Michelle was surprised to see Steve's car in the garage when she pushed the automatic door opener. What was he doing home in the middle of the day? Grabbing her bag, she hurried inside.
Steve was sprawled on the couch in the family room under the afghan they usually kept draped over the armrest. Max was curled up at his feet, and they were both asleep. The sound of Michelle placing her bag on the table caused Steve to stir. He looked over at her and sighed.
"Are you O.K.?" she asked.
"Not really. I feel like I've been hit by a truck," he said. "It must be that flu bug everyone's been complaining about. I took two aspirins, but I'm still aching all over.” He paused then added, “Where have you been? I tried to call your cell, but it went straight to voicemail."
"I had to run a few errands," she replied, mentally kicking herself for forgetting about the drugstore. She pulled her phone out of her purse and flipped it open. A black screen greeted her. "Dead battery. Sorry about that,” Michelle said, and then added, “Can I get you something? How about some soup or something to drink?"
Steve smiled weakly, flinching as he tried to prop himself up. "Soup would be great, honey. I just can't seem to get warm."
Apparently Max was not thrilled with Steve's shifting and moaning. He hopped down from the couch and followed Michelle into the kitchen. The sound of the can opener caused an onslaught of pleading meows.
"This isn't tuna, Max,” Michelle chided. “You already ate today, remember? Go find your toy.”
By mixing some leftover vegetables and rice into a pan with the can of chicken soup, she was able to prepare a hearty lunch for her husband. It smelled good, and she decided to have some herself. She ladled the hot stew-like mixture into large mugs, placed them on a tray with spoons, napkins, a plate of cheese and crackers, and two tall glasses of tea.
Carrying the tray carefully into the family room, she put it down on the coffee table, and then helped Steve get into a comfortable sitting position. They ate together while she told him about Bev's friend, Starla, and The New World Bookstore.
Steve raised his eyebrows as she shared Starla's interpretation of her dreams. "Sounds a little weird to me, Michelle," he warned. "Don't take this stuff too seriously.” He rubbed his hands across his eyes. “When I suggested you talk to somebody about your dreams, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind."
"I know. It's just kind of interesting about that Marty guy in my dream the other night and how he looks like the Marty who wrote this dream book."
"Maybe you just think that because of the name. Can you really remember what the guy in your dream looked like?" he asked, sounding skeptical.
"I don't know. Maybe you're right. He just looked kind of familiar when I saw the photo on the book jacket. But it's hard to remember for sure what the guy really looked like in my dream," she admitted.
"Just don't get all weird on me about these crazy dreams, Michelle. They probably don't really mean anything anyway.”
She nodded her head, not wanting to get into a heated discussion with him when he wasn’t feeling well. He really looked tired and pale. “Why don’t you take a nap for a while?” she suggested.
“I think I will.” Slipping back down under the afghan, he thanked her for lunch and closed his eyes.
She quietly got up and carried the tray back into the kitchen. After rinsing out the mugs and the pan, she went upstairs to their bedroom where she could get some things done without disturbing Steve.
Flipping open her laptop, she reread a message she’d received earlier in the week from her best friend, Kristin Matthews. As the keys clicked under her fingertips, she poured out her thoughts in reply.
Michelle felt totally safe with Kristin and was able to candidly share all about her strange dreams. Missing Kristin more and more with every line, she yearned to see her friend and sit face-to-face sharing her thoughts and fears. She ended the email urging Kristin to consider coming to Sandy Cove for a visit.
“Now what should I do?” she asked Max, who was curled up on the rocking chair. Thoughts of Seal Beach continued to flood her mind and she decided to call home.
“Yes?” a male voice gruffly answered.
“Dad?” Michelle asked tentatively, unaccustomed to her father answering the phone so brusquely.
“Michelle?” her father’s voice softened.
“Hi, Dad. Is everything okay?”
“Fine, honey. Why?”
“You sound different. I barely recognized your voice,” she replied.
