by Joanne Fluke
“Has she had another one?” Dr. Kauffman asked.
“Well, sort of,” David said. “This was different though. It was kind of like a . . . a trance when she was wide awake. We were walking home from a party last night. She said she had a little headache, but I didn’t realize that something was going to happen until we came to the railroad tracks. We could hear a train coming, and there was plenty of time to cross, but she insisted we wait. Then when the train came, she was so scared she almost ran right out in front of it. I held her, and then she froze up completely. She was still petrified by the time the train was gone, and I shook her and shouted her name for about five minutes. Thank God, she finally heard me.
“Then she tried to tell me that she’s always been this afraid of trains because she was in an accident when she was a kid. The car her mother was driving hit a train, and her mother was killed. That would make sense, Dr. Kauffman, except for one thing. We’ve walked by that crossing for a month now, and there’ve been trains before. She never reacted this way before.”
“And you’re afraid that she’s going to stay in one of these trances, and you won’t be able to bring her back,” Dr. Kauffman prompted. “Is that right, David?”
“That’s it,” David sighed, nodding jerkily. “I’ve tried asking what she hears and sees when she’s in these trances, but she can’t—or won’t—tell me. I’ve got the feeling that she remembers, but she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me. If it was anyone but Kathi, I’d bring her in to see you, but I’m afraid that would only make Kathi more disturbed. She’s really involved in her father’s campaign, and she’d never agree to see a psychologist until after the election’s over. She’d be afraid that word of it would get out, and the press would pick up on it.”
“I see,” Dr. Kauffman said slowly. If this story had come from anyone other than David, he would have given the usual platitudes: things often seem more critical than they are; even the well-adjusted person has occasional nightmares; people often do bizarre things under stress, and the moment the pressure is relieved, they go right back to normal; worrying will do no good; just relax and she’ll probably be fine; etc.
But David Carter was a stable young man and a brilliant student of psychology. He wouldn’t be this worried if he thought his girlfriend’s problem was only temporary. If David was worried, there was something to be worried about.
“Have you noticed any preceding situation that could be cueing these trances?” the professor asked, tapping his pen on the edge of his blotter. “Is there a specific incident that sets them off, David?”
“Uh . . . well . . . only one that I could discover,” David admitted, twisting uncomfortably in the chair. “I . . . I noticed that she has nightmares every time after we have sex. For a while, I was positive that it was guilt, that she was feeling guilty about living with me and letting her parents think she was still in the dorm. But last night, all that changed. Last night, the train cued her trance. I just don’t know what to think anymore, Dr. Kauffman.”
There was a note of desperation in David’s voice that made Dr. Kauffman want to pat him on the shoulder like he would a small boy. He suppressed the urge quickly. David hadn’t come here for comfort; he had come for advice.
“Perhaps something here on campus is disturbing her,” the professor offered thoughtfully. “Something you haven’t noticed or thought about.”
“Sure,” David agreed readily. “It could be anything, but that doesn’t really help me. I don’t want to see Kathi sink down into one of her nightmares and not be able to come back. I’ve got to keep her from falling into the trances in the first place.”
“It’s quite a problem,” Dr. Kauffman commiserated, nodding. “I don’t know what advice I can give you, David, except to try to change her surroundings. There have been cases where an abrupt change of occupation or environment precedes a remission of these sorts of symptoms. One thing you can do to help her, is to take her mind off her problem. Get her involved in some sort of activity, something she’s not used to doing. I’d suggest taking her to a different locale, if that could be arranged. How about a little vacation somewhere—well chaperoned, of course, because of the election. You wouldn’t want the press to write a story about the two of you alone in the mountains, or anything like that.”
“Get her involved in something new and different,” David repeated, as if he were burning Dr. Kauffman’s advice into his memory. “And if that doesn’t work, take her away to totally different surroundings.” He pulled thoughtfully at his beard.
