He’s just worried about me.
She sat up and punched her flattened pillow with a fist. Yeah, well, he should be. If she didn’t get some sleep soon, she would do something crazy.
Laughter snorted through her nose. Like anything could be crazier than standing up in a public meeting and announcing that the town had to be evacuated because of a dream. She threw herself backward on the mattress and shoved the pillow over her face with both hands. If Greg heard her laughing, he’d call for a straitjacket for sure.
A familiar noise reached her. Nana’s heels on the staircase. No doubt the sewing circle ladies had lingered after the meeting to rehash all the juicy details. Greg’s footsteps receded toward the kitchen, and she heard the mumble of low voices as he and Nana conferred. More footsteps on the stairs, this time Greg’s heavy tread descending. The relief shift had arrived, and he was going home.
Jill rose up in bed, switched on the lamp on her nightstand, and arranged her pillows behind her. When the door cracked open and Nana peeked in, she was sitting comfortably with her hands folded on top of the thick quilt.
“Greg said you were sleeping.”
Jill shook her head. “Who can sleep with all that worrying and pacing going on right outside the door?”
Nana opened the door wider and stepped into the room. “You can hardly blame him.”
A sigh escaped Jill’s lips. “I know. Instead of worried, he should be furious with me.”
She scooched sideways and patted the mattress beside her. Nana hesitated only a second before accepting her invitation. She lowered herself to the bed, kicked off her pumps, and twisted around until her legs were parallel to Jill’s. Jill removed one of her pillows and plumped it behind Nana, who settled back into it. The sweet scent of her perfume seeped into the air, bringing with it a wave of comfort. The smell of childhood, of nighttime prayers, tight hugs and lipstick-kiss prints on her cheek.
“So. Tell me about this dream.”
“There’s not much to tell, really.” Jill described the disjointed images and associated feelings, and tried to convey the sense of urgency that increased with every recurrence of the dream. “I had to do something. I couldn’t ignore the warning anymore.”
“You could have talked to me about it.”
“You’re right. I should have.” Jill plucked at an imaginary thread on the quilt. “I didn’t really plan to do that tonight. It just happened.”
Nana’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you couldn’t help yourself?” Jill didn’t answer at first. Could she have stopped herself from standing up in front of the town spouting doom like some deranged fanatic? Yes, of course she could have. It hadn’t been an irresistible compulsion, like she was possessed or anything. It had been a conscious — albeit desperate — decision.
“I wanted to stop the dream from coming back.” Her words were slow. “I figured one way to do that would be to get it out of my system. But there was another reason.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and held it there.
“And that was?” Nana prompted.
She twisted sideways in the bed to look her grandmother full-on. “What if it’s real? If some disaster really does happen in Seaside Cove next week and I didn’t warn people, I’d never be able to live with myself.”
Nana searched Jill’s face. After a moment, she nodded. “You did the right thing.”
“I did?”
She nodded. “Given your position, I’d have done the same thing.” A grin twisted her lips. “Of course, I’m a fossilized old Fruit Loop myself, so that’s probably not a comforting thought.”
Laughter bubbled up from deep inside Jill. “If you’re a Fruit Loop, I guess I’m a Honey Nut Cheerio, huh?”
“We are related, after all.” The grin melted away, replaced by concern. “Are you better now that you’ve delivered your warning?” A note of worry crept into her tone. Worry, or maybe skepticism?
“I think so.” Jill closed her eyes and took an inventory of her feelings. The anxious urgency that had become her nearly constant companion the past few days was gone. In its place was a hot, sticky embarrassment when she remembered the shock on Greg’s face tonight, the scornful expressions of her fellow Cove residents. Mostly, though, she felt the soft and insistent nudge of slumber pressing her down to her mattress. Finally. “Right now I’m too tired to know what I’m feeling. All I want to do is sleep for a million years.”
“I’ll leave you alone then. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Nana rose from the mattress. When Jill slid down beneath the quilt, she grasped the edges and pulled the covers up beneath Jill’s chin, then tucked the sides firmly around the outline of her body like she used to years ago. With cool fingers she brushed the hair off of Jill’s forehead and planted a soft kiss there.
Jill searched the face that hovered over hers. “You don’t believe my dream is true, do you, Nana?”
Tenderness softened her features. “I don’t know what I believe. I’ll have to pray about that, just as I’m sure you will. But I know I love you.”
She reached for the light switch, and darkness descended on the room. With a satisfied sigh, Jill nestled farther beneath the covers and, for the first time in days, welcomed sleep’s embrace.
Chapter 14
Tuesday, November 29
Greg approached the door of the counseling office and tried the handle. Locked. He glanced at his watch. Just past seven thirty in the morning. What time did they open? He hovered on the concrete stoop, trying to see through the gauzy curtains that covered the narrow window beside the door. He could wait around until eight, but he had a meeting with a client at nine.
He’d just about decided to leave and call later when a car pulled into the parking lot. The woman in the passenger seat eyed him curiously through the windshield. Doreen Davenport. Jill had introduced them a couple of times. He tucked the newspaper he carried beneath his arm and shoved his hands in his coat pocket to wait for her to exit the car.
