Lost Melody (8 page)

The last was directed at Mom in a near-shout that set Jill’s teeth together. Mom’s eyelids fluttered open.

“Is she sick?” Jill covered her mother’s hand on the blanket with hers. The skin felt cool.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Her vital signs are good this morning. The doctor is going to stop by when he does his rounds, but I doubt it’s anything serious. Probably just a cold.” Her voice rose again. “But every now and then we ought to be allowed to spend a few extra hours in bed, shouldn’t we, honey? She was served her breakfast in bed just like a queen.” The woman smiled at Jill. “She ate well, too. I don’t think there’s any reason to worry.”

The nurse left the room, and Jill forced herself to relax. Mom’s lids did not shut again. Her eyes moved in their sockets as her gaze circled the room, then came to rest on Jill. Not a hint of recognition, but at least Mom was looking at her. It was easier to carry on a conversation with her when she was in bed with her head back against a pile of pillows. At least they could make eye contact.

“I hope you’re not coming down with anything,” Jill told her. “I know how it is to get no sleep. I haven’t been sleeping well myself lately.”

An understatement of monumental proportions. A yawn took possession of her. Jill covered her mouth.

“Sorry. I didn’t go to sleep at all last night, thank goodness. I know it’s going to catch up with me sooner or later, but I just didn’t want to risk it.”

No reaction in the eyes fixed on her. In fact, a second later, the lids drooped, then closed. Jill leaned back in the chair. In some ways, visits with Mom were as good as therapy sessions with Doreen. She could pour out all her thoughts, and sometimes talking about them helped. Problems didn’t seem quite so insurmountable when she articulated them, as though finding the right words to describe them reduced their power to something more easily managed.

“I’ve been having weird dreams, Mom.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t overheard. “Well, just one dream, really. My counselor says it’s from stress because of all the changes in my life lately. Or it might be from some unresolved issues left over from the accident.”

Robert.

Jill braced herself against the pain that always accompanied thoughts of Robert. Was he somehow responsible for this dream? Not him personally, but what he represented?

And exactly what does he represent in my mind?

“We were friends.” Her whisper crept into the silence of the room. “We only knew each other a few minutes, but we became friends. Like kindred spirits or something. He knew I was a musician, even what kind of music I liked.” She brushed a finger over the diamond on her left hand. “Greg barely knows who Beethoven is.”

The realization of the sentiment she’d just voiced struck her. She rushed on. “Not that there would ever have been anything
romantic between us. It wasn’t like that. It’s just that …” She bit down on her lip, stared at the sparkling stone. “Greg doesn’t really know what I’ve lost. Robert knew. He told me God wouldn’t take away my gift.”

A bitter laugh welled up from somewhere deep in her chest. “Obviously, he was wrong about that. So I need to forget about him, put him out of my mind, and get on with my life. Maybe if I can do that, this stupid dream will go away.”

Mom’s eyelids fluttered open.

“I haven’t told you about my dream, have I? I keep dreaming that some terrible disaster is going to happen in the Cove, and that I’m supposed to warn people. Problem is, I don’t even know what this disaster is supposed to be, only the date. December 6.”

Mom’s gaze fixed on her face. Jill twisted her lips. “I know. Ridiculous, huh? Doreen says I should do whatever it takes to reduce the amount of stress in my life and the dream will go away. I’m sure she’s right.”

Mom’s right hand, the one that retained limited movement after the stroke, flew up from the mattress and began waving in the air. “Eyuah, eyuah, aaahhhh.” Her voice, so melodious and sweet in Jill’s memory, croaked the harsh, low monotone that was the only sound she’d made in nine years. Jill had long since ceased trying to interpret the unintelligible noise. The doctors said the sound was merely vocalizing, as a baby who has no words does to express feelings. But even though Mom wasn’t speaking words, the sound always meant she had something she wanted to convey.

“Mom, are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“Aaahhh, eyuah, aaahhh.” The hand gyrated in the air above the bed.

Jill’s heart sank. Most of the time Mom rested quietly, but these instances of wild, uncontrolled babble were happening
more often lately. What did that mean? Was she developing Alzheimer’s in addition to everything else?

“Eyuah, aaaahhh, eyuah, eyuah.”

Jill rose from the chair and grabbed her mother’s hand when the nurse hurried through the door.

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” Her voice wavered as she held the hand close to her chest. “Is she in pain? Has her fever spiked?”

