The moment James died she was abruptly shoved out of his body. The pull of her physical body trying to reclaim its essence grew stronger, but she fought to hover over her old friend, watching and praying while the hospital staff tried to bring him back to life. But it was too late and his soul departed from the lifeless fleshly shell tying him to earth. She felt gentle phantom lips brush her cheek and then she was back inside her own body.
Her chest heaved and her eyelids flew open. For a moment she stared at the ceiling, allowing her eyesight to adjust to the bright, glaring light. And then slowly, painfully, she sat up. Her body felt like it had been put through a wringer. Numbly, barely conscious of her actions, she unhooked herself from the monitor, steadfastly ignoring its protesting whine. She yanked the drip from her arm and swung her legs from the bed.
She wore one of those awful hospital gowns. Ick. Where had they put her clothes?
A man bolted through the doorway, nurses in tow. He skidded to halt, open-mouthed.
Rowan stared at his red hair and freckle-smattered face. He seemed familiar. From the depths of her mind she latched onto a memory. Ah. The doctor who’d treated her last time she’d had one of her inconvenient public blackouts. Dr Kearney. Yes, that was it. Kearney. “I’d like to go home now, Dr Kearney.”
He didn’t respond.
“Please?”
“Ms Havers.”
Rowan slowly nodded.
“I see you’re feeling better.” He fiddled with the monitor and the annoying whine cut off.
Not really. But she nodded again, struggling to keep the overwhelming desolation of losing James buried so she could function.
He turned and muttered something in an aside to the nurses. They glanced at each other doubtfully, but turned on their heels and departed. “Why don’t you get back into bed, Ms Havers?” Dr Kearney said, his tone careful.
She shook her head. “I want to go home now. My dog’s been left inside all this time.”
He seemed to be waging an internal debate, choosing his words. “Sounds all too familiar, Ms Havers. Last time you wheedled me into discharging you against my better judgment. And here you are again. It’s like this, Ms Havers. You were comatose. You weren’t—”
“Rowan.”
“What?” He frowned.
“My name is Rowan.”
He compressed his lips and his face turned as red as his hair. Now he seemed to be counting beneath his breath. “Fine, then. Rowan. When you were brought in you weren’t responding to any external stimuli. Now you’re on your feet asking to go home. Don’t you think we should try to find out what happened to you?”
She tossed him a wan smile. “I know exactly what happened to me, Doctor. And it’s nothing you can fix. So can I go home now? Please? It’s been a rough night. I-I… lost a friend tonight. He had a heart attack. I-I thought he was going to make it, but…. He died.” She hunched, covering her face with her hands.
“Funny thing,” Dr Kearney said in a suspiciously conversational tone that had Rowan instinctively tensing. “Shortly before I came racing in here to check why your monitors had gone haywire, I was informed the man you were brought in with passed away. But you were still—” He huffed a sharp breath. “How could you possibly know he died?”
When she didn’t answer he perched next to her on the edge of the bed. “He was a good friend, then?”
She nodded. “James is… was my neighbor.”
“Ah. The one who fed your dog when you were last here.”
“Yes.”
“He was a tough old bird. He hung in there for quite a while. I’m sorry for your loss.” He paused. “And I know at times like this ‘I’m sorry’ is woefully inadequate.”
Rowan badly wanted to cry but if she started she’d not be able to stop. She sniffed back the tears.
“Can I at least check you over quickly before you walk out of here? No blood tests or anything. Promise.”
“Make it quick. I need to get home.”
Dr Kearney checked the crease of her inner elbow joint and pressed a sterile dressing over the small wound made by the IV line. Then he checked her blood pressure and ran through what Rowan figured were a few basic physical tests. He scratched his head, puffing out his cheeks and exhaling in a series of small breaths. It sounded like he was blowing soft raspberries. In any other circumstances she might have giggled.
“You seem fine,” he said. “At least, so far as I can tell without seeing any test results you seem fine. Legally I guess I can’t stop you walking out of here. But I’m sorely tempted to sedate you to keep you here for a few more hours just to satisfy my curiosity.”
She shot him a wide-eyed horror-filled glance. “You wouldn’t!”
“No, but it’s very, very tempting. I’m extremely unhappy about discharging you when you’re going to be on your own. Don’t suppose you’ve gotten a convenient boyfriend since I saw you last?”
She immediately thought of Ryley but God only knew how to reach him. She shook her head, noting with a sinking feeling in her stomach that Dr Kearney appeared even more unhappy… if that was at all humanly possible.
Inspiration struck and she sagged with relief. “There is someone I could call. He’s a pediatrician. Will that do?”
Dr Kearney tugged on the stethoscope he’d draped about his neck. “You insist on being discharged?”
