by Eve Gaddy
Chapter Eighteen
AT FIRST, CLAIRE wasn’t too worried when Jonas didn’t call. She knew he was having problems with his mother and his work schedule could be crazy. As a trauma surgeon, her schedule could be just as wild. She’d canceled on him the morning after their second night together. And that was the last time she’d actually talked to him. After three days of getting nothing but his voice mail, she suspected she’d been dumped.
Their last night together, she thought. Did his response have something to do with her calling him by another man’s name?
A dead man’s name.
Whatever the reason, her affair with Jonas hadn’t been an affair. It had been a one-night stand. Technically, a two-night stand. She glared at her unresponsive cell phone.
The son of a bitch.
So much for his declaration that he wanted more from her than revenge sex. More from her than a fling. Jonas had fed her a line, and she’d been too damn dumb to see it. She’d believed him and worse—fallen for him. Smooth, seductive, she should have known he was too good to be true.
Until she sorted things out with Glenn over who would live in the house, she’d moved into a long-term hotel. It wasn’t bad. Not great, but not terrible. It had a small kitchen with a stove and microwave so she could prepare food and not have to eat out every meal. There was a bed, a small table and a couple of chairs, a couch, a TV, and a high-speed Internet hookup. The necessities. But after staying in the lap of luxury at the Worthington, the small three-room apartment with its shabby furnishings and lovely view of the parking lot was pretty damn depressing.
Maybe she should move into a nice apartment and not worry about who would get the house. She wasn’t attached to it, particularly. It had always been more Glenn’s style than hers.
Her cell phone rang and she checked caller ID. Jonas. She thought about letting it go to voice mail, but she was really curious about what he wanted and how he would explain why he hadn’t called her. Because if he thought he didn’t owe her an explanation, he had another think coming.
Besides, it would be childish not to answer. She punched the answer button and said, “What?”
“It’s me, Jonas.”
“I know. I have caller ID.”
“Are you working today?”
“No.”
“Look, I know you’re probably pissed, but I’d like to explain.”
She barely managed not to snort. “What was your first clue? I’m not stupid, Jonas. I can take a hint.”
“It’s not like that. Can I come see you and talk to you? Are you still at the Worthington?”
“No, I’ve moved.”
“Are you going to tell me where you are?”
She didn’t answer. Childish, but satisfying.
“Claire, let me come see you.”
She wished she could say no, but she couldn’t deny him. Curiosity and, worse, just plain desire to see him won. Reluctantly, she gave him the address.
“I’ll be there in half an hour. Maybe a little less, but I have to drop something off at my mother’s.”
She hung up, resisting the urge to fling the phone across the room. What really pissed her off was that her heart had stumbled just at the sound of his voice. That liquid gold voice, so deep and resonant it could weave a spell in moments. He’d certainly had her under his spell. So seductive it didn’t matter what he said, only that he spoke in that outrageously sexy voice. How irrational was that? She wasn’t a romantic. Not in the least. Certainly not about a man who’d taken her to bed a couple of times and promptly dumped her.
Oh, God. Surely she hadn’t already fallen in love with him. What a disaster that would be. No, it wasn’t possible. She’d only known him a matter of weeks.
Unless you knew him over a hundred and fifty years ago.
Impossible.
TWENTY MINUTES later, Claire heard a knock on the door. Assuming it was Jonas, she opened it before she thought about it. And immediately tried to shut it when she realized Glenn was standing there.
He lodged his foot in the door and pushed against her. “Damn it, Claire, I just want to talk to you. Don’t be ridiculous.”
He shoved it open, and she stumbled back. She ran across the room to the coffee table and grabbed her cell phone, holding it in front of her like a weapon. “Take it up with my lawyer. I’ll call the police if you don’t leave.”
He shot her an annoyed look. “The police won’t do anything. You don’t have a restraining order against me. And you won’t get one because I haven’t done anything to warrant it. You’re being absurd, Claire.”
Absurd, was she? “So you still won’t admit you beat me up.” She cursed herself for being so foolish as to open the door without checking who was there. If she’d had a peephole she would’ve looked out, but this hotel didn’t run to peepholes.
“I simply want to talk to you. No need to get hysterical.” He took a seat at the table, crossed his leg, and looked around the small apartment. “God, what a dump. Why did you move from the Worthington?”
“You should know. It was too expensive to stay long term. And you canceled the credit card I was using.”
“Because I thought it might help you come to your senses.”
“What do you want?” How could she have loved him? Or thought she did? How could she have loved someone who would hurt her like Glenn had? In her worst dreams she’d never imagined being a battered wife. The whole thing still seemed surreal to her, except the pain she still had from her bruised ribs was as real as it gets.
“You don’t have to live like this, Claire.” He gestured at the room with revulsion.
“Why, are you moving out of the house? If so, tell the lawyers.”
“No, I’m not moving out. But you could move back in with me.”
