Lost Melody (7 page)

“Oh, thank you, Greg.” Ruth took the cups from his hands when he entered the kitchen. “Would you like a refill?”

“Thanks, but I need to get going.” When she gave him a sharp look, he rushed on with his excuse. “Jill said I could go home and work on my speech.”

Her lips pursed as she considered, then gave a nod. “I suppose that’s important too.” She turned toward the sink with the dishes.

Greg stepped up beside her and pitched his voice low. “Is she doing okay? She seems pretty stressed today, and she mentioned she didn’t sleep well. Do you know if that’s just a one-time thing?”

Ruth glanced toward the open doorway. “Oh, I think so. She’s just experiencing the normal pre-wedding jitters.” He must have looked startled, because she rushed on. “Not about you, dear. Just about all the things that need to be done.” Her expression grew stern. “Done in a very short time, I might add.”

Of course, all those “things” weren’t really necessary, if you asked him. And Jill didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about having a wedding cake, or pictures, or anything like that either. It was Ruth who was pushing those “things.”

He had to tread lightly there, though, since obviously Ruth cared a lot about them. “Well, maybe you could encourage her not to go overboard with the planning.” He leaned a hip against the counter. “Remind her that one of the benefits we discussed about a family ceremony was not having to stress over the planning.”

He couldn’t tell if his subtle suggestion hit its mark or not. The only reaction he got as Ruth rinsed out the teacups was, “Hmmm.”

He straightened. “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

“Absolutely.” A broad smile stretched across her face. “My knitting circle is planning to get there early and sit up front.”

“Good. Ask them to leave the rotten tomatoes at home, okay?” He grinned. “Save them for Samuels’s next public appearance.”

She laughed her hearty laugh, and fell in beside him as he headed toward the front door.

In the living room, he opened his mouth to say good-bye to Jill, but snapped it shut when he caught sight of her. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, the magazine still in her hand. Her head lolled backward against the rear cushion, her eyes closed, chest rising and falling evenly. Sleep smoothed out the lines he’d noticed earlier around her eyes, and her lips were soft and pliable. He resisted the urge to brush a good-bye kiss against them, lest he wake her. The sleep would do her good.

He mouthed a silent good-bye to Ruth and tiptoed from the room.

Crushing weight. Searing heat. Icy cold fingers reaching for her, pulling her down …

Jill came fully awake with a gasp, screams from her dream still echoing in her mind. She was on her feet beside the sofa, and for a moment couldn’t remember how she got there. The scattered magazines jarred her memory. The wedding. Flowers and cakes. She’d sent Greg home to work on his speech and then she’d done the one thing she had vowed not to do.

She fell asleep.

And the dream had returned.

Her chest heaved with a sob. What was wrong with her? It couldn’t be stress from wedding planning. That wasn’t stressful. In the past ten years she’d learned what real stress meant. The loss of her father, her mom’s stroke, and finding solace in her music only to have it taken from her in the brutal accident last year. Having the only future you’d ever wanted ripped away from you, that was stressful. Having a doctor tell you another surgery would do no good, that you’d regained as much motion as you were ever going to have, that was stressful. Recurring thoughts of children flying through the air in front of your eyes and slamming into a window that was where the ceiling should have been, that was real stress. What was selecting bouquet flowers compared to that?

I’m losing my mind.

That was the only explanation for the recurring nightmare, and for the ever-increasing urge that someone wanted her to warn the people of Seaside Cove that they
must
leave. Evacuate their homes. Take their children, their loved ones, and head inland.

The feeling was so strong she found herself halfway across the room toward the front door before she realized what she was doing. With an effort, she stopped. What was she going to do, run into the street and scream at the top of her lungs?

Yes, that’s exactly what her instincts told her to do.

That’s crazy.

Which proved her point. She was losing her mind. The sight of Nana’s cozy living room blurred behind a pool of tears. Poor Greg. He was engaged to a crazy person. He deserved so much better.

God, can’t you make this dream go away? I don’t want to be insane.