With cool professionalism, the woman placed a hand on Mom’s forehead. “I don’t think so, but I’ll check her vitals in a second.” She bent over the bed, placed her face six inches from Mom’s, and shouted, “Lorna, do you need something?”

“Eyuah, aaaaahhhhh.”

Jill ground her teeth in frustration, both at the nurse’s shout and at her inability to understand her mother. “We were talking and she just started babbling. What does she want?”

The nurse straightened and fixed a sympathetic smile on Jill. “Honey, she does this sometimes. It doesn’t mean a thing. Probably just her way of letting us know she’s ready to get up.” She turned and shouted into her patient’s face. “Lorna, the doctor is in the building. He’ll be here in a few minutes, and then I’ll get the aide to come in here and help you get a bath and dress. It’ll be just a minute, honey.”

Amazingly, Mom’s eyes focused on the nurse, and she calmed. Her hand relaxed in Jill’s grip, and she fell silent.

“That’s better.” The nurse turned to Jill with a smile. “If you want to wait for the doctor, he’ll be in here shortly.” She patted Jill’s arm and bustled out of the room.

Jill settled back in the chair. Doubt niggled at her mind like a worm winding its way through an apple. She hadn’t said anything to set Mom off, had she? She searched the pale face resting comfortably once again on the pillows. Maybe the nurse was right,
and Mom was simply letting them know the only way she could that she was ready to get out of bed.

Still, Jill would question the doctor closely. Maybe request that he perform whatever test they could to diagnose Alzheimer’s. That would be icing on the cake, wouldn’t it? Yet another stress factor. At this rate, she’d never be able to sleep again.

N
OISE AND AN ALMOST UNCOMFORTABLE
warmth slapped at Greg when he stepped through the doorway and into The Wharf Café. He’d thought he would miss the lunch rush since it was nearly one o’clock, but every table was in use. He pulled the door closed behind him and unwound his scarf before shedding the heavy coat, his gaze sweeping the room for an empty table or at least a couple of friendly faces he could join. A few of the lunchtime regulars exchanged nods of greeting.

“Hey, there’s our next councilman!” Rowena’s cheerful voice rose over the top of her chattering patrons’ heads. Behind the counter she stood, dressed in a thick white apron over jeans and a tightly fitted T-shirt, her cheeks rosy with a becoming flush from the heat of the grill.

Heads turned, and people smiled and called greetings to Greg.

“Come on over here, darlin’.” Rowe beckoned with a long spatula. “This stool right here’s got your name on it.”

As he threaded his way through the café, people greeted him with smiles and nods. A man stood and thrust a hand toward him. Familiar face. Greg cast about in his mind for a name.

“Roy Newsome,” the man supplied. “I’m looking forward to hearing about this plan of yours tonight.”

Newsome. Lived on the outskirts of the Cove and worked for an insurance company or something in downtown Halifax. Greg had met him at a community picnic during the summer.

He grasped the man’s hand and returned a firm handshake. “Thank you, Roy. I’m glad to hear you’re coming. I hope you’ll let me know what you think.”

“I’ll do it.” The man returned to his lunch.

“Sit here, Greg.” Rowena pointed toward an empty seat at the counter, near the grill.

As he slid onto the high stool, the girl who worked weekdays for Rowena plopped a glass of ice water in front of him. She started to pull out an order pad, but Rowena waved her away.

“I’ll get this one.” Dimples appeared in the flushed cheeks she turned toward Greg. “The chowder’s good today. And I have a piece of warm gingerbread to follow it up.”

“Sounds great. You know I love your chowder.”

The dimples deepened. “I know. I made it special, because this is your big day.”

When she turned toward the stew pot, he picked up the water and sipped. It felt good to get away from the office. The cozy atmosphere of the café provided exactly the distraction he needed to help him switch gears from a morning full of legal briefs to an afternoon of preparation for his presentation tonight.

She ladled a huge bowlful of creamy chowder and set it in front of him. Fragrant steam wisped upward. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Mmmm. Smells wonderful, Rowe. Thanks.”

“Anything for my favorite customer.”

She gave him a saucy wink and returned to her position at the grill, which was situated directly in front of his stool so he had a good view of her profile as she worked. A pretty profile it was, too, and she used it to full advantage. The old fishermen who
frequented the café hung out here for the view as much as for the gallons of coffee she poured them. Greg blew on a spoonful of chowder, then savored a bite of thick soup filled with chunks of haddock and lobster.

