In My Dreams

by Muriel Jensen

  Ben asked with surprising gentleness, “Even the old one about your mom?”

  He had an easy answer for that. “That’s not fear, that’s fury. She was beautiful, and when she noticed us in rare moments of clarity, we felt blessed, but those moments were just a fraction of one percent of our lives. It’s her fault that the tight little unit my sisters and I were was torn apart by her selfishness and inability to cope with anything without being high. I can’t forgive her for that.”

  Ben fell back against the pillow. “Just a thought. But you’ll have to stop hating if you’re going to get married, even if you don’t have children.” He was beginning to sound tired.

  Jack wasn’t sure about that. Love and hate had lived side by side in him his entire life. He loved his sisters and hated his mother. He loved the Palmers and hated his mother. After his adoption, he loved his new life and hated the old one. On one level, hate fueled him.

  “I’m going so you can get some sleep.” Jack pulled up Ben’s blankets and made sure the tubing was clear of entanglement. He held up the water glass with the flexible straw. “Want a sip of this before I go?”

  “No, thanks.”

  The nurse pushed open the door and walked to the foot of the bed, consulting an electronic tablet. “You’re going home in the morning, Mr. Palmer,” she said to Ben. “Everything’s looking good. We’re going to set up physical therapy for you, but not for a little while. So, you get some sleep and I’ll get everything in order so that you can leave.”

  “I thought you liked me, Jeannette,” Ben said with a grin.

  She grinned back at him. “You’re mistaken, Mr. Palmer. Good night.”

  Ben shook his head at Jack as the nurse left the room. “I’m losing my touch with women.”

  Jack picked up his jacket and the bag with the ice cream and spoon. “That’s because you look like Homer Simpson.”

  “No! I thought I looked like Nathan Fillion.”

  “In your dreams. Call me in the morning when you’re discharged and I’ll pick you up.”

  “All right. Thanks for the ice cream.”

  “Sure.”

  “And, Jack?”

  He turned back at the door. “Yeah?”

  Ben propped himself up on his good elbow, looking exhausted but somehow more relaxed than he’d been in some time. “Give Sarah a hug for me. And then, you know...whatever you want to do for yourself. I’m good with it.”

  “Okay.” Jack waved, a whole layer of tension dissolving. “Thanks, Ben.”

  * * *

  SARAH HAD MADE turkey sandwiches and salad—an easy dinner for a night when she was tired and still had a lot to do. She put the food on the table when she heard Jack’s SUV in the driveway.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  Jack came directly toward her and wrapped her in his arms. “He said to give you a hug,” he reported, “then told me to do whatever else I wanted for myself.”

  She looped an arm around his neck. “And what would that be? Bearing in mind that I have ninja skills.”

  He wove the fingers of one hand into her hair and tugged her head back so that he could look into her face. His eyes flashed with wanting her, softening her spine.

  “I thought, a little of this,” he said softly as he lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her slowly, soundly, then lifted his head. “And a little of this.” He nipped at her earlobe and then placed kisses down the side of her neck. Sensation raced everywhere he touched. “And, maybe...” His lips dipped to the opening of her blouse, but she laughed and pushed at his shoulder with her free hand. She had to put distance between them so she could think.

  “You get back to finding your sisters,” she said, “and I’ll change the sheets on Ben’s bed and try to straighten up his room. Then I’ll come down and make coffee.”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said wearily. “My mind’s full of Ben and all he—”

  Sarah cut him off. “You can go back to finding your other family, Jack. Don’t be afraid. I’m sure no one will hold it against you.”

  He was about to deny that he was afraid, then wondered if it was true. It had been so long since he’d seen his sisters. So much could have happened. What if they didn’t remember him? What if he wasn’t as important to their lives as they’d been to his? What if they had new lives in which the brother who reminded them of those awful days didn’t fit anymore? What if Helen and Gary didn’t understand?

  Well, what if none of those things was true? He wouldn’t know unless he found them.