She did, her gaze fixed on him. She approached carrying a briefcase in one hand and a cardboard coffee cup in the other. The car pulled out of the parking lot.
“Hello.” She spoke when she was halfway down the sidewalk. “Can I help you with something?”
“You’re Doreen Davenport, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.” She set down the briefcase and thrust a hand toward him. “How are you this morning, Mr. Bradford?”
Ah. She knew who he was. Good. That would save time.
He shook the hand, then picked up her briefcase for her while she unlocked the door. “Not too good, actually. Sorry to show up unannounced, but I was hoping I could talk to you about Jill.”
The door opened, and he followed her inside the dark office. “I do have a minute, but I’m afraid I can’t discuss Jill with you.” She gave him a smile of thanks as she took her briefcase from him. “Confidentiality. I’m sure as an attorney you understand that.”
“But I’m her fiancé.”
The smile became apologetic. “I know, but she hasn’t signed a release form that would allow me to discuss her condition with you.”
Greg set his teeth together. He knew the counselor was right. “Okay. I’m going to ask her if she’s willing to do that as soon as possible. In the meantime, maybe we could talk in general terms. If you’ve read the morning paper, I’m sure you’ll understand my concern.”
Her head cocked upward, her expression curious. “I usually read the paper here, after I get to the office. Has something happened?”
In answer, Greg unfolded the newspaper. The story wasn’t the top headline, but it did take up the bottom right quarter of the front page. At the top of the article was a picture of Jill seated on the front row at last night’s meeting, slumped down in a metal folding chair with a hand shielding her eyes. A half-dozen or so people towered over her, their expressions ranging from angry to outraged. In bold letters, the headline read, “Local Woman Predicts End of the World.”
“Oh
, dear.”
Doreen took the newspaper from him and turned to go through a door into an office, reading as she walked. Greg followed her.
“She didn’t really predict the end of the world,” he pointed out as she rounded her desk, still reading. “That headline is obviously an attempt to sensationalize the story and sell more newspapers.”
She lowered herself in her chair and indicated with a wave that Greg should sit in one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. He sank into it, but perched on the edge, watching her eyes move as she read the article. When she finished, she set the paper down on the clean desktop and met his gaze.
“Was the rest of the article accurate?”
Greg nodded. “Afraid so, though that reporter manages to make it sound like I think Jill’s ready for the loony bin without ever saying so.” Greg’s fist clenched as he remembered the section that had set his teeth together when he read it this morning. Mr. Bradford offered this excuse for Ms. King’s outrageous claim: “She hasn’t felt well lately.”
“Has Jill read this?” Doreen gestured at the newspaper.
“No. I called her grandmother as soon as I saw it, and she said Jill was still sleeping peacefully. We agreed to let her sleep as long as she can.”
Doreen nodded. “That’s good.”
“But then what?” Greg ran a hand through his hair. “She told me you said this dream was probably because of stress, and if she wanted it to go away she had to get rid of the stress.” He tapped a finger on the paper. “This is a pretty extreme way to get rid of stress. Was it your suggestion?”
“Absolutely not.” Doreen leaned back in her chair, her long-fingered hands folded in her lap. “She must have decided on her own that the way to get rid of her stress was to follow through with what the dream was urging her to do.”
“Well, she’s not thinking straight.” Greg launched himself off the chair. “Maybe next time you could suggest a bubble bath, or a massage. Something other than an announcement in a public meeting.”
“Maybe you could suggest those things.”
The woman’s face remained completely impassive, which in comparison made Greg feel like a raving maniac. He circled the chair in which he’d been sitting, stood behind it with his hands grasping the back, and schooled his voice to match her calm tone. A question had plagued him all night, one he had to ask even though he was afraid of the answer. “Am I the cause of Jill’s stress? Does she not want to marry me?”
For one moment, he thought the counselor might actually answer him. Her expression grew soft, and she looked at him as though evaluating whether or not to take a chance on talking to him. When she put her hands flat on the desk and pushed her chair backward to stand, Greg knew she wasn’t going to answer.
“Mr. Bradford, I am going to tell you the same thing I told Jill.” She came around the side of the desk. “You need to talk to each other. If you want to schedule an appointment together, I’ll be happy to speak with both of you. But that’s all I can say at this time.”
Defeated, Greg’s shoulders slumped forward. “I understand.”
Doreen placed a hand on his arm and gave him a kind smile. “Look on the bright side. If her grandmother said Jill was sleeping peacefully, maybe her strategy worked. Maybe she got the dream out of her system, and this will be the end of it.”
“I sure hope so.”
When he picked up the newspaper and his glance fell once again on the headline, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling that this thing wasn’t over yet.
Jill woke a few times, once during the night to stumble through the darkness to the bathroom, and then again hours later when a ship passing the Cove on its way to Halifax Harbor blew its horn. The third time she pried her eyelids open enough to see sunlight streaming through her bedroom window, pulled a pillow on top of her head, and went back to sleep.
