships she’d had had proved that. Of course, maybe if sex in reality was as terrific as it was in her unconscious, she’d revise her opinion, but in her experience, it hadn’t been.

  Eyeing the armchair and ottoman by the TV from her sitting position at the base of the door, she smiled. At least if she fell back into her lusty dreams no one would hear her from there.

  Chapter 3

  Rafe searched the crowded shelves of the garage in the corner where Warren kept his tools. He was looking for the laser level Warren had bragged about, but couldn’t find it anywhere. His pal was not a slob, exactly, but he was a pack rat. Everything from old electrical tape to plastic bags with every spare part you could think of was crammed three-deep on the narrow shelves.

  While Rafe hadn’t been able to fall back asleep, the couple hours he’d managed had given him a boost of energy. He was intent on repainting the small kitchen for Warren and his bride—Rafe’s version of a Christmas/wedding gift—but he had to put up the wainscoting first, and that required the level.

  When he yanked free a box from an upper shelf, what he found was more interesting—an older model camcorder. He recognized it in an instant—Warren had gotten it for his eighteenth birthday, and they’d had a hell of a time with it.

  They’d pestered Rafe’s sisters particularly, following them around with the camera until his eldest sister, Becky, had threatened to crush it under her car wheel if they didn’t stop. Rafe was the fourth after three sisters, and though he loved them dearly, and they all had close relationships now, back then, he had been a major pain, as younger brothers aim to be.

  Taking the camcorder out, Rafe saw there was a tape inside and for the heck of it, hit the play button, wondering if he might stumble across one of those old adventures. Within seconds, he was hitting the off button, a little shocked—Warren and his new wife had apparently been having a little fun with home movies back before they were married and had forgotten to remove the tape. Of course, they probably hadn’t expected anyone to be rummaging through their garage, either.

  His embarrassment at discovering the video of Warren in flagrante delicto was muted by the sudden brainstorm that hit him—this could be just what he needed to prove his case.

  If his neighbor, name still unknown, wouldn’t believe she was talking—and loudly—in her sleep, he could tape her and prove it. Then, she wouldn’t be able to deny it was her.

  He took the tape out. He could buy a new one and replace this one later, after he accomplished his purpose. There was a place downtown that converted old tapes to compact discs. If he went to the local hardware store now, he could buy a new tape and a level to work on the kitchen.

  However, grabbing Warren’s keys and heading out to the car—which always stayed in the driveway because the garage was far too packed with everything for it to fit—Rafe was distracted by an older woman teetering on a ladder across the street, hanging some Christmas lights. He jogged over, looking up and calling out, “Hello. That ladder seems a little rickety—could I give you a hand with those lights?”

  The woman suspiciously looked down at him. “Who are you?”

  He smiled. She reminded him a lot of his grandmother, whom he especially missed at Christmas. This woman seemed tough and independent as well; Rafe recognized the look.

  “Rafe Moore, ma’am, at your service. I’m watching over Warren and Trudy’s house while they’re on their honeymoon.”

  “Oh, I have seen you. Warren, he’s a good boy.”

  Watching her twist around on the ladder Rafe got nervous.

  “If you would like, I could give you a hand with those lights. That ladder doesn’t seem too stable. Warren has a good one in the garage. Why don’t you come down and let me go get it?”

  She smiled. “That would be wonderful.”

  Rafe moved forward, holding the ladder firmly as she started to step down, relieved he’d come outside when he had—if she’d fallen, it could have been serious, even from only six feet up. On the job, he’d frequently been called for older people who’d taken simple falls in their own houses, falls that had caused their deaths in some cases.

  “What’s your name, ma’am?”

  “Oh, sorry, I’m Bessie Woods.” She lowered herself slowly. Finally with both feet on the ground, she smiled up at Rafe, shaking her head at the ladder. “My husband passed on last spring. I didn’t really plan to do much for the holiday. My family is worried and doesn’t want me alone, so I just found out they’re all coming here next week to spend a few days before Christmas. I’ll go home with them for the New Year. I couldn’t have the grandkids showing up with not a single Christmas light on the house.”

  She sounded a little grumpy. Rafe nodded, straightening the ladder, silently cheering her family for not abandoning their matriarch. She might not think she wanted the Christmas cheer and the company, but she’d be happier for it once everyone was around. The holidays were so hard for people who’d lost loved ones.

  “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.”

  She patted his arm and moved to the side so he could remove the ladder from where it leaned against the porch.

