What Dreams May Come

by Kay Hooper

  Did you love him?

  After a long moment, holding on to every scrap of control she could manage, she said, “I’m glad you’re trying not to be like your father. For your own sake.” She couldn’t bring herself to refer to the far more personal note he’d finished with, too wary to invite any discussion about touching.

  Mitch didn’t press her; he merely nodded and said, “I wanted you to know.”

  After breakfast Kelly retreated to her office with a cup of coffee and tried to concentrate on work. But she found herself distracted, sitting at her desk and gazing often through the big windows. It was overcast, chilly but not cold, and the morning mist seemed reluctant to retreat so that the very air had a leaden, gray look.

  Like something pressing down insistently. That was probably it, she told herself. There was probably a low pressure front draped over them, and that was why she felt so jittery. She’d always been like a cat in her sensitivity to weather. Mitch had once told her he could always tell when a storm was coming because she’d get restless.

  He’d known so well the girl she had been. He had seen her at her best, and at her worst. Long before she’d known what to do with makeup, he’d had ample time to study her unadorned features, and it had been Mitch—and only Mitch—she had believed when he’d told her she looked just fine in braces.

  He had seen her in ratty jeans and flannel nightgowns, with curlers in her hair and a greenish mudpack on her face—and, she remembered, had withstood the shocks rather well. He had humorously endured all the wild fashion swings of her teens, his only demand that she leave her hair long and its natural color.

  And before that, before he’d made up his mind to marry her, he’d been a part of her life. He had been fifteen when Keith had first brought him to the house, and Kelly had been eight. Since Keith had never minded his baby sister tagging along, and Mitch hadn’t either, she had spent a great deal of time with them. She could remember Saturdays filled with learning to bait a hook or hit a curve ball or catch a long pass. She could remember Mitch reading to her when she was sick with the flu, and teaching her to play card games when she’d been miserable after having wisdom teeth extracted.

  He had never teased her more than she could stand, either instinct or innate kindness telling him how far he could go without seriously hurting her feelings. And when he and Keith had discovered girls, he had continued to treat Kelly rather like his own baby sister. Fiercely resentful of his attentions to those older girls, it hadn’t occurred to Kelly until she reached her own teens that she was jealous.

  Thirteen, she reflected now rather wryly, was a melodramatic age for a girl. An age of trying so desperately to be grown-up that the results were, more often than not, ludicrous. An age of wild hairstyles cemented with hair spray, of junk jewelry, of makeup and perfume inexpertly applied. An age of fervent passions about clothing and music—and boys.

  But when Kelly was thirteen, Mitch was twenty. Not a boy, but a man in college. She had tried so intensely to make him see that she was grown-up, terrified that he wouldn’t realize until too late, after some other girl had married him. Oddly enough, she had never doubted that she was the one he really loved, if he’d only just look at her.

  Sometime after her fourteenth birthday, he had.

  “Stop it,” Kelly muttered to herself aloud, realizing that she’d gotten lost in the past. “That doesn’t matter now.”

  But it did. She had known Mitch for twenty years, almost two thirds of her life, and that did make a difference.

  She refused to let herself think about it anymore. For now at least. Forcing herself, she concentrated on her work, still getting organized as she put away supplies and arranged the reference materials neatly on her desk. She kept her mind on that and managed to stay occupied for several hours, but caught herself glancing toward the windows several times. Finally, giving in to the fidgety urge to move, she went over to one of the windows and stood looking out.

  Even with the mist still clinging wispily to some of the tree branches and settling like a giant spider’s dense web into low places here and there, the view was lovely. The house was set well back from the cliffs, and the sloping grounds had been divided into a bi-level garden. Nearest the house was a flagstone terrace with wrought iron tables and chairs, heavy stone planters filled with flowering plants not yet in bloom, and a low balustrade covered in shiny green ivy.