  He settled at the kitchen table with his laptop.

  Working on the premise that the Isabel who’d left a message on the TombStones website was the Elizabeth Corazon who’d been his wild little sister, Jack first located Querida, Texas, the place from which Isabel’s post originated, on his road atlas. It was a town of 2,000 near McAllen, which was five miles from the Mexican border.

  Jack put her name into the telephone directory search engine for McAllen and vicinity and was exhilarated when a list of three Isabel Ochoas appeared. One was twenty-two, one sixty-eight and one, C. Isabel Ochoa, had an address on Rio Road. She was twenty-seven.

  Jack’s heart lurched. It was her. C for Corazon. Isabel for Elizabeth. Ochoa. Twenty-seven, the right age.

  He’d found her. Well, almost. He had an address on a road on the river that separated the United States from Mexico in the State of Texas.

  He printed out the address, a tremor of excitement at work in a chest that was usually rock solid. He knew where Corie was!

  He got out his bank card and paid for the extra search, then stared at the screen when an arrest warrant popped up. It was for assault charges filed by Robert Pimental, 47, deputy mayor of the city of Querida.

  He imagined a young woman so hurt and angry because of her childhood that she became abusive. Remembering the bright, scrappy little girl she’d been, he hated his mother even more. Well, one bad decision didn’t have to ruin a life.

  He clicked on the second page and felt a catch in his throat at a photo of Isabel Ochoa. Her blunt-cut hair was blond and poorly dyed, her large eyes dark and angry, her nose and mouth beautifully sculpted above a chin angled with attitude. The collar of a tattered jacket was visible. At the time of the arrest, she was twenty-six. So. Not that long ago.

  He stared at the photo, completely relating to the image there, loving her as he’d loved the little girl she’d been. He hated to think about what had led that little girl to become a woman with an arrest on her record.

  It was well after ten o’clock when Sarah finished with Ben’s room and came downstairs.

  “There was a tennis shoe in with his CDs,” she reported to Jack, stopping to look over his shoulder. “And you weren’t kidding about being able to hide an elephant in his room. I’m off to bed. You want a cup of decaf or anything before I go?”

  He pointed to the screen and what he’d found. She leaned closer, concentrating on the document, then gasped when he paged and she saw the photo.

  “Jack!” she breathed. “You’ve found her! I can’t believe it. That is her, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “She looks so...tough. Strong.”

  “She was a feisty little kid.” He felt a pain in his gut at the knowledge that his life had been so good after their mother went to jail, and hers probably had not. He swore he could still see that little girl in those angry eyes looking back at him. “Apparently she hasn’t lost much of that.”

  “You’ve got an address.” There was wonder in Sarah’s voice.

  “Yes. I’m giving Ben a few days to recover, and I want to explain what I’m doing to my parents, then I’m going to Texas.”

  She put her arms around his neck, her cheek to his. “I’m sorry you have to wait.”

  He patted t
he arm around him. “It’s all right. It’s been so long, another few days won’t matter.”

  But he went to bed with Corie’s pretty, angry face on his mind, and prayed that she wouldn’t do anything to get herself arrested again before he could reach her.

  * * *

  IT WAS RAINING hard the next morning. Sarah ran outside with an umbrella when she looked out the window and saw Jack’s SUV pull into the driveway. Ben was in the passenger seat. She ran to open Ben’s door and hold the umbrella over him as he climbed out, his bandaged arm in a sling. She offered him her free hand to help him balance as he stepped out.

  He put his good arm around her shoulders. “Hi,” he said. His voice sounded friendly, affectionate. She looked into his eyes to find a warm, easy expression. He kissed her temple.

  “Good to be home. I’m sure Jeannette will miss me, though she denies it.” They walked together toward the door.

  “Jeannette?”

  “My nurse. She was in love with me.”

  Sarah pulled the door open for him, holding the umbrella over him until the last minute. “We all are, Ben. Sit at the table. I made a cranberry-orange coffee cake.”