“So, are you all ready for tonight?” She expertly flipped a burger and mashed it flat with the spatula. Grease sizzled and popped on the hot grill.

“I think so.” He scooped up another steaming spoonful and shot her a sheepish grin. “I’ve blocked off all afternoon to go over my presentation a couple of dozen times.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You lawyer-types are so obsessive.”

“Oh, I didn’t learn that in law school. I inherited that quality from my mother.”

She twisted sideways to look at him head-on. “I’d like to meet your mother. Will she be here tonight?”

“‘Fraid not. She and Dad don’t leave the orchard much after dark in the wintertime. It’s killing my dad not to be here, though.” He heaved a laugh. “He requested that I have the meeting taped so we can go over it together later. I told him no way.”

The burger done, she scooped it up and slid it onto a bun. When she’d dressed it with lettuce, pickles, and tomatoes, she handed the plate to the girl to deliver.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she tilted her head sideways. “I’d be happy to videotape it for you, if you like. I mean, I’m not a professional or anything, but I have one of those little handheld numbers. I can certainly sit on the front row and hold a camera steady.”

Greg paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. Visions of giant TV cameras on tripods scattered around the room, bright lights, and stage makeup had prompted him to dismiss his
father’s request. That would make him feel ridiculous, and Samuels would probably accuse him of trying to generate a bunch of fake hype or something. But a small, handheld home video camera on the front row would be unobtrusive. And watching the recording afterward would help him analyze his presentation skills, so he could improve the next time. Sort of like professional ball teams watched game clips.

“You don’t think people would be intimidated by the presence of a camera? I want tonight to be all about getting people’s honest reactions, and a free exchange of ideas.”

Rowe’s lips twisted and she rolled her eyes. “Trust me, honey. I’ve been talking this meeting of yours up for weeks now, and I’ve listened to what the folks who come in the café say. People are excited to hear about this plan of yours, and there’s no danger a little handheld video camera is going to intimidate them out of giving you their honest reactions.”

Greg set his spoon down and gave Rowe a long look. She really
had
been talking this up. The walls of the café were peppered with posters about tonight’s meeting, and the café’s owner had become one of his staunchest supporters in recent weeks. Rowe couldn’t stand Samuels, and that didn’t hurt Greg’s cause any with the pretty café owner. Plus, The Wharf Café was exactly the kind of business that would reap the most benefit from increased tourist trade in the Cove, but he didn’t think her support was entirely due to the possibility of personal gain. She seemed to genuinely like him.

“Thank you, Rowe. I haven’t told you how much I appreciate all you’ve done. Your support means a lot to me.”

She stepped forward and covered his hand with warm fingers. “I believe in you, Greg. You’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for.” She squeezed, and then released his hand. “For my business, I mean.”

He grinned. “Don’t suppose you’d be interested in a job as my campaign manager, would you?”

“Well, now, I just might.” A flirty twinkle flashed in her eyes. “Depends on how you handle yourself tonight.”

She disappeared through the swinging doors into the kitchen, and Greg picked up his spoon. The suggestion about becoming his campaign manager hadn’t been serious, just lunchtime banter. But now that the idea had been voiced, he liked it. Everyone in the Cove loved bubbly, energetic Rowena, and he did need the help of someone who believed in his goals for the Cove, especially if tonight went well and he got enough public support for his plan. Jill would help with some of the details as the election drew close, but she certainly couldn’t do it all, especially since she was just starting to show a few real signs of recovering from the accident.

People not only loved Rowena, they respected her. She was probably the youngest business owner in Seaside Cove, with twice the energy and five times the drive of any of the others. With money inherited after her parents’ death several years ago, she’d bought a failing restaurant, and transformed the place into a thriving hub of activity in the community. In fact, what Rowe had done with the café was exactly what Greg hoped to do with the Cove, so she was the perfect person to partner with him. The more he considered the idea, the better it felt.

He scraped out the last bite of chowder, then picked up his glass as Rowena returned. “You know, Rowe, you really would make a great campaign manager. I think we’d work well together.”

She set a huge piece of gingerbread in front of him and leaned a hip against the counter. “Oh, I’m sure we would.” The dimples appeared. “I’ve thought that for a long time.”

“So you’ll do it?”

Her gaze went distant as she considered. Then she gave a slow nod. “I think I’d like that.”