Claire was still clutching the cell phone like a lifeline. She stared at him but, he was serious. So sincere, so earnest. As if he’d never touched her in anger. Never beat the crap out of her. What would he do if Jonas showed up before he left? Something told her he wouldn’t be so tough fighting a man. Except she didn’t want Jonas hurt, or more involved than he already was. Especially now that they weren’t even together.
“What part of ‘I want a divorce and don’t ever want to see you again’ don’t you understand?”
“I love you. I want you back. We can work this out, Claire.”
Did he even listen? “No, we can’t. You don’t love me and I don’t love you.”
“You know that’s not true. Don’t give up on our marriage.”
“You did that the moment you hit me. You had to know I wouldn’t put up with abuse. Drunk or not, you knew.”
“You’re exaggerating what happened. I don’t know how that man brainwashed you—”
She interrupted. “I know what happened and so do you, even if you won’t admit it. We’re over. Now get out and don’t come here again. And stop having me followed. I’m sure that’s how you knew where to find me. Nothing I do is your business anymore.”
“We’re still married, Claire,” he reminded her. “Stop this foolish idea of divorce. Get rid of the lawyer and come back home.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
She heard a knock at the door. “Claire, it’s Jonas.”
Glenn’s face darkened, and he clenched his fist. “So you’re still whoring around with Clark. I’d hoped you’d gotten over it and come to your senses.”
“Really, Glenn? Calling me a whore is certainly going to make me want to give our marriage another chance.” She crossed the room, avoiding the table where Glenn sat and pulled open the door.
Jonas took one look at her and asked, “What’s wrong?”
She said nothing, just stepped aside so he could enter.
“Westbrook,” he said, catching sight of Glen
n. “What are you doing here?” He turned to Claire. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
Glenn stood. “That’s rich. What am I doing here? I’m Claire’s husband. You’re the one who should be shot for fooling around with another man’s wife.”
Jonas’s jaw tightened.
Claire stepped between them before he could do anything, such as punch out her son-of-a-bitch husband. As angry as she was with Jonas, she’d never forgive herself if he were hurt because of her. “Get out, Glenn. Next time you have anything to say to me, tell it to my lawyer. And don’t threaten Jonas. He’s not the problem, you are.”
“I don’t need you to defend me, Claire,” Jonas said. “I don’t hide behind women,” he told Glenn, “or beat them up, for that matter.”
“You’ll regret this, Claire,” Glenn warned. “Throwing yourself away on this black bastard. You should be ashamed of yourself. He’ll dump you as soon as he’s had enough. Men like him only want one thing. A white woman is nothing but a notch in his bedpost. However, I’m surprised it’s lasted this long. You’re ruining your life for nothing.”
She grabbed hold of Jonas’s arm, restraining him. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
Glenn left, slamming the door behind him. Claire heaved a sigh of relief. But now she had to deal with Jonas, who had, just as her husband had said, used her and dumped her. Was she just a notch in his bedpost? She hadn’t thought so. Until he dumped her so quickly.
“I’ve had all the drama I can take for one night. Say what you want and then leave.”
OKAY, HE DESERVED that. Deserved her anger and anything else she wanted to heap on him. He felt like a shit, being put almost on the same level as her abusive bastard of a husband. When he’d first arrived she’d looked relieved, but that was clearly in response to her fear of her husband.
She didn’t look happy to see Jonas now. Not that he blamed her. He knew what his actions must look like. “You don’t believe what he said, do you?”
“I don’t think the fact that I’m white had anything to do with it, no. But do I think I was a notch in your bedpost and all you wanted was the sex? You betcha.”
Again, he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t know how to explain himself. When she’d told him about Elijah, his dreams had come back to him. Every freaking dream he’d had about Calvin’s life had dropped on him like a ton of bricks. And those memories, coupled with everything else he’d learned, had been too much for him to handle. So he’d left her. Like a coward.
It was hard to explain something to someone when you didn’t understand it yourself. When what was happening to you destroyed your picture of how the world worked.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No. He wasn’t drunk. He had better control of himself. This time.”
“What did he want?”
She laughed humorlessly. “He wanted me to come back. To drop the divorce. As if I would.”
“It’s too bad you can’t get a restraining order on him.”
“Yes, he pointed that out.” She crossed her arms over her chest, closing herself off even further. “I don’t want to discuss Glenn or my marriage. That’s none of your concern.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Really? You could have fooled me.”
As always, she looked beautiful. What he really wanted was to make love to her and forget everything else. But that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, he was going to have to explain why he’d run out on her when he wasn’t certain of the reason himself.
He had to talk to her about his dreams. About Calvin and Bella and murder. The whole stinking mess. Not only that, but he had to admit that somehow his crazy dreams, and hell, hers too, bore a relation to the two of them.
He didn’t know how to start. How to tell her what was going on without sounding like a whack job.
“Your call surprised me,” Claire said, breaking the silence. “I thought we were done.”
“Because I haven’t called you for the last few days.”
“It was a little more than that. Try actively avoided me.” Claire shrugged. “If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.”