She tilted her chin. “When I find my clothes I’m out of here.”
He sighed. “Give me his name—this friend of yours.”
“Dean. He works up at the Seaview Children’s Home.” She didn’t have a clue whether he’d still be working at this hour. Please, please let him be there.
“Dean Milton?”
“Yes. We call him Doctor Dean.”
“That’d be right.” Dr Kearney rolled his eyes. “Does he still look like he’s just crawled out of bed?”
She cast her mind back to the pediatrician’s rumpled clothing. “Yeah. He does.”
“Right. Doctor Dean it is. Sit tight and I’ll make the call for you.” He paused in the doorway to level her a stern look. “And I mean that. Sit tight. Stay here. No doing a disappearing act as soon as I leave. If you do, I’ll hunt you down and drag you back here so I can find out exactly what’s up with you—even if it does cost me my license.”
Her jaw dropped.
“Kidding. Kind of. Please stay here until I get hold of him.”
He gave her puppy-dog eyes and despite her fears she felt her lips tilting into a reluctant smile. “All right, Dr Kearney,” she said. “I’ll stay put.”
“Call me Steve,” he said as he exited.
She shuffled back onto the bed and leaned against the pillows. She’d give him ten minutes to get hold of Dean and then she was out of here. Lacking her watch, she passed the time by counting off the seconds in her head. Anything was better than dwelling on how she’d failed to save James. How much she missed him already. And how much she wished Ryley was here to hold her tight and help her to forget again. Just for a little while.
~~~
Steve Kearney gnawed his lip as he hurried to the nurses’ station. There was something very strange going on with the attractive and enigmatic Ms Rowan Havers. He’d give his eye teeth to find out what she wasn’t telling him. “Hey, Laverne,” he said to the receptionist. “Get me Dean Milton from up at the Kids Home, will ya?”
The receptionist gave him “you gotta be kidding me” eyes. “At this hour?”
Steve glanced at his watch. Just gone eight. “Dean doesn’t have a life. Guarantee he’ll be there. And can you do me a favor please?”
Laverne raised her eyebrows. “Depends.”
“That guy from the Lab still crushing on you?”
She grinned. “You bet your skinny white ass he is. Want quick results on the blood workup for that pretty young thing down in Room 202, eh? You’ll owe me. Big time.”
“You know I’m good for it.” He winked at her.
“Sure you are.” She held up a hand. “Seaview Hospital here. Dr Dean Milton, please. Thank you. Dr Milton? One moment, please.” She passed Dean the phone.
Thanks, Laverne, he mouthed. “Hey, Dean. Steve Kearney. Got a Rowan Havers down here. She’s asking for you. You know her? Good. No, no. She’s okay. At least, she is now. She’s insisting on being discharged but she’s on her own and I’m not too happy. Can you come get her? I’ll explain when I see you. Yeah. Thanks. See you soon.”
He turned to Laverne, who wasn’t even trying to pretend she hadn’t been eavesdropping. She smirked at him. “She got to you, huh?”
“Yeah. There’s something about her—” He shook himself. “Could you tell Ms Havers her friend Dean Milton will be here in fifteen to pick her up? Don’t want her getting impatient and walking out on us.”
“Will do. And Dr Kearney?”
“Yes, Laverne?”
“Don’t get too involved.”
“Yes, Laverne. I mean, no, Laverne.”
She rifled around in her bag and produced a comb and mirror. She ran the comb through her hair and pursed her lips at her reflection. “How do I look?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
“Damn fine, Laverne. Though I’m not sure Ms Havers will care too much.”
She gave him superb evils.
“Lab Man, on the other hand,” Steve hastened to add, “will be putty in your hands.”
“That’s the plan.” She reapplied lipstick and gave her hair a final pat.
“Lab Man doesn’t stand a chance,” he assured her with a perfectly straight face.
“You’re so right about that.” She sashayed off with an exaggerated sway of her ample rear.
“Don’t forget to tell Ms Havers that her ride will be here soon,” he called after her.
“Now when do I ever forget to do anything for you, Dr Kearney?”
Steve waited until Laverne was out of sight before appropriating her chair and bringing up Rowan’s medical records on the monitor. He scanned the notes from her previous admissions. Nothing leaped out and grabbed his attention, and there was nothing much to add with the test results still pending. He leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers and staring into space.
On impulse he brought up the general admission records for all patients admitted that evening. James… James…. Aha. James Woodford. He hesitated, finger poised over the keyboard. He had no valid reason to be nosing at these records, but dammit, there was something important he was missing. Something he suspected might tell him more about Rowan Havers.
He selected James Woodford’s past medical records and scanned the screen. Hmmm. Not much to go on.
