Chapter 20

Friday, December 2

“Can you believe they’re already out front?” Nana stood at the front window peeking through the curtains when Jill came downstairs.

“Yes, I saw them from upstairs.” Jill popped a last bite of toast into her mouth and took her coat down from the rack. “Just two cars, though. Not as many as yesterday. At least they’re across the street. I should have time to run to my car before they stop me.”

“If they come into my yard I’ll have them thrown in jail.” Nana picked up a digital camera from a stand near the door and wielded it like a weapon. “I’ll provide photographic proof they trespassed.”

“Good idea.” Jill wrapped a long scarf around her neck. “What’s on the agenda today?”

Nana glanced at her watch. “The girls will be here at nine. Eloise is bringing her SUV, and Myrtle got her son’s truck so we can carry the signs. We’re going to split into two teams and deliver them around town.”

Guilt stabbed at Jill. They were doing all the work. “I have my counseling appointment, and then I need to go see Mom since I didn’t make it yesterday. If you wait until this afternoon I’ll go with you.”

Nana waved the offer away. “Everything’s under control. But don’t forget you need to work on your notes for the meeting with CBC tomorrow.”

“I will. See you this afternoon.”

Jill dug her car keys out of her purse and grasped the remote, her finger ready to push the Unlock button. She touched the door handle and paused to gather her nerve. Nana turned on her camera.

“Ready?” Jill asked.

Nana nodded.

Jill opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Across the street, two people got out of a Ford Explorer parked on the side of the road, and two more emerged from a Honda. A man and three women headed across the street toward Jill.

“Stop!” Nana ran down the porch stairs in front of Jill, her hand held up like a traffic cop. “If you come onto my property, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.” She brandished her camera to show she meant business.

“We need to know what’s going to happen on Tuesday.” The man, bundled in a blue ski jacket, stopped at the edge of the street. “Please. You have to tell us.”

At least he wasn’t shouting derisive names at her. These must be people who believed her. The plaintive plea in his voice struck a chord of sympathy in Jill. She didn’t stop advancing toward her car, but she did answer the man. “I’m sorry. I don’t know any details, only that it’s going to happen a little past ten in the morning. If you want to be safe, be out of town before then.”

“How far out of town?” The nose of the woman standing next to him was apple red. She shivered in the cold wind. “Is Halifax far enough, or should I take the kids to my sister’s in Quebec?”

The car locks clicked open when Jill punched the button. “I think Halifax is far enough.” She shook her head and gave the woman an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew more.”

When she opened the door, the man stepped up onto the curb as if he would try to stop her from leaving. Nana erupted into action. She ran toward him, waving her empty hand like she was shooing chickens.

“I won’t have people tromping around in my yard. We’re meeting with CBC at three o’clock tomorrow. Jill will tell the newspeople everything she knows. You can watch it on television tomorrow night.”

“But I warn you,” Jill added, “I don’t have many answers. I’m just as confused about this whole thing as everyone else.”

She slid into her car and started the engine. The people headed back across the street, talking amongst themselves as they got into their vehicles. That wasn’t so bad, not nearly as painful as yesterday’s encounter. A little awkward, though. In a way, she almost wished the dream would return one more time. Then maybe she would notice more details, so she’d have more to report.

Chuckling at the weird turn her thoughts had taken, Jill pulled out onto the street and headed for Doreen’s office.

“You look much better today,” Doreen told her when they were seated in her office.

“I feel much better.” Jill smiled. “It’s amazing what a few nights of good sleep will do for you.”

“So the dream hasn’t returned? What about the memories of the accident?”

Jill shook her head. “I doubt if I’ll ever stop having reminders of the accident, but they haven’t been bothersome. And no more dreams. The feelings are still here, though. I’m still certain something terrible is going to happen on Tuesday, and I still want to warn people to leave the Cove.” She looked away, not sure how Doreen would react to the next piece of news. “Actually, I’ve decided to do just that, warn people. I don’t see how I can do anything else and live with myself. Here, I want to show you something.”

She took her father’s letters from her purse and let the counselor read them. The professional mask remained in place as she passed them back to Jill.

“So you believe you’ve inherited an ability to see the future in dreams?”

Only Doreen could deliver a question like that without a single inflection in her voice. Still, every word sounded saturated with disbelief to Jill’s ears.

