In My Dreams

by Muriel Jensen

  She’d said so much else he wanted to talk about, but he had to ask, “How do you know about the bike tires?”

  She smiled easily. “Margaret Brogan says her daughter was your neighbor. She gave you peanut butter cookies when you were little.”

  His confusion cleared and he remembered the very formal woman who had always dressed and spoken like royalty but behaved like the grandmother he never had.

  He smiled at the memory. “Yeah. Ben and I used to hang around with her grandson. She was always feeding my sisters and me.”

  “She also said that you inherited your mother’s singing voice. That I should ask you and Ben and the De Angelis brothers to sing in the talent show. The four of you could reprise your role as neighborhood stars.” She grinned broadly.

  Much as he enjoyed seeing that, he had no intention of singing in front of an auditorium filled with people, however noble the cause.

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” he told her. That seemed to douse her momentary cheer.

  “Jack, you’ve been through the building with me. You know how much it would mean to the seniors.” She wrapped her arms around herself as though warding off a chill. “You don’t want all those sweet old people to be without a place to get together, do you? This way they can own their own place and never have to move again.”

  “Please.” He stood firm. “That’s shameless emotional blackmail.”

  “It is. Bobby Jay Cooper is coming to sing, so we should get a good turnout. I’m trying to get strong participation for the talent competition because he’s going to judge it for us. The police department is helping. Firemen are taking part. The director of parks and recreation is juggling. Don’t you think you should, too?”

  “Juggle?”

  She frowned at his deliberate misunderstanding. “Participate.”

  “No. It’s easy for the police department. They’re armed.” He shifted his weight, wanting to return to what she’d said earlier. “Back to your analysis of my nightmares. You said the bad things that have happened to me stay in my face to survive.”

  “It’s just a guess, but it sounds reasonable.”

  “Is that what happened to you with the young patient you lost? The grief stays in your face and makes it hard for you to be the nurse you trained to be?”

  She looked affronted for a moment, then seemed to reconsider. “Hard to hear, but true. It stays there to remind me how much it hurts. So I don’t try it again.” She stood a little straighter, as though realizing what she’d just said, mulling it over. “So, what’s in my face is fear,” she added finally, looking up to share the discovery.

  That was remarkable self-confrontation, he thought, for a day when the ground had fallen out from under her feet. She was silent for another minute, as though still confused. “But you’re fearless,” she said at last. “That can’t be what’s causing your nightmares. Ben told me you were decorated several times.”

  He shrugged that off. “Physical fear is relatively easy to deal with. In a combat situation, we’re all dependent on one another. We don’t want to fail each other, so we do what’s going to help us all survive.” He hesitated to consider what was churning in his mind, what had eluded understanding since he’d come home.

  “Emotional fear is different. When I was a kid, I used to sit alone in the dark and wonder what I had done to make my mother not want to be with me, why she always had to be high on something and beyond my reach. Then in school, I’d watch all the other kids who had nice clothes and packed lunches and wonder how they were able to get their moms to take care of them like that. It had to be something wrong with me.”

  Sarah shook her head at him as though to deny that.

  “In high school, I used to wonder if I’d ever have a girlfriend. My mother had quite a reputation, so what girl in her right mind and from a good family would want to be with a low-class guy like me?

  “Then in the Army, we talked each other up, stroked each other’s egos and told ourselves we were so tough nothing could defeat us. But in the back of my mind, I was always afraid that I wouldn’t measure up because of where I came from. So I tried harder, took more chances, did reckless things to try to prove myself.”

  There was a certain satisfaction in admitting all that and pouring it out to someone who listened attentively and seemed to care. He heaved a sigh. “Anyway—” he straightened away from the door “—you take a shower, have a nap, relax, whatever you want to do, and I’ll leave those things on the table in the hallway right by your door. Pizza, whenever you come down. I suppose you want nutritious things on it, only vegetables or chicken and—God forbid—spinach.”

  He was surprised when she exclaimed, “Heavens, no! Pepperoni, sausage, olives, hot peppers, but get whatever you want and I can pick off anything I don’t like. But I do like thin crust. I suppose you’re a deep-dish kind of guy?”

  He was. “Usually. But I’ll make an exception tonight. See you later.” He started to close the door behind him.

  “Jack?” she called.

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  She stepped closer, smudged and earnest. “You put your life on the line for your friends, for your country. That’s amazing generosity. I’d say you’ve overcome your childhood.”

  He wanted to believe that, but he had proof to the contrary. “Then why is my mother in my nightmares? See you later.”

  He closed the door before she could say anything else.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHOWERED AND WRAPPED in a towel, Sarah searched the bathroom shelves and drawers until she located a blow-dryer. It even had a comb attachment. She dried her hair, then caught it back in the scrunchy she’d found in her jeans’ pocket. She put on the robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door.

  After emerging from the bathroom, she went to the bedroom door and peered out into the hall. There was a small stack of things on the hall table as Jack had promised. She brought the stack inside and sat on the bed to examine it.