Consciousness returned to her hours later, when someone slammed the front door downstairs in Nana’s house. She welcomed the day slowly, giving herself time to enjoy the drowsy feel of sleep creeping away, replaced by a growing wakefulness. The sheet felt soft and luxurious beneath her as she stretched and then curled up on her side, hugging her pillow. Her eyes drifted open and she caught sight of the alarm clock on the nightstand.
She shot straight up in bed. One o’clock? She’d slept for fifteen hours.
A smile tugged the corners of her mouth upward. Fifteen hours of dreamless sleep. Ah! What a blessing, one she would never take for granted again.
Indistinct voices drifted upward through the wooden floor. Nana had company. Probably another meeting of the overenthusiastic wedding planning committee. With a grin, Jill realized she was looking forward to hearing the ladies’ latest outrageous suggestions. Pink and blue daisies for a Christmas wedding? Well, why not?
As she dressed, she recalled Greg’s tender care last night. He would have been within his rights to ask for his ring back after she turned his meeting into a fiasco. Heat burned her cheeks at the memory. Nobody would blame him, especially her. Yet he’d brought her home, listened to her crazy-sounding explanation, calmed her, even sang to her. Was there another man in the entire world as understanding? She doubted it.
Maybe now she could put this dream behind her. Last night would become nothing more than a bad memory, a funny story for her and Greg to laugh over together in the years to come. Starting today they could move forward with their wedding, and with the start of their new life. Forget the whole disaster thing.
Except …
A sudden realization froze her hand in the act of running a brush through her hair. Except she couldn’t forget it. The dream had not returned, thank goodness. But if she thought about it, she could still feel a certainty of the impending disaster, and a sense of urgency to warn others.
It’s not over yet. Not until December 6 has come and gone.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, fighting a sudden rush of tears.
This is so unfair! Why me, God? Can’t you make this go away?
Certainly he could. So why hadn’t he? Did that mean he didn’t want to rescue her from this nightmarish situation? Maybe he was even responsible for the whole thing. He’d taken her music away from her, and still expected her to sacrifice everything else.
It was too much to ask.
Maybe she should leave town for a week and come back next Wednesday, on December 7. Sure, she’d take a little ribbing when she returned and nothing had happened on December 6, but she could handle that.
As long as nothing really did happen.
She practically jumped off the bed and crossed the room to stare out the window. The sun shone today, turning the water green-blue in the shallow sections of the channel closest to the shore. A wave crashed up onto the jagged rocks near the lighthouse and painted a bright rainbow in the air with salty spray. In the opposite direction lay the town. The familiar buildings of Seaside Cove lined Harbor Street, forming a manmade barrier that faced the Atlantic. This was her town, her home. Its residents were her extended family, even if they did think she was crazy.
With a shudder, she let the curtain drop back into place. No, she wouldn’t leave town. If something did happen, she didn’t want to be the lone survivor. Not again.
Dumb, Jill, dumb. Nothing is going to happen. This is a result of stress, that’s all. Get over it.
But how? She’d done what she was supposed to do, made a fool of herself and delivered the ridiculous warning. Why had the cloud of doom not left along with the dream?
What if she just ignored it? She’d done her duty. If people chose not to listen, her conscience was clear. She blinked a couple of times, banishing the tears that prickled in the back of her eyes. There were plenty of other things for her to concentrate on these days. A wedding. Christmas. Her students. Maybe if she ignored the feeling, it would go away. The cloud would lift and go hover over somebody else’s head. Today that felt entirely possible. With a good night’s sleep behind her, she could be strong and keep her mouth shut.
As long as the dream didn’t return and she could rest at night, this feeling of impending disaster would fade.
That’s what she’d do. Ignore it. Surely she could do that for one more week. And then, on December 7, things could get back to normal for Jill and for Seaside Cove.
I hope.
Her decision made, she felt a tiny bit better as she finished dressing. In her kitchen, she downed a full glass of water to quench a throat parched from fifteen hours without liquid, and decided against making a pot of tea. Nana probably had tea downstairs, and maybe some more of that apple bread she’d served yesterday. Jill’s stomach rumbled as she made her way down the stairs toward Nana’s kitchen.
Halfway down the staircase an odd odor reached her. She wrinkled her nose. Definitely not apple bread. Cleaning products, maybe? The sound of ladies’ voices alerted her to the presence of a group of Nana’s cohorts, but maybe they weren’t the wedding planners. Maybe they were a cleaning crew or something.
The sight that greeted her downstairs halted her progress toward the kitchen. She stood in the hallway to stare, mouth gaping, at the chaos in the living room.
The coffee table had been pushed aside and the sofa shoved back against the wall. Two large cardboard boxes had been stacked in front of the fireplace. The rug in the center of the room was covered with a white bedsheet. Arranged around the sheet, three elderly ladies perched on the sofa and chairs, and another stood with her back to Jill. Everyone’s attention was focused on Nana, on her hands and knees on the sheet, a paintbrush in one hand.
“There.” She balanced her brush carefully on the rim of a can of black paint, and surveyed her handiwork with a satisfied nod. “I think that will work just fine.”
“It looks better than I thought it would,” agreed Mrs. Montgomery.
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