  “You two go ahead,” Jack shouted with an exaggerated note of petulance. He carried Ben’s things in a large white plastic bag with the hospital logo on it. Rain fell on him as he rounded the hood of the truck, his hair already plastered to his head. “Don’t worry about me. I was Scotchgarded as a child and I can breathe through my gills!”

  Laughing, Sarah hurried back to hold the umbrella over him. “Oh, pipe down. You’re a heroic tough guy, remember? This is just rain.”

  He hunched down to fit under the protection as they headed for the house. “Well, it’s a lot of rain.”

  At the door, Ben took the bag from him and hauled him inside with his good hand. “Oh, shut up. What a lot of fuss. You’re just jealous because I had all Sarah’s attention. I’ve been shot, for God’s sake.”

  “Big whoop. I was blown up more times than I care to count. And you don’t see anybody following me around to meet my every need.”

  Sarah watched the two of them in amazement. They’d obviously cleared the air. Must have been when Jack visited Ben last night. They were harassing each other as though she was no longer an issue between them.

  Jack helped Ben off with the jacket he wore on one arm, the other side just draped over his shoulder.

  “Stop fighting,” she scolded. “We have to be on our best behavior so your parents believe that everything’s okay.”

  Ben smiled at her. “Everything is okay.”

  She absorbed the magic of that and then added as she went for coffee, “Right. Except that you’ve been shot.”

  He sat. “Yeah. And you’ve thrown me over for my brother. Otherwise, everything’s fine.”

  Sarah kissed his cheek. “You’re a prince, Ben.”

  Jack head-slapped him as he made his way to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.

  “Well, as he reminded us,” Sarah said to Ben, pouring coffee, “he’s been blown up many times and you’ve only been shot once, so as heroes go, he’s got it all over you.”

  “How many times do I have to be shot before I have more appeal than he does?”

  “You’d be dead first, Ben,” Jack said, sitting opposite him. “Pass the coffee cake.”

  * * *

  SARAH LEFT JACK and Ben together early the following morning to attend an emergency meeting of the fund-raising committee.

  “We have a lot on our plate, people,” Carol Winston said gravely. “One councilman on the tax-rolls side wants to cross over to us, but Pete Daley is still holding out and convincing him to stay put. I’m not saying he’s thinking selfishly of his own profits, but, you know, it has to cross his mind.”

  “I don’t think we have to worry,” Brenda Brown, the representative from Hospice Care said. “He’s married to Lucy Daley, and she’s chairman of Historic Preservation in our county. Forman’s present location is a contemporary monstrosity he had built.”

  Carol tossed her head impatiently. “If we didn’t have to worry, we’d already have the vote. And to update the situation, the Daleys are getting divorced. And guess who’s Lucy Daley’s attorney?”

  There was a communal “No!” of disbelief. Fate couldn’t be that cruel.

  “Yes. Forman. Public opinion is all we’ve got right now. I know you’re all talking it up, so keep doing it. And pray that this is the most well-attended talent show in the history of Beggar’s Bay.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BEN SQUARED HIS shoulders and smiled in an attempt, Sarah guessed, to look healthy. “I don’t look like I’ve been shot, do I?” he asked as he struck a pose, feet firmly planted.

  “Except for the mile and a half of gauze on your arm,” Jack answered, “and your fingers swollen to twice their size sticking out of the bandage, you look good. I’m going out to move Ben’s and my car so Mom and Dad can pull in and unpack.” They were due any moment. Sarah had parked the RAV4 near the carriage house.

  “If it makes you feel better,” Ben said to Sarah, “I’ll tell them I dumped you for another girl I pulled over for speeding. That’s how I met you, after all.”

  She swatted his good arm with a pot holder. “Thanks. Two more weeks to the talent show. You have to be recovered by then.”

  “I’m practically recovered now,” he replied.