Steve swiveled in the chair and rummaged around Laverne’s desk until he located a written file labeled ‘Woodford, James, Mr’. The old man’s attending was a stickler for rules and regs, and so anal about efficiency he’d already written up all his case notes and given them to Laverne to input and file.
He read over the notes. Two hours after being admitted, James Woodford had suffered a massive myocardial infarction. Resuscitation attempts had been unsuccessful and he’d been pronounced dead. Very straightforward… on the surface. Except the old man had been in full cardiac arrest when the medics arrived at his house. They’d been about to use the portable AED when his heart spontaneously restarted and he’d begun breathing on his own.
Okay. Miracles like that happened all the time. But what of the fact Rowan had immediately lapsed into a coma? So far as Steve was concerned, that’s when things started to go all Twilight Zone.
To help get everything straight in his head he scribbled a rough timeline on a piece of blotter paper. Consulting both computer screen and the written files, he jotted relevant events beneath each time he’d listed.
Right. Rowan had made the emergency call, so she was conscious and compos mentis at the time James had his heart attack. When the medics arrived, Rowan was still conscious and James was in full cardiac arrest. Then James had apparently rallied at the same time Rowan crashed. His vitals had been strong and steady, but he’d been non-responsive. And Rowan’s coma-like state had lasted until— He consulted the records. Huh. Rowan had regained full consciousness literally moments after James Woodford was pronounced deceased.
His intuition made a huge leap into unknown territory. It was like she’d been linked to the old man somehow. What if… Rowan Havers had somehow been keeping the old man alive? And… when he’d died, she’d come out of her coma.
Deep in Steve’s gut the bizarre idea resonated as truth. “Holy shit.” He reared back, nearly toppling his chair.
“Hiya, Steve.” Dean frowned as he approached the desk. “What’s got you in a twist? You look like you’ve scoffed a bad burger or something.”
Steve stared at him.
“Steve?”
“If you’re a friend of hers you’re gonna want to hear this. And before I start, I’m not crazy, okay?”
Dean, to his credit, waited until Steve had finished before saying, “You’ve been working too hard. Go home. Get some sleep.”
“Check it out for yourself.” He leaned back in the chair to give Dean access to the monitor.
Dean scanned the computer screen, and then cast his gaze over both patients’ records. Wordlessly, Steve handed him the timeline he’d drawn.
“The timing is interesting,” Dean finally said.
“Ya think? I knew something was up when I attended her last time. Her symptoms were just too weird.”
Curiosity flared in Dean’s eyes. “Last time?”
“Yeah. She’d passed out in a café and I treated her when she was brought in unconscious. Wasn’t the first time that happened to her, either, going by her records. In the interests of Ms Havers’ continuing good health I’m going to look into this a bit further. But I’m still waiting on some test results and I can’t keep her here when she insists on going home. Can you keep an eye on her tonight? I’m concerned if she has another, uh, episode there’ll be no one around to look after her.”
Dean gave him The Look. “If she discharges herself against your advice she’s no longer your responsibility. Aren’t you taking this a bit far?”
He shrugged. “Says the guy who was still working when I called. Aren’t doctors allowed to worry about their patients anymore?”
Dean threw his hands up in mock-surrender. “You’re right. Sorry. And yes, I will keep an eye on her—not that it’ll be too much of an imposition. She’s pretty easy on the eye.”
“You’ve got the hots for her. Great.”
“I think she’s already seeing her boss. And for the record, I’m not the kind of asshole who muscles in on another guy’s girlfriend.”
Steve frowned, recalling Rowan’s hesitation when he’d asked about a boyfriend. “That so? How come she didn’t she ask me to ring him?”
“He’s out of town.”
“Ah.” He heard the unmistakable sound of Laverne warbling some Blues tune. “Better close this down before I’m caught snooping. Rowan’s in Room 202. And Dean?”
“Yep?”
“If she lets slip anything about these turns she’s been having, I’d be real grateful if you clued me in. Off the record and all.”
Dean nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
~~~
Laptop was waiting by the door when Rowan got home. The dog jumped up, putting her paws on Rowan’s shoulders to lick her face, and Rowan folded beneath her weight. “Easy now, girl. I’m okay.” She hugged her pet, burying her face in Laptop’s thick fur. Tears pricked her eyes. Again.
“Some greeting,” Dean commented from the doorway. “Hey, Laptop. Glad your momma’s back, eh? Has she been fed tonight, Rowan?”
Rowan shook her head.
“I’ll rustle up something for her. You put your feet up. Doctor’s orders.”
“You don’t have to stay, Dean. I’ll be fine—really.”