Greg grinned. “Excellent. With your help, this election will be a breeze.”

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I can tell you one thing. When I set my sights on something, I get it.” She held his gaze while a slow smile curled the corners of her full lips.

The door opened behind him. Rowe’s gaze wandered over his shoulder. Her eyes widened and the smile faded. She straightened and turned hurriedly back to the grill, leaving him with the impression she wasn’t fond of whoever had just entered the café. Curious, Greg glanced over his shoulder toward the door.

Jill stepped inside the noisy café and scanned the room for Greg. She caught sight of him seated at the counter, talking with Rowena Mitchell. The café owner leaned over the counter toward him, her attractive features arranged into a flirty and disturbingly possessive expression. A sharp pang of jealousy stabbed at Jill. What was that woman doing flirting with
her
fiancé?

She’d never been overly fond of Rowena, though obviously Greg thought highly of her. So did everyone else in the Cove. And Jill had always grudgingly admired her spunk, her determination to overcome obstacles and make her restaurant successful. But there was a reason most of her customers were men. The woman flaunted her buxom build to full advantage, which hadn’t made her many friends among the town’s women.

Until this moment, Jill hadn’t realized she’d set her sights on Greg. When did that happen?

The door whooshed closed behind her with a bang that
silenced the chatter in the restaurant. Every head turned her way.

“Hey, it’s Jill.” A big, burly figure rose from a nearby table to stand before her. “Good to see you out and about. You look great.”

Jill tore her gaze from Rowena and focused on the man in front of her. Danny Ferguson. They’d gone to high school together. She found herself enveloped in a gentle hug, while other voices around the room called out greetings. When Danny released her, she was swept into another hug, and then another, as though she was a long-lost relative coming home for a family reunion. Gosh, had it been so long since she’d seen these people? Yes, probably. For the past year she’d spent most of her time huddled in her apartment, fighting memories and losing herself in soap operas. Obviously, she’d been missed.

The last set of arms to encircle her were Greg’s. “This is a terrific surprise. We haven’t had lunch together in a long time.”

Before the accident, Jill met Greg for lunch several times a week, whenever her concert schedule allowed her to be in town. She’d forgotten. Her gaze met Rowena’s. Obviously, the time had come to emerge from her self-imposed seclusion.

“I had to escape the clutches of the wedding planners, so I dropped by your office to see how the plans for tonight were going. Teresa told me you’d be here.” Jill allowed him to lead her to the counter, and settled into the high-backed stool beside him.

When she’d returned from visiting Mom, Nana’s knitting circle had been encamped in the living room. They’d consumed five pots of tea and three loaves of apple nut bread while they examined the magazine pages Jill had dog-eared. They shot down her flower preferences like so many clay pigeons, and ignored her when she mentioned that she didn’t want a wedding cake at all. She’d slipped away when the conversation turned to newspaper announcements. Her eyes were so heavy she welcomed the
ten-block walk along the harbor in the frigid air. Anything to keep her awake until after Greg’s meeting tonight, when hopefully she’d be so exhausted she could sleep without dreaming.

Greg gave her a sympathetic smile. “You’ll probably have to suffer through more of that from my mother Wednesday night. But look on the bright side. At least it will be over soon. Imagine if you had to put up with this for months.”

“What can I get for you, Jill?” Rowena’s question was couched in friendly tones, but she didn’t quite meet Jill’s eyes.

“Just some coffee, please.” A jolt of caffeine might help. She rubbed her burning eyes.

Greg peered at her. “You look tired. Did you not sleep well again last night?”

She shook her head and stirred cream into the fragrant black liquid Rowena set in front of her. When his expression grew concerned, she flashed a quick smile. “I’ll be all right. So, are you ready for tonight?” Deflection was a tactic at which she’d become expert in recent months.

“I still have to go over my talk a few times, but I think I’m ready.” He sliced off a corner of the thick slab of gingerbread in front of him. “I have some good news. Rowe has agreed to become my campaign manager. Isn’t that great?”

Jill cast a startled glance at the woman, who was suddenly busy scraping the grill with a metal spatula.
Great?
That’s hardly the word Jill would use to describe the news. Her hand trembled as she set her spoon on the paper placemat and forced herself to speak pleasantly.

“That’s wonderful. I’m sure she’ll be a lot of help.” With exaggerated care, she raised the coffee cup to her lips and gulped the hot liquid.