There was a moment of silence as both of them mulled over Kathi’s problem. Finally David looked up. “That’s all?” he asked, grimacing. “That’s all I can do for her?”
“Not quite,” Dr. Kauffman continued. “Try to get her to talk about her trances, to tell you what happens and how it feels when she has one. If she has some sort of warning that a trance is coming on, she could give you a sign and perhaps you could avert it. That’s another possibility. And try to gain her trust, David. That’s the most important thing. Don’t pressure her to tell you everything, but let her know that you’re not going to censure her for behaving abnormally or for telling you bizarre things.”
David nodded and moved his cigarette cautiously toward the ashtray. He had forgotten entirely about smoking it, and the ash was nearly falling, it had grown so long.
“You’re really worried about her, aren’t you, David?”
“Yes,” David answered tersely, stubbing out his cigarette methodically. “I don’t know what I’ll do if something drastic happens during break. You’re not going to be here, are you?”
The hopefulness on David’s face was almost pathetic, and Dr. Kauffman had the urge to cancel his vacation, just to be on hand if he was needed. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that. His wife had been planning this vacation for the past three months, and he couldn’t cancel it now. He’d done that too many times in the past. There wasn’t much he could do for the girl anyway, not until after the election.
“I’m sorry, David,” Dr. Kauffman apologized. “I’m not going to be in town. The whole family’s going to San Diego to visit my in-laws. I’ll give you the number, though, and I don’t want you to hesitate to call if none of my suggestions work and Kathi’s problem worsens.”
Dr. Kauffman stared at the door long after David had left, wondering why he had given the number to David. He had promised Marge that nothing would disturb their vacation this year. He gave a sigh and leaned back in his chair again, lacing his fingers together behind his head. Ah, well, he would just have to weather Marge’s little tizzy if David needed him.
CHAPTER 10
He came in with a grin on his face, determined to be cheerful and supportive. “Kathi?” he called out, hanging his plaid jacket in the closet. “Kathi! I’m home!”
The apartment had a certain cold emptiness about it. Kathi was not here. The bright posters on the walls and the colorful throw pillows Kathi had made did not dispel David’s gloom. Without Kathi’s answering voice, the apartment was cold and lonely. She hadn’t left for good, had she?
David rushed to the kitchen table where they always left notes for each other. He breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted Kathi’s steno notebook propped up against the saltshaker. She’d left him a note written in her abbreviated style. At least she hadn’t been in some sort of trance when she left, if she was rational enough to leave a note.
Qk. trip 2 L.A. Bck. early eve. U aced yr. test, right? K.
David picked up the notebook and grinned in relief. There was nothing unusual about a girl who flew to Los Angeles to have a quick visit with her parents. That was perfectly normal, wasn’t it? A visit with her parents might do Kathi a lot of good. David knew that she was on edge about her father’s campaign. She’d probably come back brimming with news from campaign headquarters, carrying stacks of bumper stickers and pins for them to distribute around campus.
Time crept slowly as David tried to busy himself around the apartment
, straightening the bookshelves, fixing the squeaking cupboard door over the sink, doing all the little things he hadn’t had time to do before his midterm exams. Finally, he settled down on the couch with a book he’d been meaning to read, with the television turned on for company. She should be home soon. There were regular flights coming in from Los Angeles, and Kathi’s note had said early evening. She could be home any minute.
* * *
The instant David heard her key in the lock, he jumped up from the couch. “I’m glad you’re back, baby!” he called out, rushing to the door to hug her tightly. “You should have called from the airport. I could have come to pick you up.”
“Oh!” Kathi gasped, dropping her purse on the floor as David’s arms closed around her. “Th-that’s all right, David. I took a cab.” She tried to hug him back, but his arms felt like a prison and she pulled away instinctively, her eyes darting warily around the apartment. “My goodness! You cleaned up in here!” There was a tone of dismay in her voice that she couldn’t hide. “I haven’t been a very good housekeeper lately, have I?”