The easy smile slipped from his face. “Steve told me about your neighbor. I’d like to think we’re friends, Rowan. And this is what friends do at times like this, okay?”
“Okay.” She dragged herself to the settee and collapsed across it, draping one arm over her eyes. The other dangled limply off the edge of the cushion. She didn’t have the energy to lift it.
Dean whistled. “Dinner, dog!”
Rowan heard the scrape of claws as Laptop launched herself toward the kitchen. Poor thing was starving, and Rowan hadn’t even thought about feeding her. “I forgot to tell you where I keep her food,” she said when Dean returned to the living room. “Sorry.”
“Found a cold meat pie and some shriveled up fries in the oven. Figured she could have the pie. I’ve ordered takeout for us—hope you like Chinese.”
“Thanks. That’s really sweet of you, Dean, but I’m not hungry.”
“No problem. You can watch me eat.” He plunked his butt in the catty-corner armchair, slumping until both legs were outstretched. He looked like he was settling in for the evening. She was too tired to summon a protest. She was grateful to be home, grateful Laptop hadn’t gotten out and gone roaming, grateful Dean was being so kind. But she’d be even more grateful if he left her alone so she could crawl into bed and sob her heart out.
“You’ll feel better if you give in and have a good cry, Rowan. You’ve just lost a friend and you’re gutted. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Maybe later, after—”
“After I’ve gone? Look, if Ryley were here he’d probably handle this better but he’s not. So talk to me, Rowan. Tell me what’s going on.”
Her arm had slipped from her eyes so she stared at the ceiling. “Nothing’s going on, Dean.”
“Steve Kearney suspects differently.”
The jolt that speared through her provoked her to scramble upright so she could look him straight in the eye. “Since there’s nothing much to tell it must have been a very short conversation.”
“Cut the crap. He showed me your medical records and—”
She rounded on him, suddenly furious. Why was he being so damn pushy? “Isn’t that illegal or something? You’re not my doctor.”
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “He reckons you had something to do with keeping your neighbor alive.”
She blanched, blinking at him. “Excuse me?”
“Steve thinks you somehow managed to keep the old man alive and the strain of doing that is what put you into a coma. And when he died, you revived. Is that true, Rowan?”
If ever there was a good time to act nonchalant, this was it. “Oh please. He’s being ridiculous.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Is he? You tell me.”
She opened her mouth—to deny it as vehemently and convincingly as she could, of course—but a thumping on the door saved her the trouble.
“Saved by the takeout,” Dean muttered.
To Rowan’s relief, he dropped the subject. They ate takeout. He admired her Christmas tree. And it wasn’t until he’d disposed of the takeout containers in the trash that he dropped his next bombshell. He was staying the night. She presented a logical case why he didn’t need to bother. When that didn’t work she argued. She even went so far as to have a tantrum, something she hadn’t done since she was a teenager. He refused to budge.
She brushed her teeth and then stomped into her bedroom and slammed the door, leaving Dean to spend the night on the settee. Or the floor—she didn’t much care. She shucked her clothes, threw on her pajamas, and crawled into bed. She could hear Dean moving about and she tried to summon anger… but she’d be lying if she claimed to be angry. Now all she felt was bone-tired and kind of pathetically grateful for his stubbornness so she wouldn’t be alone in the house.
She closed her eyes. What had happened with James felt like a dream. Surreal. But it wasn’t. There’d be no more cozy chats over cups of tea. No cheery greetings and enquiries how her day had gone. James was dead. She hadn’t been able to save him. She’d lost her best friend.
Her exhausted battered mind took flight into whimsy. If she was the Angel of Death in training like Zach had first thought, then she’d failed the course big-time. Death wasn’t supposed to fight for her victims and try to bring them back to life. Tears seeped from her eyes, rolling down her face to dampen her pillowcase. Her last conscious thought before exhaustion dragged her down was to wish with all her heart that Ryley could be here to hold her tight and comfort her. Again.
Her dreams were haunted by her dead husband. When Harrison finally left her in peace, she saw James. His face had crinkled into a heartbreakingly beautiful smile and he told her not to worry because he was happy. He was holding hands with a much younger woman. Her name was Beth. She’d been dead for more than twenty years but in another life she’d been his wife. As he spoke, James became younger, fit and strong again. He promised he’d always watch over her. His image faded. In her dreams she felt ghostly lips brush her cheek.
She didn’t wake when Dean snuck into her room to check on her. He took her pulse, checked her breathing, and then made himself comfortable in the chair in her bedroom. As much as he wanted to shake her awake, insist she tell him what the hell was going on with her, he refrained. He wouldn’t force the issue for fear she’d run and wouldn’t call him if she needed help again.
