by Donna Fasano
“I don’t mind admitting that I’d like to have a few kids some day,” she said.
Quietly, he replied, “You’d make a great mom, Sara.”
She glanced up at him and he added, “No innuendos intended.”
Humor made her mouth spread wide and she gave him a playful punch. “Would you cut it out?”
He laughed with her, but then his expression sobered. “So… why didn’t you? Have kids, I mean.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She watched the group of children further up the boardwalk stop off at a business to get treats. “The time was never right, I guess. Greg was busy working. I was busy building my business.” Then she grimaced and her voice dropped to a whisper as she revealed the full truth. “We thought we had all the time in the world.”
Landon slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. The silent seconds ticked on. He kissed her temple, and more silence ensued. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it an instant longer, they were besieged by a band of rowdy adolescents looking for treats.
“Yo, dude,” the tallest teen, dressed as a 60s throwback complete with greasy, slicked-back ducktail hair, shouted, “trick or freakin’ treat.”
Four of the other five teens laughed, but one girl elbowed Mr. 60s in the ribs. “Would you stop being obnoxious? Not every Baby Boomer was rude. And they didn’t all talk like a Brooklyn mobster.”
Landon pressed his lips together to keep from grinning at the young lady doing the chastising.
“Don’t flip yer wig, Amy,” Mr. 60s said. “I wasn’t being rude. Just trying to have a good time.”
Amy just rolled her eyes.
One of the other girls squealed when she saw the basket of cookies. Landon held them out to her.
“These are great.” Dressed in a dirty prom gown that had been strategically torn to expose plenty of leg and half of her ample breasts, she had painted her face and arms with stark white crackle paint. The wide ribbon sash cutting across her torso labeled her Queen of the Dead. “I’m so sick of candy bars, I think I’m going to gag. If I eat all that chocolate my face is gonna break out.”
Mr. 60s sniggered. “Is it hurtin’? Yer face, I mean? ‘Cause it’s killin’ me.”
Amy glared. “Har. Har. You’re such a twatwad, Andy. Don’t listen to him, Zoë. You look perfect.”
Queen of the Dead flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “Keep it up, Andy, and you’re going to get smacked.”
Just then a fourth teen shoved her way toward Sara and Landon.
“Hey, can you guess what I am? Huh? Can you?”
Sara’s brow knitted as she looked over the girl’s costume. She’d have loved to take a guess, but she had no clue what the girl’s costume might be. The brown lump that shot off her back was furry all over and had two legs protruding from the bottom, so it was obviously some sort of animal. However, Sara couldn’t say if it was a goat, or a dog, or a donkey. A Guernsey cow, maybe? Hmmm. She glanced underneath. No teats.
“A unicorn?” Landon blurted.
The girl’s shoulders fell and she huffed. “Do I have a horn on my face?”
“Did your doctor tell you that was a nose?” Mr. 60s needled her. “You should sue his ass.”
The boys guffawed.
“Andy!” the other two girls shouted.
Ms not-a-unicorn narrowed her eyes at Landon. “I’m My Little Pony. Jeez.”
One of the boys in the back said, “Let’s saddle her up.”
My Little Pony turned around and said, “You’re driving me nuts with that, Donny. Cut it out. I mean it.” But when she faced Sara and Landon again, the slight grin on her lips said she didn’t mean it at all.
Sara felt it was time to move this crew along. She reached into the basket and handed treats to those who hadn’t received one. “Have a great night, kids.”
A couple of them murmured their thanks as they ambled on down the boardwalk.
Once the group of teens was out of hearing distance, Landon whistled and shook his head.
“Holy hell,” he murmured. “Makes you glad you didn’t have any curtain-climbers, doesn’t it?”
Sara leaned her head back and laughed. “Teens. The bane of every parent’s existence.” She reached out and touched his forearm. “Teens are the reason the universe makes babies so cute and cuddly and loveable.”
“But they grow into that. Halloween or not, those boys were damned annoying.”
“Oh, come on.” She leaned into him, pressing her shoulder against his. “Lighten up. Teenaged boys can’t help it; they’re just at such an awkward stage. You don’t remember what it was like? How exciting it was? Dressing up on Halloween, going out with the gang, annoying the girl who, in you heart, you really liked?”
“Nope.”
His too-quick answer sort of snuffed out her humor.
“What are you talking about?” she asked. “You didn’t tease the girls you liked?”
“I didn’t go trick or treating.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.” He lifted his shoulders a fraction and let them fall. “I was sickly remember. And I lived on a farm. No neighbor for miles around. I wasn’t strong enough to—”
“That is horrible,” she proclaimed. “Absolutely horrible. No trick or treating? It’s just wrong. I mean it. Terribly wrong.” She glanced at her shop behind them. “Wait right there.”
“Where you going? Don’t leave me out here all alone. I’ll be eaten alive by all these zombies and vampires.”
Sara rushed into the shop and gathered a few items from the kitchen. When she returned, she was grinning.
“I have the perfect costume for you.”
Landon groaned. “This really isn’t necessary.”