She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “I don’t know what I believe. All I know is I’m not going to have the guilt of death hovering over my head if my dream turns out to be true.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Greg asked the same thing. If it doesn’t, then I’ll publicly eat crow and be happy about it. It’s not like I want to see a disaster happen.”

Doreen’s head tilted. “What else does Greg say?”

Jill shifted in her chair and examined the carpet between her feet. “He thinks I heard about my father’s dreams when I was a kid and my subconscious has built this whole thing up because I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and December 6 is so close to the one-year anniversary of the subway accident.” She glanced up at Doreen’s face. “Do you think that’s possible?”

“Certainly it’s possible. PTSD can manifest in a lot of different ways.”

The counselor’s voice held a note of hesitation that snagged Jill’s attention. She waited out a long silence where Doreen appeared to be attempting to study the inside of Jill’s head by peering through her eyeballs.

Finally, Doreen’s rigid posture relaxed. “Frankly, you don’t show as many of the classic signs of PTSD as you did six months ago. You’re no longer afraid of being in a crowd. You’re getting out of your apartment more and more. Our sessions for the past few months have focused on moving forward, not looking back. Except for this recent occurrence, you sleep well. You have had these dreams, yes, but those who suffer from PTSD typically dream of the traumatic event, not future events. I do still have an area of concern, though.”

“What is that?” The minute the question left her mouth, Jill knew the answer, but she still winced when she heard it.

“Robert. Your inability to learn details of his life indicates you’ve not yet faced his death. And since that death is closely related to the loss of your career, I think finding out about him is an important step toward your full recovery.”

Jill recognized the truth in the counselor’s words. A couple of times she’d actually picked up her laptop with the intention of finding out more about Robert, but so far she hadn’t been able to do it.

“What did Dr. Bookman say when you spoke with him?”

“I haven’t actually met with him yet.” She tried to look innocent. “I do have an appointment, though. Wednesday afternoon.”

Doreen’s lips twitched. “Wednesday. The day after December 6?”

“His schedule was full this week, and I’ve got a lot going on the first couple of days next week.” Jill gave a sheepish grin. “At least, I think I do.”

The counselor actually chuckled. “I suppose you do.” The laughter ended and she became serious. She leaned forward and held Jill’s gaze. “If you become anxious, or overwhelmed, or experience any feelings you think are cause for concern, promise you’ll call me. No matter what time it is.”

“Wow. You’re giving me free reign to wake you up in the middle of the night?”

Jill would have laughed, except Doreen’s expression made laughing impossible. Apparently, she really was concerned that Jill would have some sort of breakdown and … what? Kill herself, maybe? Grab a blowtorch and create her own disaster if nothing happened Tuesday morning? Either idea was ludicrous. But if it made Doreen feel better to say it, fine.

“I will,” Jill promised.

“Good.” Doreen clicked her pen shut and dropped it in the holder. “Then unless you call, I’ll see you next Friday.”

Jill almost responded, If we’re still here, but decided against it. Who knew how a therapist would interpret a statement like that?

When Greg entered his law office, he found Teresa already seated at her desk, a telephone propped against her ear.

“Yes, Mr. Vickers, I’m sure he’s aware of the ordinances concerning owners cleaning up after their animals.” She grimaced at Greg. “No, sir, he can’t do anything about that. He hasn’t been elected yet. Have you tried talking to your neighbor about her cat?”

Greg laughed silently and started toward his office. She waved him to a halt.

“Yes, I will certainly give him the message. Thank you for calling, Mr. Vickers.”

She hung up the phone with one hand while the other finished writing on the message pad. “You would not believe the answering machine this morning. Thirteen messages.”

“Please tell me they weren’t all from people wanting me to clean up after their neighbors’ pets.”

“Oh, no. Only one of those.” Her lips formed a prim bow as she handed him a stack of pink notes. “Most of them are about Jill.”

He froze in the act of taking the messages. “Bad?”

“Well, they’re not good.” She folded her arms across her chest and rocked back in the chair, eyes fixed on him. “What is going on with her, Greg? Is she okay? You know.” A pink polished fingernail tapped against her temple.

Greg avoided her gaze under the guise of scanning the stack of messages. “She’ll be fine. She’s under a lot of strain right now.” The excuse was starting to grow thin with overuse.

“Well, you haven’t asked for my opinion, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. Her behavior isn’t doing your reputation any good.” She nodded toward the pink slips. “You’ll see when you read those.”