He kept an all-night vigil, checking on her hourly. And only when she stirred the next morning did he slip from the room and let himself out of the house.
~~~
Rowan knew she should eat something but she just couldn’t bring herself to care about food. She flipped the newspaper’s pages, scanning articles at random. She took a sip of her tea and tried to concentrate on the words.
The text blurred.
Dammit. Not again. Blinking, she focused on the wall, staring at it until she’d regained control. Heaving a shaky sigh she took another sip of tea… and a vivid memory of the last brew she’d made for James crashed in on her. Her hand shook as she slammed the cup back into the saucer, slopping hot tea over her wrist and hand. She eyed the cracked saucer. Her lips quivered. The tears spilled over. The saucer was part of a matching set of cups and saucers, teapot, cream jug and sugar bowl. It was the set she’d saved up and bought for when she invited James over for tea.
She picked up her cup, cradled it in her palm… and heaved it at the nearest wall. It smashed into tiny pieces, shattered beyond repair. Just like her heart.
Tea dribbled down the wall, pooling in a dirty-brown puddle on the floor. Rowan laid her head in her hands and sobbed.
Laptop whined, mirroring her distress. The dog poked her wet nose into Rowan’s hand and licked the reddened skin, her rasping tongue both painful and comforting.
Rowan’s misery eased. She wiped her face on her sleeve and hugged her dog. “Thanks, girl. I needed that. It’s just… I miss the old coot, you know?”
The dog’s mournful eyes fixed on Rowan. She whined once and laid her head in Rowan’s lap.
“Sometimes I think you really do understand every word I say.” Her gaze strayed to the newspaper again. She flicked over the page and came face-to-face with the obituaries. She held her breath as she scanned them. If he wasn’t listed, then he hadn’t really died. It was all just a nightmare, right?
But there it was. Woodford, James Michael. Beloved father of Jonathan. Passed away suddenly. Funeral service to be held on 23rd December at 10 a.m. at All Saints Church, Orchard Road, Seaview.
Beloved father of Jonathan? Rowan chewed her lip. She hadn’t known James had a son. He’d sure as heck never visited James in all the years Rowan had known the old man.
She read the obituary again. It was a curt sort of notice. No underlying emotion spilled from the matter-of-fact words. Beloved seemed out of place. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised to learn someone at the newspaper office had taken it upon themselves to add it into the bereavement notice.
The doorbell buzzed. Rowan dived for the door only to slide to a halt when she realized she was still dressed in a robe, pajamas, fluffy socks and slippers. Too bad. She secured the belt of her robe more tightly around her middle, and fumbled with the deadlock, but by the time she’d opened the door it was to see her early morning visitor pulling away from the curb. She took a step onto the front stoop. Something squished beneath her slipper. A bouquet of flowers had been left on her front doorstep. A now very crushed bouquet of flowers. Craning her neck, she squinting at the taillights of the delivery vehicle disappearing down the street.
She bent to scoop up the bouquet. With their long stems bent and broken, and oozing sap, the creamy blooms looked misshapen. Ugly. She shivered as she examined the ornate card.
Thank you for helping James.
Yours sincerely,
Jonathan Woodford.
That was it—a stark statement of the facts and a bouquet of lilies. He hadn’t even called to invite her to the funeral! Not that she needed his permission to attend. She’d go anyway for James. But was hurtful, a slap in the face when she’d tried her utmost to save his father, and James had been her best friend. And whatever issues might have existed between father and son, James deserved better than a perfunctory death notice.
She stalked back inside, slamming the door behind her. She consigned the lilies to the trash before she bent over table to check the death notice again.
The date of the funeral finally registered in her brain. December 23rd. That was today! She glanced at her watch. Eight thirty in the morning. Good. Plenty of time to get ready. And as she gingerly picked up the shards of broken crockery and scrubbed tea stains from the wall, a satisfying rage filled the emptiness inside her. She couldn’t wait to meet Jonathan Woodford in person and give him a piece of her mind for neglecting his father.
~~~
Rowan sat in a pew a few rows from the front of the small church, glaring at Jonathan Woodford’s broad, dark-suited back. His stiff, unbending posture taunted her. She’d caught a brief glimpse of his face before the service had begun. Expressionless, hard and uncaring. No surprises there. Her brain teemed with cutting remarks that would shame him.
The elderly pastor was speaking about James. Rowan tuned in to his eloquent words and learned things about James she’d never known before. He’d been a volunteer at the hospital, reading to the elderly and infirm. He visited sick children, too, entertaining them by dressing as a clown and making balloon animals. He worked part-time at the local animal shelter. And the list went on.