  There was a pair of thick, oatmeal-colored socks with a green stripe around the top, a pair of black-watch plaid pajama pants still in their plastic packaging and a simple gray sweatshirt that smelled of laundry soap and softener.

  Sarah put her underwear back on, pulled on the sweatshirt, cuffing back the sleeves a couple of times, then climbed into the pajama pants. They were a foot too long, but she fastened the tie at the waist as tightly as she could, rolled it up and then cuffed the legs to just above her ankles. She did a turn in front of the cheval glass in the corner and had to laugh. She would definitely not be invited to Fashion Week, but she was warm and comfortable.

  She closed the curtains against the darkness outside, then emptied the contents of her purse onto the middle of the bedspread to calculate how much money she had and how long it would last.

  There were forty-two dollars in her wallet, and most of this month’s paycheck was still in the bank. There was just under a thousand dollars’ credit available on her card. She could easily pay room and board here for a couple of weeks, anyway, until she could find another apartment with appliances. She could probably find furniture at Goodwill or in any second-hand store. But she didn’t have to think about that right now. Her main concern at the moment was to make sure she did her part for the Palmer household.

  She called her mother to tell her what had happened.

  “Oh, my God! Will. Will!” Her mother shouted for Sarah’s father. “Pick up the extension. It’s Sarah. Are you all right, sweetheart? You weren’t hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine.” She explained that she’d lost everything, though, and was staying with friends temporarily. She made sure they had her cell phone number and gave them the Palmers’ land line number. “I’ll be here for a couple of weeks at least. Please don’t worry.”

  “Are these ‘friends’ Ben and his fam
ily?” her father asked. She’d told them about Ben.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought his family was in Arizona for the winter.” That was her mother, who never missed a thing, or the opportunity to call you on it.

  “They are. Ben’s brother, Jack, is home from Afghanistan and their mom hired me to cook for them and, you know, keep an eye on things. So, she invited me to move in.”

  “From Arizona?”

  “We spoke on the phone, Mom.”

  “What things are you keeping an eye on?”

  “Janice,” her father said quietly, and as though repeating something he’d said before, added, “she’s a grown woman with good sense and we know she can take care of herself.”

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  “If she could take care of herself,” her mother said in the same tone, “she wouldn’t have moved away to escape her life.”

  Sarah and her father groaned in unison.

  “I’m not trying to escape,” Sarah denied patiently. “I just took another bend in the road. It’s still my life. I’m still a nurse...” Technically, that was true. She kept up her license; she just preferred not to use it.

  “We bought your mother a used Volkswagen Beetle,” her father said, obviously trying to change the subject. “I’ll email you some photos.”

  “That’d be gr—” she began, then remembered that her computer had been lost in the fire. “No computer, Dad. That’s gone, too. But I’ll see if Ben or Jack will let me access my email through theirs.”

  “You mean, you’ve lost everything?” her mother asked.

  “Yes. Well, I got out with my purse and the clothes on my back. My Jeep caught on fire, too, so I don’t think it’s—”

  “Why don’t you come home? You can stay until you make a new plan.”

  “Thanks, Mom, but I’m working my old plan. I like Beggar’s Bay. Everything’s going to come together.”

  “Read me your routing and bank account numbers,” her father said, rustling papers. “I’m going to send you some money. And actual photos of the car.”

  “No. I have—”

  “Sarah.”

  She knew that tone and read him the numbers.

  “It’s just a loan,” he said, “so don’t get huffy. I can charge you exorbitant interest if that’d make you feel better.”

  “That’s not necessary.” She laughed lightly.

  “You can bring Ben for Thanksgiving,” her mother said.

  “Sure,” she lied. Things were too complicated at this moment to explain about Ben.

  “If his parents are still in Arizona, you can bring the brother, too. What’s his name again?”

  “Jack.”

  “Jack. Did he come home in good health?”

  “He’s a perfect specimen,” she replied before realizing how that might sound to them. She added before they could comment, “No injuries, a few medals. He’s getting ready to reopen the family’s restoration and remodeling business.”

  Her mother was silent. “Oh yeah?” her father said, sounding interested.

  “Are you two doing okay?” Sarah asked before either of them could take that any further.

  “We are,” her mother replied. “Your father is already planning his light display for Christmas. Saints preserve me. Maybe it’ll be up when you come for Thanksgiving.”

  “Okay. I’ll look forward to that. Well, I just wanted to check in, let you know I’m fine and that you can reach me on my cell or on the Palmers’ number for the next couple of weeks. I love you.”

  She turned off her phone with their goodbyes ringing in her ears. It humbled her to know that, even though they were several hundred miles away, there were people for whom she was still priority one.

  The phone rang again while still in her hand. It was her landlord.

  “Sarah!” he said, sounding relieved to hear her voice. “Are you okay? The police told me there wasn’t time for you to save anything.”

  “Hi, Mr. Potter. Well, I got my purse. All my important records are in a safe-deposit box. I lost all my clothes and furniture, car, too. But the insurance company will pay me as soon as the fire department determines what caused the problem.”