  Between neat hedges, a flight of stone steps led down to the lower level, which was far larger and more sprawling than the formal terrace. There, flowering shrubs and ivy had been allowed to encroach on what had once been wide paths so that the area had the look of nature having reclaimed what man had attempted to master. The fact that the appearance was deliberate, Kelly thought, did not detract in the slightest from its appeal. Sections of lush green lawn were divided by groups of trees and thickets of shrubs and flowering plants, with stone benches placed here and there alive with ivy.

  Gradually, the lower level gave way almost completely to nature as at least two of the paths led to the cliffs. The ground became sandy and rocky in patches, the muted roar of the sea louder and, if it was high tide, the crashing of waves against the base of the cliffs took on a new urgency.

  I could live here always. The thought crept into her mind gently, and Kelly felt a wistful impulse to put down roots at last. It was, after all, the computer age, with the country connected by modems and fax machines; she could work anywhere.

  Without being aware of it, she lifted a hand to rest against the cool glass as she gazed out. A sense of motion caught her attention, and she watched as Mitch strolled across the terrace and took the steps down to the lower garden. He looked preoccupied, frowning a little, and Kelly felt a jolt as she recognized the expression he’d worn in her dream.

  She tried to push that out of her mind, but the scene she was looking at, the leaden gray skies and pockets of mist, Mitch walking as if with a purpose he wasn’t consciously aware of, triggered feelings of anxious urgency in her. As he moved away from her, he seemed to blur, and she found herself staring at her hand pressed to the glass.

  Ten years ago. Exactly ten years ago, though neither she nor Mitch had mentioned it. She hadn’t realized that until now, and perhaps he was unaware of dates. A hospital waiting room, bland and quiet, and a doctor’s relentless, weary voice telling her that Mitch was never coming back to her.

  “No.” She heard her own voice, loud in the silence of the room, images in her mind a confused jumble of ten years before and a dream that had terrified her. She didn’t stop to question her own compulsion; she knew only that she had to stop Mitch before he reached the cliffs.

  She ran from the room, taking the quickest route through the conservatory and the French doors opening onto the terrace. Her heart was pounding as she hurried down the steps to the lower level of the garden, her eyes searching the way ahead to catch a glimpse of his pale ivory sweater. For the first time, she cursed the organized wilderness of the garden, because the only way to get to the cliffs was by one of the paths that twisted and turned through wet greenery with maddening leisure.

  Then, finally, she took the last turn and saw Mitch. He was moving toward the wooden steps that led down to the beach.

  “Mitch!”

  He swung around to face her, the first surprise giving way to concern. “Kelly? What’s wrong?”

  She made herself slow down as she walked toward him, trying to calm the runaway pounding of her heart. It wasn’t like the dream, of course, because two feet back from the edge of the cliffs was a low stone wall to protect the unwary. And Mitch was facing her; he’d surely react if there was something behind her rushing to shove them both over the edge, even though he hadn’t in the dream.

  “The steps,” she said a little breathlessly as she reached him. “They aren’t safe.” Only as the words left her did she realize that was it. The dream made a kind of sense now, as did her urgent anxiety. The realtor had warned her that the steps needed repairing; there had bee
n some beach erosion and the support posts had been damaged.

  “I just remembered,” she went on, stopping and glancing past him at the wooden railing that appeared deceptively sturdy. “The realtor who’s been watching over the house for me said they needed to be rebuilt. He’s going to send someone out next week. I should have warned you yesterday.”

  “I didn’t go down yesterday,” Mitch said, gazing at her with an expression she couldn’t read. “But now that you’re here, why don’t we both go down? There’s another way.”

  “Is there?”

  He nodded toward the southern boundary of the property, where the low stone wall turned back inland and meandered through a healthy clump of ivy before being swallowed up by riotous hedges. “Just over the wall there. It’s a fairly steep path, but solid. Are you game?”

  Kelly hesitated. “I should go back to work.”