“Of course it is. Everyone needs to dress up at least once for Halloween. Here, take this.” She handed him a rolling pin. Then she took the basket of cookie pops from him and set it on the boards. “Here, lean down a little.” She tossed the white bib apron over his head, then wrapped the strings around his waist and tied it into a bow.
“But it has your name on it,” he complained.
“Yeah.” She nodded, then explained, “You’re dressing up as me.” Then she took the chef’s hat from where it had been tucked under her arm and perched it on top of his head, fluffing it a bit so it stood up tall. “There.” She planted her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. Perfect.”
He smiled at her. “There is such satisfaction glittering in your eyes. You are one in a million, Sara. I mean it.” He switched the rolling pin from his left hand to his right, never taking his eyes off her face. “You go out of your way to make life as perfect as possible for everyone around you. Do you know how rare that is?”
The way he was looking at her, combined with the compliment he’d just given her, made Sara’s heart pinch with warmth.
“Hey,” he said quietly, “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I just have to say it. I love you, Sara. Now don’t get upset. We can take things as slow as you need. But… I just had to tell you how I feel.”
She stood there, hands on hips, smiling at him, and she tilted her head just a fraction. “I know I’ve acted crazy. So crazy that I have you second-guessing yourself all the time. I’m trying hard to get over it, Landon. I want to. I really do.” She moistened her lips and nodded slowly. “Because I’m pretty sure I feel the same way about you.”
Just then a little boy dressed as Spiderman marched up to them. “Trick or treat!”
“Here you go.” Sara picked up the basket and held it out to him. He took a cookie pop and shoved it into his plastic pumpkin that was burgeoning with treats.
“Thanks,” he told her. Then the boy eyed Landon, the frown biting his forehead a clear sign he was trying to figure out the outfit.
“You’re a cook?” he asked Landon.
“I’m a baker.” Landon raised the rolling pin so the child could see it.
His frowned deepened. “A bake
r? Named Sara?”
Landon slowly nodded. “Uh-huh. Exactly right.”
Mini Spiderman just stared. Finally, he said, “I don’t get it.”
Sara laughed.
Landon said, “Neither do I, kid. Neither do I.”
Chapter Fourteen
The sun blazed in the cloudless, cerulean sky baking the sand until it was too hot to touch with bare feet. They raced toward the shoreline, water splashing as they hit the shallows, and then he dove into a wave. He knew she wouldn’t dive in, she’d just spent money having her hair done and would be loath to get her head wet.
Warm seawater enveloped him and foamy bubbles rushed over his skin in their race toward the surface. Opening his eyes, a murky blue-green world was revealed to him. The waves above rolled in on themselves, the current ruffling and tossing his hair as if it were a Gorgonian. Rays of sunlight shot like arrows through the water, creating pools of soft light on the ocean floor.
Then he saw her. Not all of her, of course, but her feet and legs were clearly visible to him. One side of her bikini bottom rose up to expose a little of her cheek and she reached around to snag the fabric and give it a tug.
Kicking his feet and propelling himself with one powerful stroke, he dove deeper as he approached her. He reached out and lightly pinched the side of her ankle, and immediately he heard the sound of her scream, muffled by the ocean around him. She lifted both feet, treading water and frantically trying to shift her position away from whatever sea creature—or so she thought—was nibbling on her.
His laughter shot a mass of air bubbles from his mouth and nose, and as he watched them rise, he could taste the briny water.
He placed his feet on the sandy bottom, bent his knees, and pushed toward the surface. He broke it and automatically flung his head back, centrifugal force clearing his eyes and hair of water.
The sharp call of a gull overhead pierced the hot, summer air.
Landon gasped awake, opening his eyes wide. He remained still, flat on his back on the narrow twin bed, his breathing and heartbeat racing as if he’d really just been swimming and playing in the ocean rather than having dreamt the experience.
The images and sensations felt so real he expected a white gull to be perched on a piece of his bedroom furniture and the bedding to be drenched in warm seawater, but when he reached out and smoothed his hand over the spread, it was cool and dry beneath his palm. The absurdity of thinking his room might have been invaded by a seabird didn’t stop him from glancing around the room.
He threw back the covers, swung his legs out, and sat on the edge of the mattress. His bent elbows rested on his knees and he cradled his head in his hands.
What the hell? He felt like he’d lived that dream. But he’d never been in the ocean with Sara.
That had been Sara, hadn’t it?
Who the hell else could it have been?
He padded from the bedroom and down the hall, unable to shake the feeling that he’d just run from the hot sand into the waves and dived, head first, into the ocean. That he’d peered through the greenish water. That he’d seen circles of sunlight on the murky sea floor. Even now, he could almost taste the saltiness of the water, smell the tang in the air. And that gull. It seemed the bird had swooped within a few feet of his head when he’d surfaced. He was sure it had been that piercing call that had awakened him.
In the kitchen, he pulled a glass from the cabinet and turned on the spigot. He guzzled down the water as though he were dying of thirst. He set the glass down, the sharp tap of glass against tiled counter almost made him flinch.
Landon moved into the tiny living room, reached for the remote control to the gas fireplace. With the press of a button, flames shot from beneath the fake logs in the grate and a welcome heat began rolling from the hearth.