“Must be the tail end of my cold.”
“Maybe. Is everything else okay? Mom said your heart was bothering you. Racing or something.”
“Don’t you worry about me, kiddo. I’m fit as a fiddle. Really. Let me get your mother. She’s been eager to talk to you.” There was a brief pause. Then Michelle heard him call out, “Sheila! Michelle’s on the phone.”
A moment later her mom came on the line. “Hi, honey. How are you?”
Hearing her mother’s voice immediately magnified Michelle’s homesickness. Though their conversation started out light and casual, within minutes Michelle was telling her how much she missed her.
“I miss you too, Mimi,” her mother replied, using her pet name for Michelle. “Is everything okay, honey?" she inquired gently.
"I guess. Steve and I are doing fine, the house is coming together, and I’m learning to find my way around Sandy Cove.” Michelle paused, feeling her voice start to shake. “It's just hard being so far away from everyone."
"I know, sweetheart. It’s a big adjustment. I've been meaning to try to get away for a week or two and come up to visit like you suggested last month. Do you want me to talk to your dad about it and see what I can work out?”
“That would be great,” Michelle replied and then added, “Is he alright, Mom? He sounded kind of funny when he answered the phone.”
“He’s just got a lot on his mind these days. Hold on a sec, dear,” she added. Michelle heard some rustling and then her mom’s voice returned. “I wanted to change rooms. Your dad is really touchy lately. There’s some kind of lawsuit going on at work, and he’s very concerned about it. I don’t know the whole story, but you know how your father is.”
“Mr. Independent. Yeah, I know, Mom. I wonder if he’d talk to Steve about it.”
“Maybe. I’ll see if I can get some more information before I come up. If I talk to Steve first, he might be able to give me some pointers to mention to your father.”
“Good idea,” Michelle replied. “I’m so glad you’re going to try to come up and visit, Mom.” Her spirit felt lighter just thinking about seeing her mother again.
“Me too,” Sheila agreed. “I have a couple of appointments this week, but I could try to fly up next Monday or Tuesday."
"That would be great!" Michelle replied enthusiastically. "Call me back as soon as you’ve talked it over with Dad."
They wrapped up their conversation with Michelle feeling much better. The sound of Max mewing by the closed bedroom door reminded Michelle of Steve downstairs with the flu. She silently hoped that he would be better before Monday. I hope I don’t get sick, too.
She picked Max up and cradled him in her arms, nuzzling his soft fur. “Want to read with me?” she asked as she picked up the dream book and carried it to the rocking chair. Max wasn’t interested in sharing her lap with the large green volume. He leapt down and strutted across the room to settle next to the heater vent.
Perusing the table of contents, a chapter heading caught Michelle’s eye. “Spirit Guides and the Link to Dream Analysis – Find Your Spirit Guide Within”. That sounds interesting, she thought, flipping the pages to that chapter.
I just might be getting to know you better, Marty, she reflected silently as she thought of the man in her dream.
Michelle’s father, John Ackerman, sank into the dark burgundy leather chair in the corner of his den. It was well after midnight and, unable to sleep, he had gotten out of bed to keep from waking S
heila with his tossing and turning. All vitality was drained from his spirit, and he felt desperately alone.
Fear closed in on him with a vise-like grip, and he felt himself being pulled into a black chasm in his mind. Over and over he replayed in his mind the events at the hearing and the incriminating evidence that was being twisted and used against him. Most of the documents had never crossed his desk. Yet there they were, clearly revealing his signature on them.
It had been apparent for months that someone at Mathers, Inc. was trying to discredit him. The numerous, unfounded complaints that he had tried to ignore or brush aside as unimportant were now fitting into this picture like a complex puzzle of deception and defamation. But why? Who would want him out of the company? And why would anyone go to such desperate measures as these forgeries?
Could this be about his former secretary, Marilyn Marlow, and their brief affair?