“You’ve been fine, hon,” David assured her, stepping back quickly as she struggled from his embrace. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, and I’m capable of doing a little housework too, you know. It won’t destroy my masculinity to do the dishes once in a while.”
Kathi looked down at the rug, avoiding David’s gaze. She didn’t dare look at him, or he would read the fear in her eyes, and he would question her. But there was no way she could begin to explain what she’d found out today. David was too rational a man to even consider the things Sally had told her.
“Um . . . I decided to go to L.A. all of a sudden,” she said nervously. “I would have told you, but you were already gone. The . . . the idea just occurred to me. There were some things I had to pick up at home.”
Too late, Kathi realized her mistake. She hadn’t come back with anything other than her purse. David was bound to notice that, but he didn’t say anything. He was humoring her. That made Kathi feel even worse.
“But . . . but I couldn’t find what I was looking for,” she stumbled on, unable to stop her babbling. “Anyway, the day wasn’t a total waste. I got a chance to talk to Sally. I told you about Sally, didn’t I, David? She’s our housekeeper . . . well . . . actually she’s more like a member of the family. Sally’s been with us for as long as I can remember.”
Kathi’s voice trailed off and she stared miserably at the rug. She was acting like a complete idiot, babbling on and on this way. If only David would say something.
“I’m glad you had a good time,” David responded pleasantly, almost as if he’d read her thoughts. “How about some coffee? I bet you’re tired.”
Oh, he was being so careful! David didn’t know what to say either, and he acted as if he were walking on eggshells, afraid of saying something that might upset her. They were like strangers.
“Tired?” Kathi picked up on the word eagerly, almost desperately. “Yes, I certainly am tired!” She sank down on the couch and slid out of her coat. “Coffee would be wonderful, David. That is, if you don’t mind making it.”
“No trouble at all,” David assured her cheerfully, disappearing into the kitchen. She could hear him running water, filling the tea kettle, and there was the sound of the match striking as he lit the stove.
Kathi sighed again and closed her eyes. This was almost unbearable. This thing, this awful thing that had come between them. Their words sounded stilted, like the careful questions and responses two people make when they first meet. But if she let down her guard, she would end up telling him what Sally had said, and she wasn’t ready to tell anyone about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. How could she explain to a man who laughed at the horoscopes in the daily paper and thought spirits were something you dressed up as on Halloween, that the spirit of Sheri Walker was . . . was what? She could hardly believe it herself. The more she thought about it, the more impossible it seemed.
“I . . . I think I’ll pass on that coffee, David,” Kathi called out. “I’m really tired, and the plane trip was a little rough. I guess I’ll just go in and go to bed, if that’s all right with you.”
“Sure, honey,” came David’s prompt answer. “Do you want me to come in with you, or shall I watch television?”
“Um, you can watch television if you want to,” Kathi responded, tears welling in her eyes. He knew! David knew that she didn’t want to sleep with him tonight, although he couldn’t possibly know why. He was being sweet and understanding, and it was all Kathi could do to keep from bursting into tears. How much longer can things go on this way? What can I do to make everything all right again? Will things ever be the way they used to be?
Kathi heard the sound of the television as she undressed and put on her college nightshirt, the least sexy of her nightgowns. He wouldn’t come to bed and try to make love to her tonight anyway, not after the way she’d pulled away from him back there in the living room. She heard the volume lower, and she knew he was trying to be considerate. Kathi sank to the bed in desperation, feeling as if she were balancing on a tightrope stretched over the edge of disaster. What was to become of them?
She lay on her back with her eyes open, staring at the reflected light of the streetlamp on the ceiling. She could hear the small night sounds outside the window—the leaves rustling in the wind, a bird calling out softly—and the creaking as someone in the apartment above them walked across the floor. How she wished that she could call out to David . . . ask him to come to bed so she could tell him everything and have him hold her close. But that was the one thing she couldn’t do. She was lonely and frightened, but she had to pretend a while longer, just until she found out what Sheri Walker wanted. It wouldn’t be long now. Sheri Walker was coming more often, and soon the spirit would tell her what to do. Just a little longer, and it would be over. Then everything would be all right. Everything . . . would . . . be . . . all . . . over.