Could insanity be stopped? Reversed, even? Doreen would know. That’s what she’d do. She’d call her counselor. A wild hope blossomed in her chest, but it felt alarmingly close to hysteria, so she clamped her teeth together before she made a noise that would attract Nana’s attention from the other room.

Tonight was Sunday. Doreen would understand an emergency call on Sunday, but only if it was a true emergency. Did insanity count as a true emergency?

Jill bent her forefinger and bit down on her knuckle. No. She would
not
bother Doreen on Sunday evening. The dreams were getting more vivid, and the urge to warn the people of the Cove was growing stronger with each one. But it could wait until tomorrow. Nothing would happen tonight, she was certain of that.

Because now she knew when the disaster was going to happen. Now she had been given a date.

How crazy was that?

Monday, November 28

Jill was waiting in the parking lot at seven-forty when a car pulled up in front of Doreen’s office. From the passenger seat, the counselor’s eyes connected with Jill’s through the windshield and her eyebrows arched. Doreen had once mentioned that she chose to live in a small town so she wouldn’t have to bother with owning a car. Jill switched off the engine and waited while Doreen gathered her belongings and stood. She bent to say something to the woman driving, then headed for the building carrying a briefcase, a purse, and a Starbucks cup already decorated with bright pink lip prints. The car left. Jill dropped her keys into her purse, shouldered the strap, and joined Doreen on the sidewalk.

“This is a surprise.” The counselor walked up the short walkway, jangling keys in her hand. Her pumps crunched over gritty, blue salt the maintenance people had scattered over the concrete to melt a trace of snow that had fallen during the night. “Did we schedule an appointment this morning that I forgot to write down?”

“No.” Jill clipped the word sharply. If she elaborated she
would cry, and she didn’t want to cry in the parking lot where anyone in the Cove might drive by and see her.

Doreen shot her a keen glance, dipped her head in a brief nod, and unlocked the office’s front door. She held the door open to allow Jill to enter the small reception area first. Jill stepped inside, stopped in the center of the room, and managed to wait until the lights flickered on overhead before losing her composure.

“Oh, D-
huh
- Doreen!” The words gushed out on a sob. She gulped some air. “I’m losing my mind.”

“What?” Rarely did Doreen’s professional mask slip, but this time surprise animated her features.

Jill jerked her head up and down. “I am, truly. Bonkers. Ready-for-the-nuthouse crazy. I’m having insane urges.”

“Urges?” Concern carved lines in the skin above her eyebrows. “Have you considered hurting yourself?”

“No.”

“Harming your grandmother, or Greg?”

The ludicrous suggestion shocked Jill momentarily out of her emotional outburst. “Of course not.”

Doreen’s face transformed into the calm mask Jill knew so well. “Let’s talk in my office.”

Jill followed her through the outer door, past the deserted receptionist’s desk, and waited while she unlocked the inner office door. The instant Jill stepped inside the familiar room, the knotted muscles in her shoulders started to relax. This was a safe place. She could talk freely here, and together she and Doreen would figure out what was going on. She dropped into her regular chair.

Instead of taking her usual seat, Doreen stood in front of Jill and leaned against the desk. She did not, Jill noticed, pick up a pen or reach for her notepad. Did that mean this wasn’t an official
session? She folded her fingers and let her hands hang casually in front of her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s that stupid dream. It keeps coming back, and it’s not the sleeping pills. I haven’t taken any more of those.”

“Jill, we talked about this on Friday. Dreams aren’t uncommon when someone has suffered a traumatic event, as you have.”

“I know, but this one is making me want to …” In her lap, the fingers of her right hand pressed against the scar on her left until pain shafted up her arm. “To do something.”

“What does the dream tell you to do?”

Her throat burned like the Sahara in August. “Warn people about a disaster that’s coming to Seaside Cove.” She risked an upward glance and felt a ridiculous sense of relief when Doreen’s expression remained impassive.

“What kind of disaster?”

“I wish I knew.” Jill propelled herself out of the chair and paced to the center of the room, ignoring the twinge of pain in her injured hip the sudden movement caused. “It’s all jumbled together. I see flames and water, feel hot and cold.” She pressed her hands against her ears. “I hear people screaming.”

“Like the screams on the subway?”