He sat back in his chair and replayed in his mind those three weeks in Dallas. Marilyn’s youth, coupled with her intense passion for John had invaded his well-ordered life at a time when age was robbing him of his sense of virility. But it hadn’t taken long for him to come to his senses and terminate the affair.
Duty and responsibility overruled personal pleasure in John’s world. It had been difficult to watch her pale green eyes fill with tears at their final parting, and he could still remember the feel of her long, soft hair and firm, well-formed body. But his life was back in Seal Beach with Sheila and the kids. Not in the arms of his secretary.
Marilyn was a vulnerable young lady with a crush on an older man. Surely she wouldn’t do something this drastic.
Until this morning, John had been certain that he would eventually be cleared of the charges. His main concern had been the loss of productive time at work and the attorney fees necessary to clear his name. Now he wondered if any amount of time or money could free him from this nightmare.
Gazing pensively around the room, his heavy brown eyes lit on a picture of Sheila taken on the beach a year earlier. Tears welled up, and he felt very small in his large masculine body. He could still remember clearly the day Sheila had agreed to marry him. As he looked at her gentle face in the photograph, he yearned to protect the only real love of his life from this debilitating scandal. But how? He needed time to think.
Slumping back in his chair, he gazed out the window at the streetlight. An almost suffocating sensation of despair overtook him. Reaching down, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and stared at the gun inside.
Out of a Dream is available for immediate purchase on Amazon.com
BOOKS BY ROSEMARY HINES
Into Magnolia
Sandy Cove Series Book 3
CHAPTER ONE
Amber Gamble sat on the floor beside her bed. I hate them. All of them, she thought to herself. This was her third foster home in one year. She was sick and tired of having to move and live with people she didn’t even know. I don’t need any of them. I’d be better off on my own!
She opened her backpack and pulled out the photo of her mom, her dad, her little brother, and herself. It looked like a normal enough family, but Amber knew better. “Jerks,” she said aloud as she glared into her parents’ faces. Where were they when she needed them most? How dare her dad take off and leave them? And then her mom’s breakdown. She could still see her huddled on the floor in the corner of her bedroom crying and saying she wished she were dead. Ever since then, she’d been worthless as a mom, in and out of psychiatric hospitals and drug rehabs.
Fine. If that was the way she was going to be, she wished her mom were dead, too. Might as well be. Some mother she turned out to be.
At first she’d believed that her mom would get better. She and Jack would just be living in separate foster homes for a month or so while Mom got over the whole affair with Dad.
That’s what the social worker had told them. “I’m sure your mom will be fine in a few weeks. Then she’ll be able to take you both back home.”
What a lie. That social worker was a jerk just like the rest of them. It had been almost a year. Her mom was in the looney bin again, her dad was off with his girlfriend somewhere in Arizona, and she and Jack were still living in these stupid foster homes. It didn’t help that she had to keep moving from one home to another. Who wanted a fourteen-year-old loser like her? They all pretended to care for a few weeks or even a couple of months, and then they’d find some excuse to get rid of her.
“This sucks,” she told Bonnie Blackwell the last time the social worker had come to tell her she’d be living with another family.
“I know it’s hard, Amber. But you are in short-term foster care. That means you’re being placed with people who only care for kids for a few weeks or months at a time. The good news is that the court thinks you and your mom will be reunited soon. Then you can go back to living as a family — you, your mom, and Jack.”
“Right,” she replied with a sarcastic tone.
Amber looked back down at the picture, this time focusing on Jack.
“I’m calling him right now. We’re out of here,” she said to the wall.
She took out her cell phone — the one and only decent thing the social worker had given her — and punched in Jack’s number.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered.
“I need to talk to Jack,” Amber demanded.
“Is this Amber?”
“None of your business. Just get Jack.”
“I’m sorry. Jack’s asleep. It’s almost eleven.”