* * *
She was sleeping, hugging the pillow in her arms like a child. David tiptoed into the bedroom, and there was pain in his heart as he saw the traces of tears on her cheeks. Tonight she had been too tired, but tomorrow he would put Dr. Kauffman’s suggestions into effect. He’d already planned the first activity to divert Kathi’s attention. They were going to the Alameda County Fair, and Kathi was going to have a good time, even if he had to stand on his head and dance a jig to make her laugh again. They’d never been to a fair together, and it would be impossible for Kathi to stay anxious and depressed if they lost themselves in a crowd of excited, happy people. There would be rides and cotton candy and lots of sideshows to see. The fair would make everything seem better, and then, when they came back, they would have a long talk about her problem. He’d do everything Dr. Kauffman had said. He was going to pull Kathi out of this by the sheer force of his love. Once she realized that he was willing to move heaven and earth to help her, she’d share her nightmare with him, and between the two of them, they’d chase the terror away.
Quietly, carefully, David slipped between the sheets. Beautiful, vulnerable Kathi—she was so lovely when she slept untroubled like this. It wasn’t going to happen again tonight. He wouldn’t let it. Tonight was going to be a good night, and tomorrow, a beautiful day. Things were looking up.
Why was he kidding himself this way? Things weren’t going to get better until Kathi talked to him—really talked to him. He had to get through to her tomorrow. He had to!
CHAPTER 11
The work was routine, and Sally went about it mechanically. She had plenty of time to think as she went about her familiar housekeeping duties, but the work that usually made her hum a little tune under her breath seemed like drudgery today. Sally’s face was grim, and she attacked the dust with a fervent zeal, scowling as she did so. Miss Kathi was on her mind, and had been ever since the poor little lamb had shown up on her doorstep yesterday.
Sally attempted to marshal her thoughts and take pride in her cleaning as she usua
lly did. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Mama had been fond of saying that. She would polish and dust and wax until there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. Putting the big house in order was easy. Putting her thoughts in order was something else.
Sally’s routine was methodical. On Fridays, she cleaned Mr. Doug’s study, vacuuming the rugs and dusting the big, carved-oak desk. Then, after the den was done, she would go on to the bedrooms, straightening up and changing the sheets. A load of laundry had to be done and some of Mr. Doug’s shirts ironed. Then, there was dinner to prepare. Miss Vivian always planned the week’s menus in advance, handing them to Sally on Sundays. Tonight was rare roast beef with those expensive little baby potatoes, broccoli with cheese sauce, and Jell-O parfait for dessert. Sally had chuckled when she’d seen the order for Jell-O parfait. Miss Vivian must have figured that Mr. Doug was eating too well at all those fancy, hundred-dollar-per-plate dinners.
As Sally started the dusting, she sighed morosely. Poor Miss Kathi! She was in trouble, deep trouble, and Sally just had to do something to ease Miss Kathi’s mind. She had gone through Mama’s trunk last night, searching for books, or anything to do with the spirits. But Mama had never been much of a reader. What she knew, she knew from hearing other people talk, and she kept it in her head. There had been nothing in the trunk except for a book of faded photographs, some picture postcards from Atlanta tied with a bit of red string, the velvet hat with the rose Mama had been fond of wearing, and the ring—the ring that Mama had called her good luck—the tigereye ring that showed a little cross when you held it up to the light.
It was too small for Sally, so she had never worn it, even though she knew that the jeweler could make it bigger to fit her finger. Sally wasn’t sure why, but she hadn’t wanted to wear the ring. It was still in the little box where she had put it after Mama’s funeral. The ring was Mama’s luck, and Mama was fond of saying that every person made their own luck. Sally had no doubt that Mama was right.