  “Do you have someplace to stay?”

  “Yes. I’m with friends.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said sincerely. “The whole building’s looking like a loss. We’ll have to bulldoze it and start over. I’ll stay in touch. You call me if there’s anything I can do.”

  “I will.”

  She turned off her phone and sat quietly for a moment, thinking how surreal it was that just earlier this afternoon she was trying to gently bully her seniors into supporting the fund-raiser, as though she had nothing else to worry about. Ha. The best-laid plans...

  The sound of an automobile engine in the driveway got her on her feet. She looked out the window to see a pizza delivery car. Pocketing her phone, she started toward the door, then noticed the cap Jack had put on her head in the SUV. She’d tossed it on the bed when she’d gone into the bathroom to shower.

  She noticed a hook on the middle of the window frame between the pair of windows. She guessed it was leftover from a rod that had probably supported the bottom half of café curtains before the long panels had been installed. She placed the hat on the hook.

  Home is anywhere you hang your hat, Jack had said.

  She ran downstairs and found that Jack had taken the bowl of leftover salad and two plates to the table, but had apparently been distracted by the laptop on his place mat from setting the table completely. She found tongs in the utensil drawer and dished out salad as he paid the pizza deliverer and carried the aromatic box to the table.

  Sarah put a ten-dollar bill on Jack’s keyboard and then went to find something to drink. He noticed the bill and began to protest. She looked around the refrigerator door at him. “I’m going to do my share,” she said firmly, then ducked back to reach for the bottle of cola.

  He went to get dinner plates and glasses, then met her at the table with them. “Tonight you’re a guest,” he said.

  “Nope. I’ve officially moved in for a while and the only way this is going to work is if you let me pay my way.”

  “And not argue with you, right?” He grinned as he pulled out her chair. “Am I allowed to do the gentlemanly things or does that not let you feel like an equal-share roommate?”

  She smiled and took the seat. “No, that’s very thoughtful. Thank you. But from now on, pretend I’m the sister you and Ben never had.”

  He made a face as he closed his laptop and moved it aside, then sat opposite her. She regretted her remark instantly. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You do have sisters. I didn’t mean—”

  He shook his head. “No, no. I made a face because...” He hesitated, then met her gaze and said frankly, “I’d have difficulty thinking of you as a sister.”

  She opened her mouth to ask why, then changed her mind. There was something in his eyes and something in her surprisingly willing to accept it. Her nerve endings fluttered. Uh-oh.

  “You mentioned that you’ve officially moved in,” he said, getting up again to get the Parmesan cheese shaker and pepper flakes. “What makes it official?”

  “I hung my—your hat on a hook.” She forced a light tone, trying not to think about how substantial he looked in a dark blue thermal shirt and clean jeans and the work boots he preferred. Her fears seemed to have dissolved and that didn’t make sense. She’d lost everything and just a couple of hours ago she’d been afraid.

  Of course, this new nubbin of confidence might not be because of him. Her father was sending her money, and despite her nagging, her mother always made her feel as though she meant the world to her.

  He pretended shock. “You don’t mean you’re taking somet
hing I told you to heart?”

  “No.” She smiled again. “I mean I found a handy hook, and I put your hat on it. I’ll give it back tomorrow.”

  “That would un-officialize the whole thing. You hung it up. It’s your hat.”

  “Un-officialize?”

  He shrugged. “The word’s a stretch, but it says what I mean. Incidentally, Ben called. They’re down a man tonight and he’s splitting a shift with someone. We should save him some pizza.”

  So she was alone with Jack. That was fine. They were adults, and though he’d said he couldn’t think of her as a sister, that didn’t mean he thought of her as anything else, even though her pulse tripped a little at the thought. But maybe it just meant that he had sisters he loved and no one else could take either one’s place.

  “Okay,” she teased, “but Ben’s part comes out of your half.”

  “Oh, no. We’ll just put a third aside for Ben. Something tells me you’d have been a bratty little sister.”

  “I was. No excuses. I do have a great sister, Kate, two years older than I am, who would tell you that I broke a few of her dolls because I needed patients in my hospital when I was seven.” She grinned across the table at him as she pulled a piece of pizza onto her plate. “I thought I was going into orthopedics in those days. I didn’t know what orthopedics was, but I saw a cowboy in a movie put a splint on a friend’s broken leg and I was sold. Oh. I also let her take the blame when I broke the turkey platter on Thanksgiving—she used to bring that up every holiday—and I ratted on her when she told our parents she was going to a friend’s to study and she was really meeting Damien Fortin. I was a rotten little sister.”

  He was enjoying her confession. “What happened to the turkey platter?”

  “We were emptying the dishwasher while Mom and Dad were having a much-deserved rest after Christmas dinner with my aunt and uncle in front of the television. Kate snapped me with a towel. I was holding the platter and smacked her on the backside with it. I had no idea she was stronger than the platter. She had the two pieces in her hands when my mother walked in, so I said she broke it.”