Amber looked at the phone, scowled, and hung up. “Jerk. What? She thinks I can’t tell time?” She rifled through her backpack and found the pack of cigarettes at the bottom. Pulling one out, she lit up and went to sit on the window seat, blowing her smoke out the window as she tried to swallow back her tears.
When she felt trapped, the cigarettes were her only friends. Thank God she’d met Adam. At least he understood her. And he got her cigarettes whenever she needed them.
“I swear I’m getting out of this prison,” she said with determination. “And I’m taking Jack with me.”
Michelle Baron felt a rush of adrenalin. The day had finally arrived, and she eagerly climbed the brick stairs leading up to the entrance of Magnolia Middle School. It was hard for her to believe that she was finally a full-fledged teacher! A childhood dream was about to become her new reality. Now she stood before the school, her spirit soaring and her heart racing as she took it all in.
It was still early and only a few students were in sight. Off to one side of the parking lot a couple of boys showed off their skateboarding skills. A group of three girls clustered at the top of the stairs comparing class schedules. The girls looked her way as she passed them. “Good morning, ladies,” Michelle offered with a smile.
Pushing open the heavy glass door, she inhaled the smell of floor polish that told the tale of a busy weekend of cleaning and preparation on the part of the janitorial staff. Magnolia School gleamed, and the bulletin boards lining the halls displayed crisp pictures and announcements for the incoming students. A new year! Michelle’s emotions soared as she considered the possibilities.
Then her mind shot back to her departure from home thirty minutes earlier. Her daughter Madison was dressed in her first-day-of-school skirt and ruffled tee shirt. She looked so confident with her new pink backpack and ‘Best Friends’ binder. Was it really true that their baby was in kindergarten already? Where had the years gone?
Michelle dreaded telling her little girl she would have to leave for her first day of teaching before Maddie’s bus came to pick her up. Instead, Steve would be there for their daughter’s first walk to the bus stop. The school had an introductory program where parents were allowed to ride the bus with their kindergarteners the first day. Steve had carefully arranged his schedule at the law firm to accommodate this big event.
“Don’t worry, Mommy. We’ll be fine,” Madison said as she gazed up at Steve. “Daddy knows where the bus comes.”
“That’s right, pumpkin,” Steve confirmed with a nod and a smile.
Still, Michelle wished she could have been there to see Maddie climb those steps into the school bus. There was a price to pay for her new teaching job, and she knew this was just the first of many instances when she would realize it.
Drawing her mind back to the present, she thought about all that she needed to do before class began. First stop, the office to pick up her roll sheets. As she stepped into this hub of the school, the receptionist greeted her with a smile. “Hey there, Michelle! Are you ready?”
“I think so,” Michelle replied, returning her smile and walking over to the myriad of mailboxes. Near the top of the left row of boxes, she saw her name and teaching assignment: Michelle Baron — Language Arts. A stack of papers rested inside. Included in the pile were her roll sheets, announcements for the week, and packets to give her first period students.
As she flipped through the papers, the principal, Daniel Durand, walked up. His tall, stocky build and curly gray hair gave him the appearance of a retired athlete. “Good morning, Michelle.”
“Good morning, Mr. Durand,” Michelle said, hugging the papers to her chest.
“No ‘Mr. Durand’ stuff, please. You’ll make me feel old.” He gave her a warm smile and a friendly but innocent wink. “Just call me Dan.”
Michelle blushed. “Okay, Dan.”
“So, is there anything you need for your first day?” he asked.
“I’m a bundle of nerves, but other than that, I think I’m ready,” she replied.
He smiled again and reassured her that she would be fine once the day got under way. As they parted, Michelle headed out the office door and down the hall to her new classroom.
Room 107. There it was. Michelle’s hand shook as she inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. The room looked great. All her hard work on bulletin boards and furniture arrangement had transformed the space from a dull shell into a bright, cheerful, and inviting haven. The freshly scrubbed carpet smelled of shampoo, and the desks waited eagerly for their occupants.
Through the Tears (Sandy Cove Series Book 2) Page 31