She shook her head. “No. These are different. Farther away or something.” Her hands tightened into fists. “It’s not the subway accident. This is something different, something worse. And I have to tell people, warn them to leave the Cove before next Tuesday.”

Doreen’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “You have a date?”

Miserable, Jill nodded. “Tuesday, December 6. Eight days from today.”

For one moment, Doreen studied her face. Then she picked up a pen from the cup on the corner of her desk and slid into her
chair. Relieved, Jill returned to her own seat. Now maybe they could get to the bottom of this.

The counselor clicked the pen. “How are the wedding plans coming along?”

“Nana has taken charge.” Jill pulled a grimace. “She and her friends have all kinds of ideas.”

“Hmm. And how did the piano lessons go on Saturday?”

“Fine. Great, in fact. One of the girls has a lot of natural talent.”
No doubt where this line of questioning was going.
Jill leaned forward. “I know what you’re thinking, but this dream isn’t related to the wedding or my students.”

“Are you certain of that?”

Jill hesitated. She wasn’t certain of
anything
lately. Today, all she felt was exhaustion from sitting up all night, afraid to fall asleep again.

Doreen went on. “Perhaps this recurring dream is your subconscious mind’s way of telling you that you’re moving too quickly. There are still some traumatic experiences you have not faced about the subway accident, and maybe it’s time to resolve them before you can truly put the event behind you and move forward.”

“I’ve resolved everything,” Jill insisted.

The counselor’s eyebrows arched. “Even Robert?”

Jill’s protest died on her lips. No, she hadn’t resolved Robert’s death. And she didn’t want to. That was too harsh, too unfair. Too painful.

“Jill, what if you talked to Greg and requested to postpone the wedding for a few months?”

“No.” She couldn’t do that. Didn’t want to do that. She loved Greg, and there was no reason to wait to begin their life together. “No, I want to get married on Christmas.”

“Then what about putting the piano lessons on the back burner for a while? Just a few months, until the rush of the holidays and the wedding are over.”

That’s what she’d wanted to do from the beginning. If Nana hadn’t pushed her into starting immediately, she wouldn’t have begun for several months. And yet, could she call Kaylee and tell her to come back in six months? The shy girl’s face flashed into focus, so excited and proud as Jill lavished praise on her. No, she couldn’t disappoint the child that way.

“I don’t want to do that either,” she told Doreen.

A prolonged silence fell between them. Jill shifted her weight in the chair.

Finally, the counselor clicked the pen. “Jill, I don’t think you’re losing your mind.”

Hope soared like a bird in springtime. “You don’t?”

“No. But you are obviously under a tremendous amount of stress. That’s completely understandable, given your past trauma and the recent changes in your life.” She leaned forward, her arms resting on her thighs, and held Jill’s gaze. “I’d like you to make an appointment with Dr. Bookman to talk about an anti-anxiety medication.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea.” Jill didn’t bother to filter the sarcasm out of her voice. “Pop a pill and
voila!
The dreams will disappear. Although I won’t want to do anything except sit in a corner and tie knots in string or something, but at least I won’t dream.”

Doreen’s laughter filled the room. “When did you become so dramatic? We’re not talking about an antipsychotic medication. You won’t have a sensation of being drugged. In fact, the only way you’ll be able to tell you’re taking anything at all is that you’ll feel better able to cope, and you’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep. And let me repeat what I said a minute ago, in case
you didn’t hear me: You are not going insane. Anti-anxiety meds are just one part of a stress-reduction regime that can help you manage until your life calms down a bit. This doesn’t have to be permanent.”

Jill tried not to feel offended by Doreen’s laughter. Didn’t she realize how upsetting this dream thing was? How close Jill had come to running into the streets and making an idiot of herself like some sort of doomsday prophet?

Still, there was no doubt at all the stress was getting to Jill. Maybe Doreen was right. “What do you mean by a stress-reduction regime?”

“There are things you can do in combination with medication to help manage your stress level.”

“You mean take up yoga or something?” That sounded more like something she could do. She’d done some yoga in college.