She had been close friends with James, so how had she not known about all these things he did for the community? From the expressions of other mourners, she was not the only one who hadn’t a clue about the extent of James’s zeal. She felt a little better knowing the old man had obviously gone to great pains to keep his volunteer work secret, but she wondered whether he hadn’t been trying very hard to atone for something. Her ire slowly ebbed and her view of his son softened. Perhaps Jonathan Woodford had good reason to be estranged from his father.
At a signal from the pastor, Jonathan rose from his seat and walked up to the podium. “I’d like to talk to you about my father’s life,” he quietly told those assembled to farewell James. “But unfortunately I can’t. Because you see, I didn’t really know my father all that well. I left home shortly after my mother died and we haven’t spoken to each other in years. Our last words to each other were bitter, angry words. And I’m sorry for that.
“Seeing all of you here today and listening to Pastor Edwards talk of all the things my father did for people in this town, makes me think he must have been a good man at heart. I’m glad to know that. Anyway. Thank you all for coming. Those of you who knew my father well are welcome to join me at the gravesite. I think James would have liked that.”
It was eerily silent as he walked down the aisle and out the door. Some mourners filed out and went back to their busy pre-Christmas lives but a few headed around back of the church to the graveyard. Rowan trailed along after them.
Jonathan didn’t utter another word as the pastor finished the graveside service. Mourners offered their condolences as he stood, head bowed, staring at the grave. Uncomfortable with his lack of response, people slowly drifted away until only Rowan was left.
“Jonathan.” She caught his attention with a hand on his forearm. “I’m Rowan Havers—your father’s neighbor.”
He lifted his head and stared blankly at her. “You’re the woman who called the medics.”
“Yes. James was with me when he had his heart attack.”
“Thank you. I sent you flowers.”
“Yes. Your father was very kind to me, Jonathan. I’d like you to know the sort of man he really was.”
His face twisted with bitterness. “He was a paragon of virtue to everyone it seemed. Except me.”
“Look. I know you’re angry—”
“You don’t know anything about me, Ms Havers.”
He pushed past her but she grabbed his arm again. He rounded on her, furious as a cornered cat but before he could react a familiar presence settled about her like a cloak. Her knees buckled. “Ohhh!” she whispered, awed.
“What’s the matter?” Jonathan clutched her arms to keep her upright, staring worriedly into her face.
“It’s James,” she whispered. “He’s here. He… he wants to tell you something.”
His lips curled into an impressive sneer. “God, you’re a real piece of work. I’ve just finished burying my father and already you’re trying to bullshit me with nonsense about his spirit hovering around his grave. What’s your game, eh, Ms Havers? Spouting bogus messages from recently departed loved ones to extort money from their bereaved relatives?” Furious, he released her and she fell to her knees.
Rowan felt herself being shunted off to one side as someone took over her body. “It wasn’t your fault, Jonno,” that someone said through her lips.
Jonathan spun around. Shock had drained the color from his face. His eyes darkened almost to black and they bored into hers. “What did you say?”
“It wasn’t your fault your mother died, Jonno. It was an accident. And it wasn’t your fault I was such a crappy father, either. My heart was broken and I couldn’t bear to look at you because you reminded me so much of Beth. I’m sorry, son. You needed me and I should have tried harder to get over her death and be the father you needed.”
Jonathan stared at Rowan like she’d sprouted another head. “How are you doing this?” he demanded. “Do you have a recording of my father’s voice hidden on you somewhere?”
“I don’t rightly know how this is happening, Jonno, but it is. I’m being given the opportunity to make things right between us. Your mother needs you to know the truth, too. So would you please listen to what I have to say?”
Jonathan jerked as though he’d been slapped. “Mom is there with you?”
“Of course she is. But I don’t know how long I’ve got Rowan’s body, so shut the hell up and listen to me. But first, help the poor girl to her feet. Your mother taught you better manners than that, Jonno.”
Jonathan’s hands shook as he assisted Rowan to her feet. He peered anxiously into her face. “Are you still in there, Ms Havers? He’s not hurting you, is he?”
“Of course I’m not hurting her you nitwit! Let’s go sit in that fancy car you rented. Wouldn’t want Rowan to freeze her pretty little rear off.” James’s signature cackle issued from Rowan’s lips.
Jonathan’s hand tightened on her arms, his fingernails digging into her skin. “God. Dad… it really is you!”
James made Rowan’s eyes roll comically. “Figured you for a lot of things, son, but never figured you for slow on the uptake. Let’s get going. She’s getting cold.”
~~~
Her eyelids fluttered open. A man’s face loomed, his features indistinct and eerie, formed of light and shadow. She gasped, pressing back against the pillows. And then she blinked and he swam into focus and she recognized him.