  “We have a rehearsal on Friday. The Friday after that is the dress rehearsal, and Saturday is the show.” She pulled a light dip she’d made with Neufchâtel cheese out of the refrigerator. “Can you reach the crackers on that top shelf, please?” She pointed.

  “Sure. I will be at rehearsal.” Ben handed her the crackers. She opened the box, handed it back to him and placed an empty bowl in front of him.

  “In there, please,” she said.

  “Did you finally convince Vinny and Margaret to work together?” He poured fairly well and nibbled on the overflow.

  “They’re a little cool but talking. Some progress.”

  He carried the bowl to the other end of the counter where she worked. “I relate to Vinny a little bit. I think I’m off women for a while.”

  She looked up at him guiltily. “Don’t say that.”

  He helped himself to another cracker, then snagged a bite of dip. “Oh, it’s not self-pity or abandonment of the man-woman principle. I knew you’d fall in love with Jack and it’s okay, really.” He hugged her with his good arm. “It’s just that I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did. I have more to learn before I try to be everything someone else needs.”

  She turned to him in pleased amazement. “That’s the most enlightened thing I’ve ever heard any man say. I’m going to circle this day on the calendar. Wow, Ben.”

  The powerful sound of Gary Palmer’s truck and trailer came from the side of the house and Sarah pushed Ben toward the hallway. “Hide! Let them come in and have the satisfaction of being home a few minutes before they have to face the fact that their son has been shot.”

  He disappeared and she went to meet Jack and his parents in the driveway. His mother came into her arms and held her tightly. “It’s good to be home. We had a wonderful, leisurely trip, but I’m pooped.”

  “Go inside,” Sarah said, “and I’ll help Jack with the bags. Gary, put that down.”

  He tried to pull a garment bag out of the back of the truck and Jack stopped him. “I’ll get that, Dad. Go inside.”

  Sarah opened her arms to Gary now and he walked into them, smiling. “Sarah, you’re a vision. My life has been full of backseat-driver wife, selfish tourists and slow motor homes.”

  She hugged him fiercely and walked him into the house. “You’re driving a motor home, Gary,” she pointed out. “And someone was probably behind you. I’ve move
d out of your room into Jack’s while he’s in the carriage house, so you can go right in and lie down if you want to.”

  She hurried back out to help Jack with the bags. “I can manage,” he said with a wry grin. “At least it isn’t raining today.”

  She took Helen’s tote from him.

  “Kiss me right now,” he said softly, leaning toward her as they entered the kitchen.

  She pushed him back. “We have to be careful until we’ve explained—”

  “If you’d kiss me instead of taking time to argue...” Just as the words came out of his mouth, his mother wandered through the kitchen, went to the Keurig and poured herself a coffee.

  Sarah smiled. “Later,” Sarah murmured to Jack. “Hold the thought.”

  “Where’s Ben?” Helen asked, standing in the middle of the kitchen with her coffee. She closed her eyes and simply stood there. “It’s so nice to be home. I must be getting old that I was in that beautiful spot and all I could think about was being home again.” Her admission was followed by her gasp of alarm as Ben walked in.

  Sarah gave him full credit for a bright smile and the sincere effort to appear whole. Helen put her cup down on the table and went to him. He put his good arm around her and tried to give her a hug, but she pushed against his chest. “What happened?” she demanded, staring at his bandaged arm, the shirtsleeve hanging slack.

  “I’m fine,” Ben insisted, trying to direct her toward a chair. Gary came into the kitchen, frowning over the mild commotion.

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” Helen examined the thick gauze wrap on his arm and the purple, puffy fingers protruding.

  Everyone converged at the table. Jack pulled out a chair for his father and Ben pushed on Helen’s shoulder until she, too, sat. Sarah got plates and napkins while Ben explained about being shot. Helen put a hand to her heart, her eyes intent while she listened.

  “I really am fine now,” Ben said, putting a hand over his mother’s at the table. “It was a pretty minor thing all in all. Drink your coffee, Mom.”