Torn between telling her to mind her own business and thanking her for sharing her opinion, Greg chose to do neither. He jerked his head once, and headed for the refuge of his office.

“Someone left you a present on the front porch last night. I put it on your desk.”

A present? Christmas was still weeks away, and his birthday wasn’t until May. He stepped into the office, his gaze drawn to the desk.

In the center lay a bunch of bananas. When he approached, he saw they’d each been written on with a black marker. In block letters, five said, “Jillian King.” The sixth read, “You, if you stay with her.”

The message was clear. Jill was bananas, and if he didn’t distance himself from her, so was he.

Jill turned onto the street where she and Nana lived. Sunlight glinted off the windshield of a van parked across from the house. For a moment, she was tempted to drive past and come back later. But where would she go? Greg was working, and she’d already spent an hour at the nursing home.

The spark of awareness she’d seen the other day in Mom didn’t reappear. Instead, Jill had filled the time with one-way chatter, Mom’s dull eyes fixed on a distant object visible only to herself. Of her dream, Jill said only, “Nana and I have made some signs warning people about Tuesday.” She felt uncomfortable saying more, because the nursing staff hovered near the door, watching her with surreptitious gazes. After an hour, she kissed her mom and left.

After the nursing home, she’d driven into the city for a visit to the music store. Mariah and Kaylee needed lesson books, and she’d picked up a few extras to have on hand for future students. She had not stepped inside a music store since before the accident, and was pleased to experience not even a twinge of discomfort. She’d left the store smiling.

Eyeing the van across the street from her home, Jill’s spirits flagged. The loony tune taunt still rubbed against her feelings like sandpaper. Would she have to run a gauntlet of insults to get into her own house?

At least it was only one van. Resigned, Jill pulled into the driveway and parked her car. While she gathered her purse and music books, she kept an eye on the rearview mirror. The van’s side door opened, and she caught a glimpse of movement inside, but nobody immediately emerged.

Curious, Jill got out of her car and watched. A woman hopped out, cast an anxious look her way, and fixed a ramp to the side of the van. Then she climbed back inside and a moment later, appeared again walking backward down the ramp, pulling a wheelchair.

When she reached the ground and turned, Jill saw that the person seated in the chair was a child. A tickle of unease erupted in her stomach. What was that woman doing bringing a disabled child here?

“Are you Jillian King?” Anxious eyes searched her face as the two approached.

“Yes, I am. May I help you?”

The child was bundled against the cold, but the woman wore no coat. Her throat convulsed with a swallow. “I hope so. No one else has been able to.”

Jill smiled at the little girl. The child’s mouth slacked open, her head held to the wheelchair’s high backrest with a strap around the forehead. Jill couldn’t see her limbs, but one mittened hand curved sharply inward, and beneath the thick blanket the bulge from one leg twisted at an awkward angle to the other.

“I saw you on television last night, and I know it’s a long shot, but I wondered if you could help Rachel.”

Jill shook her head, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“We’ve tried everything. Doctors. Herbalists. Physical therapy. Everyone says there’s no cure.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what help I can be. I’m not a doctor.”

“I know, but you had that dream, so there’s something special about you.” Desperation choked the woman’s voice. “I thought maybe you could heal her.”

Shock slapped Jill like a lightning bolt. “Excuse me?”

“The last doctor we visited said it would take a miracle, so when I saw you on television I thought you might be able to do a miracle.”

The child watched her with a familiar dull gaze. Jill saw that same vacant stare almost every day when she visited Mom. An ache flared in her chest, and she took a backward step. “I — I can’t heal anyone.”

The woman pushed the chair forward. “Won’t you try? We’re desperate.”

Tears blurred Jill’s vision. If she could heal, wouldn’t she have healed herself and her own mother a long time ago? When she was fourteen she’d begged God to heal Mom; his answer was no. “I wish I could help, but I can’t.”

The look of defeat on the mother’s face sent a blade of pain knifing through Jill’s heart. She couldn’t stay there, not another minute.

“I’m sorry.”

Tears spilled over her cheeks as she turned and fled to the porch. Her fingers fumbled to get the key in the lock, but she finally did. Inside the house, she managed to get the door closed before she collapsed on the bottom step leading up to her apartment. Her sobs echoed up the stairway.