Jonathan. Her tension ebbed. She glanced around, narrowing her eyes to counteract the throbbing at the base of her skull. She lay on the settee. In her own home—not that she remembered how she’d gotten here.
“How are you feeling, Ms Havers? Are you okay?”
She flopped a hand at him. “I’m fine. And please, call me Rowan.” She struggled to sit, and the sudden movement danced fuzzy black spots before her eyes.
His arm slipped about her back, easing her slowly upright as though she were extremely fragile. “Can I get you anything? Something for a headache, perhaps?”
She shook her head and then groaned as a sharp pain spiked through the back of her eyelids.
He barked a soft laugh and pressed a couple of pills into her hand. “Take these.”
Beyond protesting, she swallowed the pills, grimacing at the bitter taste and washing them down with the glass of water he handed her. She peered at him through slitted lids. “Thanks. What happened? To me, I mean.”
“You passed out after Dad, uh, left. I didn’t have a clue how I was going to explain what happened to a doctor, so I drove you back here.” A slight flush painted his cheekbones. “I found your door key in your purse. I hope you don’t mind.”
She pasted on a smile. “Thank you. I’m very grateful, really. I so don’t need another stint in hospital right now.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “You’ve been out cold for long enough to worry the hell out of me. In fact, if you hadn’t shown signs of coming to when you did, I was on the brink of calling a doctor regardless. Does this sort of thing happen to you often, Rowan?”
She swung her legs from the settee and slumped forward, resting her elbows on her knees until her head stopping swimming. At least the headache was almost bearable now. “What time is it?”
“Late. Your dog’s outside by the way. I fed her and figured it best to leave her out there. If you’re hungry there’s some pizza left. I’ve already eaten.”
She climbed unsteadily to her feet, waving him off when he moved to assist, and wobbled over to the window to glance outside. Pitch black save for the mellow glow of streetlights. She rested her head wearily against the window frame. “What is the time exactly?”
“Half-ten.”
Holy heck. She’d lost half a day. Shaken, she turned to face him—this man she’d met a scant few hours ago, and had no idea whether she could trust. She should probably tell him to go. But he was James’s son—the only link she had to her friend now he’d gone. “I think you’d better tell me exactly what happened, Jonathan. I’d really like to know, because I don’t remember anything after I got into your car.” She was proud her voice didn’t wobble or betray the extent of her distress.
He scratched his chin, his gaze sliding from hers, delaying, debating what to tell her. “Do you want the long story or the short one?”
She slid down the wall until her butt hit the floor. She hugged her knees and fixed him with what she hoped was a firm, take no prisoners stare. “Start with the short one and I’ll let you know if it’s not good enough.”
He grinned, looking suddenly younger, and in his face she could see echoes of the young man James might have been. “The short story is Dad and I caught up on all the years we missed.”
She waited for more but he only grinned some more. “That’s it?”
“Yep. Thanks to you, we talked through years of misunderstandings and hurt, and put it all behind us. Dad had an awful lot to say. There’s no stopping him once he gets going.” There was affection in his voice. And wonder.
“Sounds like the James I knew.” And loved. A pang of loss gripped her heart. “We’d chat for hours. I miss him so much.” Tears glistened in her eyes and she ducked her head.
“Thanks, Rowan. For everything.”
“I’m glad I could help you two reconcile.”
“You never answered my question.”
“What question?” She knew very well what question, though.
“Does this sort of thing happen to you often?”
“No.” At least, not like this, she amended silently.
“Look, I’ve got a plane to catch. You sure you’re okay? I can catch a later flight tomorrow—”
“No, no.” God knew what the neighbors would think if yet another man spent the night in her house. First Ryley, then Dean, and now Jonathan….
Seeing the doubt flickering in his eyes she tried to reassure him… and hoped he didn’t notice she was so dog-tired she was slurring her words. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
He picked up a box she hadn’t noticed before, and held it out to her.
“What’s this?”
“Dad loved you, Rowan. You were his best friend. He wanted you to have something to remember him by.”
She shuffled across the floor to take the box from him and settled by the coffee table to open it. Inside, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, was James’s favorite bone china tea-set. Tears threatened the mask she’d donned so this almost-stranger wouldn’t witness her losing it. “Thank you,” she whispered. “This means the world to me.”
“You’re welcome, Rowan. Thanks to you I got my dad back, even if it was only for a few hours. He made me promise to dig it out of the cupboard and give it to you—insisted he’d haunt me for the rest of my days if I didn’t.” His gaze turned sheepish. “I whipped out to get it while you were out cold on the settee. Didn’t want Dad’s ghost getting any ideas.”
Rowan giggled. “I imagine he’d take great delight in haunting you, too, the old devil.”