  “We’ll do that, and then you can come in and I’ll make you some lunch.” She didn’t ask him, she told him, and he chuckled, not even bothering to argue. She looked up at the ladder.

  “My Butch had that ladder for years. I was always yelling at him to get a new one or he’d break his neck. He never did, so I figured it must be good enough. Have to admit, though, I miss him every day. He used to take care of all these things, and…” Her voice faded, choking slightly, and Rafe’s heart squeezed.

  “How long were you married?”

  “Fifty-seven years. Four children of our own, eleven grandkids, four great grands,” she declared proudly, and Rafe was doing some quick math in
his head.

  “They’re all coming for Christmas?” He looked at the small house, wondering how they’d fit.

  She laughed. “Oh, no, just my youngest son’s family—he lives the closest. The rest are scattered all over the country, though I see them often enough.”

  “Good to have a close family,” he stated and realized for the first time that he actually was spending the first Christmas without his own. For some reason, his urge to escape the city, and the job, had blanked out that realization. He knew they’d understand—he’d missed several holidays when he’d had to work—but he’d never been away, completely, for the entire time. His sisters were busy, too—two of them were married; the other, a single lawyer, didn’t seem to have much interest in marriage.

  The four of them were always in and out of their parents’ house, around the neighborhood, several times each week. None of them had ever considered leaving New York. It had been a shock for them when Rafe had announced he was heading to California, if only for a little more than a month. They’d been apprehensive, but supportive. They knew he was having problems, and he knew they were only a phone call away.

  His eyes drifted over across the street, to his neighbor’s house. Did she have family? People who cared? She appeared to be very alone. He felt a twinge of sympathy if that was the case.

  “Where are you from, Rafe?” Bessie interrupted his thought.

  “New York City.”

  “Ah, been there once. Too loud for me.”

  He laughed. “Bessie, what do you think about giving this ladder to the Goodwill—they’ll repair it for someone else’s use, and we can get you a sturdier stepping stool, though not for outside jobs.

  “That sounds like a smart idea.”

  He looked over at the house next to Warren’s where nothing was stirring.

  “Can I ask you a question, Bessie?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “Do you know the name of the woman across the street?”

  She eyed him shrewdly. “That’s Joy Clarke.”

  Joy, he thought, liking the name. He’d never known a Joy before.

  “As far as I know, she’s free as a bird,” Bessie added knowingly. “Used to be a young man who visited pretty often, stayed some nights, if his car in the driveway is any indication, but that was a while ago. I didn’t like him.”

  “You met?”

  “No, but I didn’t like how he came speeding up the street in his fancy car, the radio blasting. A real man doesn’t need to draw attention to himself like that. She doesn’t have much to do with anyone, from what I can tell. Probably has her reasons. She does come around collecting for charity now and then, but that’s about it. I don’t know much, but I do know you look like a man who’s interested.”

  He pulled back. “No, no…not that way. There’s a neighbor issue I need to talk to her about. Thought it would go easier if I knew her name, at least.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  It was clear Bessie wasn’t buying his story, though he took her teasing in good humor. She hustled in to make the promised lunch—and to get more lights now that she had someone to help hang them. He went to get Warren’s ladder, and wondered about Joy as he strung the lights. He noticed there wasn’t a single holiday decoration in her yard.

  Bessie served him one of the best bowls of chicken soup he’d ever had, even if it did make him sweat in the sweltering heat. Cooling off, relatively speaking, he sat on the step out front untangling some outdoor extension cords he’d found in Warren’s garage. Joy emerged, looking as if she were going somewhere, keys in hand, and he decided to make another approach.

  “Joy!” he called from across the street, setting the cords down and seeing she was surprised he knew her name. Crossing to meet her, he tried to ignore the way she tensed up when he neared.

  “Sleeping in late on Saturday, huh?”

  “I’ve been busy. How’d you know my name?”

  “Bessie mentioned it.”

  “Bessie?”

  He tilted his head toward the house across the street. “Bessie? The older lady who lives there, in the white house—just lost her husband?”

  “Oh, yes. Right.”

  “I caught her trying to hang some Christmas lights and almost killing herself up on a ladder, so I’m helping her out. Wondered if you might want to come over and give us a hand? I could use someone on the ground to feed me the extension cord while I’m up on the roof. She makes a mean chicken soup.”

  “Sorry, I have to get going. I need to replace those groceries.” She didn’t bother hiding the stiff accusation in her tone. “And run some errands.”

  “Don’t you ever relax?”

  She was clearly taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re always so tense, so tight. You’ll give yourself high blood pressure.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I guess you’re an expert, seeing as you’re an EMT?”