Mid-November brought a sharp chill to the air, and he was grateful for the warmth of the fire. Besides, the dancing flames usually calmed him. Usually.
He sat motionless, striving to throw off the disquiet he felt as his unseeing gaze roved the room. He was only vaguely aware of the wavering shadows thrown by the golden orange firelight.
It wasn’t as if the dreams were plaguing. They weren’t unpleasant. Not in the least. To the contrary, in fact, the images and experiences almost always brought him a feeling of buoyancy, happiness, euphoria, even.
Until he woke up.
Once he was fully conscious, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was living someone else’s adventure. Like he was eavesdropping or spying.
Like he was living in someone else’s skin.
Landon leaned forward and picked up his smart phone from the coffee table. He unlocked it and tapped the screen to open an internet browser, and then he slowly thumbed out the letters g-o-r-g-o-n-i-a-n before touching the search key. He hoped he has spelled the unfamiliar word correctly.
“Also called sea whips,” he read, “or sea fans, and are similar to the sea pen, a soft coral.”
Why would he dream a word he didn’t even know? Why, in his dream, would he liken the water flowing through his hair to a sea fan? He was from the Midwest. He came from a family that worked in the dirt. He knew crops. Corn and barley and hay. Wouldn’t he have likened the experience to wind blowing through corn silk or through a field of wheat? Even in a dream state, wouldn’t it be more natural for his brain to use metaphors he was familiar with?
Maybe he was possessed.
But he dismissed the asinine thought almost before it had completely formed in his head.
Unwittingly, he reached up and smoothed the flat of his hand across his chest. The bump of his scar made him go very still.
Maybe…
Sweat broke out on his brow and upper lip, and he felt queasy.
“No way.” He said the words right out loud. Because he needed to hear them.
Then he remembered something Heather said to him.
“Sara donated Greg’s organs.”
Why hadn’t he paid any attention to that news? Someone who’d had a heart transplant would normally take note of that kind of information. But he’d been too focused on finding out if Heather felt Sara was ready to move on after the death of her husband. He’d wanted desperately to learn that Heather thought Sara was ready to hear how he felt about her. That’s where his attention has been centered.
Then he remembered that Heather told him Greg had died two years ago.
Two years ago.
Landon scrubbed an agitated hand over his jaw, chewing over these disturbing thoughts and correlations as if they were tough gristle.
The idea was beyond ridiculous. It was ludicrous. Completely insane.
But the dreams. His overwhelming desire to see the ocean. His feeling of finding home when he’d driven into Ocean City. His sense of familiarity when he’d first met Sara. No, it hadn’t been mere familiarity. He had to confess; it had been complete and total déjà vu.
He shook his head forcefully, shoving himself up from the chair and pacing into the kitchen, then turning and walking back to stand in front of the fireplace.
This was crazy. This was demented. This was…
“Impossible,” he murmured. “Absolutely impossible.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sara blew across the slice of pizza before taking a bite. Delicious, gooey cheese remained attached as she drew the crust away from her mouth. She chuckled and reached up to pinch off the string. Landon sat across the small table, lifting his bottle of beer to his lips. He gazed across the restaurant, looking to be a thousand miles away.
Ever since Halloween when they had both confessed their feelings for one another, Sara felt their relationship had blossomed. They’d already been spending a great deal of time together, but since that night they’d been nearly inseparable.
Heather and Cath had razzed her something terrible when she had forgotten about their November girls’ night out. Landon had asked her to go to the movies and she’d accepted before remembering she had agreed to go out with them.
“You’re choosing him over us,” Heather had complained.
“It’s not him, is it, Sara?” Cathy had jeered lightly. She wiggled her eyebrows up and down. “It’s a part of his anatomy she’s choosing over us.”
Then they had laughed. The fact that Sara had assured them she intended to see the film with all of him only made them laugh even harder.
She and Landon had enjoyed the movie, and much later that same night, she had enjoyed several parts of his anatomy. Sara grinned even now at the memory.
Tonight, though, he’d seemed distant from the moment he’d picked her up at her place.
Finally, she reached out and touched his hand. “Hey, are you okay?”
He nodded, but it was an automatic reaction. Clearly, he wasn’t okay.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked. “Did something happen today?”
“Actually, it was something that happened last night.”
Landon tipped up his beer and finished it off.
“Where’s our server?” he murmured. When he caught the young woman’s eye, he lifted the empty bottle for her to see and pointed to it. She nodded and headed toward the bar. He slid the empty bottle next to the other one sitting by the salt and pepper shakers at the far side of the table.
“Eat some of your pasta,” Sara urged. “It looks delicious.”
“Not really hungry.”
Sara frowned. “You had another dream last night?”
“Yeah.” He ignored the plate of pasta primavera he’d nudged aside a few minutes earlier and laced his fingers tightly, resting his hands on the table. “Yeah, I did. And it was a doozy.”
Her pizza forgotten, she asked, “It was a nightmare this time?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t a bad dream. It was—” He shrugged. “It was quite pleasant.”
She didn’t know how to respond because she wasn’t sure what the problem was. The dreams unsettled him, she understood that much. But if the dreams weren’t frightening or threatening…