  “You’ve been working all morning.” He glanced briefly at his watch. “Look, it’s after eleven. Why don’t we take a walk before the tide turns, then come back here and have lunch? You’ll be fortified for a busy afternoon.”

  She felt the touch of a breeze, cool and damp, and realized that if she didn’t walk off some of her restlessness she wouldn’t be able to get any work done. Finding a logical explanation for her anxiety had helped, but she still felt a sense of pressure as if something were bearing down on her.

  Nodding an assent, she turned with him and began walking toward the south boundary.

  Mitch sent her a sidelong glance. “Storm coming?”

  She grimaced faintly. “Does it show that plainly?”

  “Not as much as it used to. You just seem a little edgy.”

  “I almost called the nearest weather bureau and asked if they knew there was a low pressure area around somewhere.” Kelly conjured a smile, reminding herself that the simplest explanation was almost always the right one. She was jittery because there was a storm on the way, and that was that.

  Smiling as well, Mitch said, “I always had a hell of a lot more faith in you than in the so-called professionals. I remember Keith saying once that even when you were a baby you kept everyone up nights if a storm was coming.”

  “If it doesn’t hit by tonight,” she said lightly, “I promise not to keep you up.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  She looked at him as they reached the wall, hearing something in his voice but not being quite able to define it. The wall was a little less than waist-high, and she got over it quickly and neatly before he could offer to help. Then, staring down at nature’s path to the beach fifty feet below, she reflected that he hadn’t been kidding when he’d called it steep.

  The path hugged the cliff, no more than a narrow walkway provided by a series of ledges almost like steps that dropped gradually to the beach. It would hardly be visible unless you knew it was there, which was why she hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Be brave,” Mitch said with a smile, obviously noting her hesitation. “I promise these steps don’t need rebuilding.” He reached out a hand and took hers firmly. “I’ll lead.”

  Kelly couldn’t have protested even if she’d wanted to, and followed as he began leading the way. She was very conscious of the warm strength of his hand and the fact that this was the first physical touch between them. And her reaction to that bothered her. The unfamiliar feelings she’d been aware of became stronger at the touch, but there was more this time than nameless longings and a strange liquid heat; she’d felt an instant sense of rightness.

  Like a connection made. A loop sealed.

  “All right?” Mitch asked, pausing on a step below her to make sure she was having no trouble.

  “Fine.” She heard her own calm voice and wondered at the sound of it. But something in her was calm, because she was following him steadily. Her mind had gone still again in that peculiar, waiting way, and the roar of the ocean pounded at her senses with its throbbing rhythm.

  She was dimly surprised when they reached the bottom and stepped out onto hard-packed sand. But she was not surprised that Mitch didn’t release her hand. They began walking up the beach. The tide had been going out and was at the bottom of the ebb now, ready to turn. Within hours the strip of sand they walked on would be buried underneath churning water. Waves would crash against the base of the cliffs, sending spray to the top if the storm had arrived by then, and the sounds would be those of impotent fury.

  “You were right about the stairs,” Mitch said, looking at them as they walked past. “The support posts at the bottom look rotten, and the railing seems loose.”

  “Dangerous the way it is,” she agreed. “I imagine stairs can’t last very long when every high tide batters them. I’ll probably have to replace them once a year.” Had the realtor done that automatically? She made a mental note, to call her lawyer and have him send her all the paperwork he had so she could see what had been done; the realtor’s accounting to her had been the records only of the past year.

  He glanced at her, then said, “So you’re planning to live here from now on?”

  “I’m thinking about it.” The realization surprised her a little, because she knew it was true. She was considering the idea very seriously.

  Mitch was silent for a few steps, then said, “It’s a long way from Baltimore.”

  Kelly looked down at their clasped hands and then fixed her gaze ahead of them. His company was in Baltimore, the only roots he had left. Steadily, she said, “There are some places you just can’t go back to. I’ll never live in Baltimore again, Mitch. All I have there are graves.”