Doreen nodded. “Relaxation techniques are terrific. Rigorous exercise is also a great way to reduce stress. Whatever it takes, that’s what I think you should do.” The pen clicked closed and went back in the holder. “Now, I’ve got a client coming at eight, so I’m afraid we have to end this session.”

Jill picked up her purse and followed the counselor to the door. Nothing had really been resolved, but oddly, she felt a tiny bit better. Maybe all she needed was to try those yoga techniques she’d learned years ago. Or join a gym, or something.

The counselor stopped in the doorway. “If you like, Nora can make that appointment with Dr. Bookman for you.”

“Okay, thanks. And, uh,” Jill gave her a sheepish smile, “sorry for the unscheduled visit.”

Doreen shook her head, smiling. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you came.”

She disappeared into her office, and Jill made her way to the
front door. The receptionist, now at her post behind the window, spoke quietly into a phone she held up to her ear. Jill fastened the last button on her coat and waited for the woman’s conversation to end. Should she wait and ask her to call Dr. Bookman’s office?

A moment later, Jill left the building. She was certainly capable of making her own appointment. In the meantime, she intended to try some of the other stress management techniques. Immediately.

When Jill entered her mother’s room at Centerside, she stopped short. Mom lay in bed, still dressed in her nightgown and propped up on a pile of pillows, her eyes closed. Jill glanced at her watch. Ten minutes past eight. Mom’s regular morning routine was for the nurses to get her up, bathed, dressed, and at the breakfast table by seven thirty. Why was she still in bed? Jill whirled and marched to the empty nurse’s station at the end of the hall, where she stood, tapping her fingers on the high counter and waiting for someone to come.

A nurse’s aide wheeled an elderly man out of his room nearby and headed down the wide hallway. Jill recognized her as one of the aides who helped take care of Mom.

“Excuse me.”

The girl turned and, when she caught sight of Jill, smiled. “Good morning, Ms. King. You’re here early today, aren’t you?”

What was that supposed to mean? Did she need to call and make an appointment to visit her own mother? Or did they only get Mom out of bed at a decent time when they knew Jill was coming?

Calm down. That’s not true, and I know it.

She dug at her burning eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Lack of sleep was muddling her thoughts.

She schooled her voice into a pleasant tone. “I was just wondering why my mother isn’t out of bed yet.”

The elderly man in the chair raised his head and extended his neck toward Jill. “Lazy!” His shout startled Jill so that she jumped backward. “No good lazy slob won’t get a job.”

Jill stared at the man, mouth dangling open.

The aide patted the man’s shoulder. “Now, Mr. Jeffries, we’re not talking about your son. We’re talking about Lorna King. You know she doesn’t have a job.”

“Well, he ought to get out and find one, no matter what his mother says.” Bushy gray brows dropped down over his rheumy eyes. “No excuse. I’m not supporting his lazy hide another day. I’m putting my foot down, I tell you.” He raised his knee and stomped down on the wheelchair footrest with force.

The aide’s shoulders lifted slightly in an apology. “Mrs. King didn’t have a good night last night, so she was tired this morning.”

“Is she sick?” Jill asked, concerned.

“She does have a slight cough.” The girl’s face cleared. “I’ll ask the nurse to stop by her room and answer your questions.” She wheeled Mr. Jeffries away.

Jill returned to her mother’s room. Mom had not moved, but lay sleeping with her hands resting at her sides and her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The drawn side of her face wasn’t nearly as noticeable in this position, and gravity smoothed away some of the wrinkles from the gaunt skin. She looked peaceful in sleep.

At least one of us is getting some sleep.

Jill dismissed the bitter thought and scooted a chair near
the bedside. The pleasant odor of lemons gave evidence that the room had recently been cleaned, and Mom’s silvery hair showed signs of being brushed. Some of the tension left her muscles. Obviously Mom hadn’t been ignored this morning.

A rustling noise behind her announced the presence of the nurse. Jill turned.

“Good morning.” The woman smiled as she bustled around Jill to stand at the head of Mom’s bed. “The night nurse said Lorna wasn’t feeling well last night. Her temperature was slightly elevated, and she had a cough. Didn’t you, honey?”