  He smiled. “You remembered.”

  “Impossible to forget conversations with men who storm in my door in the middle of the night.”

  “I hardly stormed your door. Though I probably would have if you hadn’t answered.”

  “That’s not comforting.”

  “I thought you were in trouble. I didn’t know you were talking in your sleep,” he added, his normally easygoing personality giving way to the urge to taunt her.

  “I do not—never mind. I have to get going.”

  She stepped around him, and he let her go, shaking his head, but thanking her silently for the reminder that he still needed to go to the store to pick up that tape.

  * * *

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Joy—you’re a total lifesaver.”

  “I had fun. The guys did most of the heavy lifting, and I can’t wait to get back and get those chairs and dressers cleaned up—they’re really gorgeous. You might want to consider selling them rather than using them—I think at least one is an antique.”

  They’d been moving some furniture donated by an estate sale into the Second Chance shelter that Pam ran, and were taking time out for a late lunch. It had been a busy afternoon.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like the idea of replacing some of the crappier stuff, make the rooms nicer.”

  Joy grinned, relaxed for the first time in days as she sat with Pam Reynolds at the cheery sidewalk café, munching panini sandwiches and talking. Pam was the first friend she’d made in San Diego after she’d moved. The people who had owned Joy’s house had left some old furniture, and Joy had been looking for a place to donate the stuff. She’d discovered a shelter a half mile away and when she’d called Pam, she’d not only taken Joy’s donations, but had ended up talking her into doing some volunteer time at the shelter.

  It was a great place. Second Chance did more than give people a meal or a cot for the night; Pam was really trying to change people’s lives. The shelter housed up to twelve residents at a time. The men came from all walks of life, but they all wanted a second chance, and that was what she gave them. Pam had arrangements with local colleges, employers, businesses, high schools, doctors…. Whatever it took to give a break to those who were willing to work for it.

  Joy had been so inspired by the project that she’d become a regular volunteer and supporter. Even when she was involved in the most menial tasks, Joy was doing something real, something worthwhile. She was contributing to people’s lives. She spent a lot of her weekend and weeknight time at the shelter, helping out how she could, but also visiting with Pam. They’d become close friends over the years. Though Pam was about ten years older than Joy, the age difference meant nothing to their friendship.

  A San Diego native, Pam hardly looked her age either; her curly hair, almost black, framed skin kissed by the California sun. Pam’s family lived in an exclusive neighborhood northeast of the city, and she’d been born into privilege that no one would imagine given her no-nonsense clothes, almost always jeans and T-shirts. She was pretty, but
didn’t bother with makeup; she almost didn’t need to. Joy envied her strong features and flawless skin.

  “Any chance you can cover me tonight for a few hours?” Pam asked tentatively and then waved her hand. “Never mind. You’ve been working all day, and it’s Saturday night.”

  “You have a hot date?” Joy teased.

  Then the most amazing thing happened: Pam’s beautiful skin turned beet-red. Joy’s jaw dropped.

  “You do! You’re seeing him again, aren’t you, this mystery man you’ve been stealing away with….”

  “Oh stop that—we’re not ‘stealing away’ anywhere. It’s simply a Saturday night out.”

  “With the same guy?”

  Pam seemed very tense, and Joy didn’t get it. They usually talked about everything, including men, but on the topic of her love life, Pam was unusually silent. Joy didn’t push, but it was the single snag in their friendship that she worried about; why wouldn’t Pam confide in her? Wasn’t that what best friends did? Joy told Pam everything, not that there was much to tell—she’d dated some guys from work, but nothing much ever came of it.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to push. I just want you to know you can talk to me if you need to.”

  Pam smiled. “I know that. I will tell you about him, once I know how it’s all going to work out.”

  “It’s been going on for a while—you guys getting serious? Wait—sorry—I didn’t ask that,” Joy said, holding her hand up, and they laughed. “If you want a night off, I can cover for you. I don’t have any plans tonight,” Joy offered.

  “I wish you did.” Pam made the comment offhandedly as she polished off the last of her salad.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Pam sighed, pushing her plate back. “Joy, you’re a jewel and I’m so thankful we met I can’t tell you. It just seems like you don’t do anything but work and volunteer at the shelter. It’s not healthy.”

  “I do plenty of other things.”

  “Like what? I think you’ve only been out on a dozen dates in the entire six years I’ve known you.”

  “I date now and then, but I can’t seem to meet anyone who catches my interest. They’re all so…I don’t know, they’re just not guys I want to go out with more than once or twice.”