  His fingers tightened around hers almost convulsively, then relaxed. “I can’t blame you for feeling that way. In fact, I was pretty sure you did. You’ve moved around a lot the past few years.”

  “Wanderlust,” she said, making it casual.

  “But now you’re thinking of staying here?” His tone matched hers.

  If I can. If he’ll let me. “I like it here. And I love the house. It really threw me when I first saw it. My lawyer had been pestering me about appraisals and inventories, but I just didn’t want to know the details. I suppose I still felt bitter toward your father. But I kept the place for some reason. The income took care of taxes and upkeep, so it didn’t cost me anything. Until I was offered a job in the area, I was never tempted to come here.”

  That thought prompted another that had gotten lost in the first tense moments of meeting Mitch again, and she added slowly, “How did you know I was here?”

  “The private investigator I hired found out once we traced you as far as Tucson.”

  “How?”

  “Your next-door neighbors,” Mitch replied. “A couple, apparently talkative.”

  Kelly stopped walking abruptly and turned to stare at him. “A couple?”

  “An old couple.” He frowned a little as he studied her expression. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Mitch…that building was for singles. There weren’t any couples. And no one living there was over thirty-five.” She was puzzled. More than that, really, although she couldn’t define the feeling.

  After a moment Mitch said slowly, “I didn’t talk to them myself, but the investigator did. He said they were an old couple, and your next-door neighbors at the apartment building. That they were very friendly and talkative, and seemed to care about you. They told him you’d accepted a job with Cyrus Fortune’s company in Portland.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” she protested. “Nobody like that lived in the building; after six months I knew everyone at least by sight. Besides, I didn’t tell anyone where I was going or whom I’d be working for.”

  “Maybe Fortune told them himself. As he was leaving your apartment?”

  “If he was ever there, I didn’t know about it. He came to my office at the company I was working for, ITC.”

  Mitch looked at her very intently, then said, “Why does it matter, Kelly?”

  She realized she’d overreacted, that she shouldn’t be so upset abo
ut this. Why would he have done it? What would be the point? But someone had sent her the newspaper clipping about Mitch. And someone had obviously told Mitch’s investigator where she could be found. Something cold touched her spine.

  “Kelly?”

  Abruptly, she pulled her hand away from his, unable to bear the contact. A connection, the closing of a loop. What was the loop? she wondered. Time? A sequence of events she was caught up in and condemned to repeat endlessly? And, if so, what would take him away from her this time?

  “Kelly, what the hell’s wrong?” He reached out to grasp her shoulders. “Have you been hiding all these years? Running from something?”

  With a wrenching effort she managed to drag all the scurrying fears back into their dark room and slam the door on them. Nerves, that’s all, she told herself. That’s all it was. The approaching storm was making her imagine things, making her tense and jumpy. And even if she wasn’t, this time she couldn’t run. That had already been decided.

  She looked up at Mitch, her face composed again, eyes steady. Ignoring the last few questions, she said, “I just think it’s odd, that’s all. Just like I think it’s odd your father left the house to me.”

  Mitch stared down at her for a moment, his mouth a grim slash. “Boyd told me he thought you were running, but I didn’t want to believe him.”

  “Boyd?”

  “My investigator.”

  In control again, she merely nodded. “Oh.” She stepped back, shrugging off his hands, then glanced up at the leaden sky. “We’d better get back. The storm’s almost here. And the tide’s turned.” The last observation, she thought, was strangely apt.

  She began heading back toward the house. Without a word, but with no change in his dark expression, Mitch followed.

  —

  Evan Boyd let the binoculars fall to hang around his neck. He frowned as he stood in the concealing shadows of trees just outside the boundaries of the old Mitchell property. He’d been at this game too long to allow himself even a pang of guilt at observing others without their knowledge, but he had felt a bit uncomfortable watching the two on the beach. The emotional intensity between them was almost visible, so much so that he felt he’d intruded on a moment of extreme privacy.