Chapter 10

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?”

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.