Jonathan’s answering smile gleamed. “He’d kept a family photo album, did you know that, Rowan? He told me where to find it. It’s full of photos of him and Mom. They looked so happy together. I’d forgotten how much they loved each other. There’s photos of me, too. As a baby, right through to my teens. He really did care about me to keep that for so many years. So many memories. It’s a priceless gift.”
“I’m glad.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ve got to go or I’ll miss my flight. I’ll be back to sort out things with the house so I’ll see you then, Rowan. Take care.”
“You, too.” She pushed to her feet and followed him to the door, waving as he drove off. And when his rental turned the corner and disappeared from view, she locked the door and dragged herself into the kitchen. The leftover pizza didn’t look all that appetizing but she munched on a slice as she called Laptop inside.
The dog barreled through the back door and head-butted Rowan’s hip, nudging her forward. “Hey!”
Laptop nudged her again. “All right, all right. I get it, okay? I was going to bed anyway, you pushy canine creature.”
Obediently she staggered to the bedroom, pulled off her funeral clothes and crawled into bed without bothering to brush her teeth or wash off her makeup. But when she closed her eyes her mind turned in circles, denying her the sleep she craved. Would the hours when James’s spirit had possessed her body forever remain a blank? Would she eventually recall bits and pieces of the things he’d confessed to his son, or would it forever be a secret shared between father and son?
Losing a few hours from her life had been worth it, she decided. And her reward had been to witness firsthand the difference it had made to Jonathan. A smile curved her lips as sleep pounced and took her under.
~~~
Rowan thrashed her limbs, tangling herself in the bedclothes. She whimpered a protest but it was too late. The familiar dreamscape beckoned, a shimmering nightmare waiting to suck her in and drag her down. She fled, arms and legs pumping, but the harder she ran, the closer it loomed. She was on a treadmill to nowhere. She couldn’t get off until the nightmare had run its course. Breathless and defeated, she gave in to the inevitable and skidded to a halt, waiting for the horror to engulf her.
Her surroundings morphed and then she stood at the entrance to her house, her hand outstretched to unlock the door. Foreknowledge settled around her, smothering and heavy. She snatched her hand back. Something awful had happened. She knew it.
She waited for the familiar dread to consume her. But this dream was different from the others. Suddenly Rowan understood that what waited for her inside was immutable. Nothing she could do, nothing she could say, would change the outcome. She had to confront it, accept it, find a way to live with it, and then she’d be free.
She pushed open the door. The instant she stepped over the threshold the darkness subtly lightened. She headed for her bedroom, bracing herself for what she knew awaited her.
He lay on their bed. His eyes were closed, his beloved face serene. His hands were clasped across his stomach. This time there was no blood staining his chest, no blood soaking the mattress beneath him. He appeared to be merely sleeping, but she knew the truth. He was dead. And her soul throbbed with renewed loss and a heartache that was almost too much to bear.
She walked to the bedside and stood staring down at him. “Why did you do it, Harrison? Why did you kill yourself? We could have had a few more precious months together. Didn’t you love me enough to want to fight for more time? Please, tell me why. I need to understand.”
He opened his eyes and smiled up at her, lovingly. “Rowan, darling, it was never that I didn’t love you enough. I loved you too much. I was scared and in terrible pain and I didn’t want you to suffer too. I knew you’d fight until the bitter end, but I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t want your last memory to be me begging you to end my life. I’m sorry, Rowan. I never meant to hurt you so badly.”
She crumpled, wracked with gut-wrenching sobs. “Oh, Harrison. I’m so sorry. I loved you so much but I’ve been blaming you for dying—hating you. Can you ever forgive me?”
He rose from the bed to gather her into his arms. “Baby, please don’t cry. I love you. I’ll always love you. Nothing you do will change that. Not even death can change that. There’s nothing to forgive. I hated leaving you but it was my choice to die. It’s not your fault, Rowan. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault—”
IT’S NOT MY FAULT!
She bolted upright, her heart pounding, the room resounding with echoes of a scream. Her scream.
Slowly she eased herself back onto the mattress. Her dream…. It had been so incredibly vivid. Even now she would swear Harrison was close, watching her. Had it been real? Had she really spoken to her dead husband? She didn’t know. Maybe she’d never know. But somehow her spirit felt lighter, as though a huge weight had lifted. Somehow she knew she’d never suffer that nightmare again.
Tears wet her cheeks, but they were healthy tears. Gone was the suppressed rage and guilt that had dogged her since her husband’s suicide. She accepted the past and the role she had played. She had loved her husband. She mourned his death but was comforted by her memories of the life they had shared.
Harrison could rest in peace now. And so could she.
~~~