“I’d like to explain.”
“Explain what? The nature of one-night stands? No, make that a two-night stand. I believe you made clear what happened between us when you wouldn’t talk to me for three days.”
He ground his teeth. Of course she thought he was a player. Why wouldn’t she? “I didn’t do it to hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt,” she said. “I’m pissed.” She waved at a chair by the scarred table, the chair her husband had recently vacated. “Sit. Talk.” She walked over to the couch and sat on the end farthest from him, watching him. “I’m waiting.”
He didn’t sit. Instead he paced and ran a hand over his hair. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he finally said.
She stared at him. “Now that’s original. If that’s all you have to say—”
“It’s not,” he interrupted. He walked over to her. Studying her face, he raised a hand to her cheek and stroked a finger down it gently. “Damn, you are so beautiful.” He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to kiss her. To make love to her. To forget everything he didn’t understand—everything he didn’t want to understand.
She jerked her head away from him. “Why are you here, Jonas? You can’t really think you could walk in and we would take up where we left off. I don’t work that way.” She paused and added, “Not with Glenn and not with you.”
Man, that hurt. With all his faults, he’d never hit a woman and couldn’t imagine that he ever would. Being compared to her husband in any way irritated the hell out of him. Which he suspected she knew. “I didn’t come here expecting to take up where we left off. That’s not why I’m here. I couldn’t stay away any longer. I tried.” He laughed without humor. “I really tried, but it’s no use.” Not seeing Claire hadn’t stopped the dreams, hadn’t stopped him from remembering the damn things.
“As an apology, that sucks. I thought we had something special.” She winced, but continued. “Call me stupid, but I did. You apparently thought it was a fling. Which is fine, I just wish you’d been honest instead of allowing me to believe what we had was something more than the sex.”
“It was more than sex. I—” He halted, paced away. “Jesus. I don’t know how to explain this to you. I can’t explain it to myself.”
“Try,” she said. “I’ll start. Everything was fine, at least, I thought it was, until I called you Elijah. I told you, it was a dream. I can’t help what I dream. I wish I could. It’s not very pleasant being held hostage to your dreams.”
“I know.”
“How can you know?”
“Because the same thing is happening to me.” Dreams were bad enough. He didn’t know what to think about the flashbacks that happened when he was awake. Thank God he hadn’t had many of those, and they had been mercifully brief. And they’d only happened when he was with Claire, touching Claire.
“What are you talking about?” She got up and walked over to him, gazed into his eyes. “You’re really upset, aren’t you?”
“Upset doesn’t even touch it.” Maybe of all people, she’d understand. After all, she’d admitted to having dreams herself, dreams that clearly disturbed her. “I’ve been having dreams. Dreams of another time. I only remembered bits and pieces, and not much of that. Until you told me about Elijah.”
She glared derisively at him. “Let me guess. You’re having dreams of the eighteen fifties.”
“No. I’m not mocking you, Claire. Hear me out.” She didn’t speak, which he took as a sign to continue. “My dreams occur in 1968. Only they’re not dreams about me. They’re about someone else. A teenager. His name is Calvin.” Claire made an exclamation, and he smiled sourly. “Yeah, Calvin. Like the last name of the guy you’ve be
en dreaming about. He’s a black kid, about eighteen. He doesn’t want to go to ‘Nam, he wants to play basketball, and he wants a girl. Her name is Isabel Cantrell. He calls her Bella.”
Claire had an odd look on her face. “What?”
“Just go on. I’ll tell you later.”
“I know it’s impossible, but I—” he broke off and turned away. “I feel like a whack case.” He turned back to her and said, “I think I’m channeling this kid’s life. In my dreams.”
“Why?”
“Because I keep seeing, no, experiencing, these scenes. They’re not just dreams. It’s like they really happened. Some of it did.”
“How do you know?”
“Calvin was my cousin. My mother told me about him. He was in love with a white girl. Her father hated him. I’d heard whispers about this cousin, but not like the dreams. I’m telling you, it’s as if I was there. No, as if I’m him in these dreams. I’m dreaming about his life, but it feels like mine.” She wasn’t looking at him as if he was crazy. But she still looked pissed.
“So you dumped me because I made you remember the dreams. If you didn’t see me, didn’t have sex with me, then you wouldn’t have any dreams. Or at least you wouldn’t remember them, right? No Claire, no problem.”
He winced. Put like that, it sounded brutal. “I didn’t dump you. I just didn’t see you for a few days. To try to figure things out. I don’t know why this is happening to me. You have to admit it’s weird as hell. I never had anything like these dreams until I met you.”
“How do you know? Maybe you’ve been having them for years and you’ve only just now remembered.”
“No,” he said positively. “That’s not all. Sometimes I’ll have a—” he hesitated. “Shit, I guess they’re flashbacks. Just for an instant, but something from the dreams will come to me. And then when you called me Elijah, it all came back to me.”
“You’re serious.”