Lost Melody (10 page)

“Hey, isn’t she that piano player?” someone asked. “The one who got hurt last year?”

“Yeah, that’s her. Maybe she isn’t, you know,
right.”

“Ssssshhh! Don’t be rude.”

A camera clicked, then another one, and bursts of light flashed in the darkness behind her eyelids. A hand grabbed her arm in a gentle but insistent grip.

“That’s enough.” Greg’s voice sounded directly in front of her. She opened her eyes to see several people step back in the face of his stern stare. He stooped over until his nose hovered inches from hers, and his expression softened as his grip on her arm squeezed. Jill looked up into eyes full of tenderness. “I’m taking you home now, okay?”

A wave of gratitude filled her eyes with tears. Unable to squeeze a sound through her tight throat, Jill nodded.

G
REG GUIDED JILL INTO RUTH’S
house with a protective arm around her waist and closed the kitchen door behind them. An alarming air of frailty hovered around her, evident in her bowed head and slumped shoulders. She moved like a ninety-year-old. In all the months since the accident, he’d never seen her like this. The realization frightened him. Something was terribly wrong, that much was obvious.

They crossed the main floor and ascended the stairs to Jill’s apartment. When he would have taken her to the bedroom to tuck her in, she stopped him.

“Do you mind if we talk for a minute before you leave?” She didn’t raise her head high enough to meet his eye, but nodded toward the couch.

“Of course.”

He led her there, settled her on one end, and then slid onto the cushion next to her. Still, she didn’t look at his face, but stared at her hands. With her right hand, she twisted the diamond around her left ring finger in an unconscious gesture that sparked a flicker of discomfort in him. Was she going to pull the ring off and return it? A trace of lingering irritation at the way she’d taken over his meeting evaporated with the thought.

“Greg, I’m sorry about tonight. I know how important this meeting was to you, and I ruined it.”

“I wouldn’t say you
ruined
it.” He forced a quick laugh. “You certainly gave them something to talk about, though.”

She acknowledged the understatement with an upward twitch of her lips, but kept her gaze fixed on her fidgeting hands. “I know I should have talked to you first, let you know what I was going to do. But I fell asleep, and by the time I woke up the meeting was already underway. And I have to warn them, Greg. I have to.”

She did look up then, and held his gaze. Her eyes, though red-rimmed, were clear. Sincere. And full of a determination he hadn’t seen in over a year.

He leaned back and laid an arm across the top cushion behind her. “Tell me about this dream.”

For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer. But then her chest inflated with a deep breath, and she started speaking.

“The details aren’t clear. I know there’s a fire, but I’m not sure how it starts. I can smell the smoke, and then everything gets really cold. And there are people.” Her eyes closed. “People hurt. Screaming and bleeding and … dead.” When she opened her eyes, they held an intensity that darkened the brown almost to black. “And then I know I have to warn them, as many as possible. They have to get out of town on December 6.”

“Is it an accident of some sort?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

Now it was his turn to look down. That this dream was related to the subway crash last year seemed obvious. “Like, maybe, a … subway accident?”

With force she propelled herself off the couch and across the room to stand in front of the window. “Do you think I haven’t
thought of that? It’s not the same, Greg. For one thing, the Cove doesn’t have a subway.”

“I know, but —”

She stopped him with a raised hand. “No. This dream is not about the accident. I’m sure of that. It’s something else, something totally different. And I had to warn people. I had to.” Her eyes begged him to understand, to believe her.

He wanted to. She seemed so convinced, so certain. But to believe her claim that through a dream she’d been given special knowledge of a disaster that was going to happen in the sleepy little community of Seaside Cove was, well, unbelievable. The more likely explanation was that Jill was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder or something similar. That would be natural, given the trauma she’d experienced last year. PTSD took awhile to show up sometimes, didn’t it?

Her hands dropped to hang at her sides. “You don’t believe me.”

“I want to. Really. But it just sounds …” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

“Crazy.” Her shoulders slumped. “I know. I’ve probably gone off my rocker.”

“Now, don’t talk that way.” He crossed to her side and put a hand on each of her shoulders. “You’re just tired and stressed out with wedding plans and the Christmas season and everything.” He led her back to the couch.

“That’s what Doreen said,” she admitted. “She thinks the dream is stress-induced.”

She’d talked to her therapist about this dream? Good.

“What did she suggest you do about it?”

“She told me to get rid of my stress, whatever it takes.” A shadowy smile curved her lips, the first of the evening. “That’s
what I was doing tonight. I thought if I warned people, like the dream was urging me to do, then it would go away. Leave me alone.” Her head tilted back and she looked fully into his face. “I really am sorry I railroaded your meeting. Have I completely destroyed your campaign?”

Greg wasn’t sure how he felt about that right now. He’d been pretty angry with Jill at the time, until the crowd surrounded her and pounded her with questions. Then his protective instincts had kicked in. Still, it would take him awhile to process the impact of tonight, and figure out how to recover. He did know, though, how he felt about Jill. He loved her. Whatever she was going through, they’d deal with it together.

“Well, your timing could have been better.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “But I’ll regroup. We’ll figure it out tomorrow, after everyone’s had a good night’s sleep.”

She snuggled into his side. “I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to that.”

He leaned his cheek against the top of her head.
Yeah. Well, at least one of them might get some sleep tonight.

For the first time in days, Jill wasn’t afraid to go to sleep. Of course, now that she wanted it, sleep eluded her like a stray pup running from the dog catcher.

She’d started to feel drowsy on the sofa, snuggled up close to Greg, her head on his chest, ear pressed against his shirt so tightly she felt the vibration of his lungs when he started to sing a soft lullaby in the melodious voice she loved. One day he would sing their babies to sleep with that song. Tonight, though, there were no babies to lull, only Jill. And for some reason, now that
she desperately
wanted
to sleep, her mind was as alert as if she’d chugged caffeine all day. After a few minutes, she kissed him good night and retired to the bedroom to snuggle beneath the soft, thick quilt. That only woke her up even more.

It didn’t help that Greg refused to leave until Nana returned home, as though he feared the minute he left her alone she’d form a noose out of her bed linens and do herself in. His concern was touching, but after a few minutes became slightly irritating. She could hear his steady pacing right outside her bedroom. Every so often the sound of his footsteps would pause just outside the door. She pictured him resting his ear against the wood, listening. The image set her teeth against each other. He was taking this protective thing a bit too far. She wasn’t suicidal, if that’s what he was concerned about.

He’s just worried about me.

She sat up and punched her flattened pillow with a fist. Yeah, well, he should be. If she didn’t get some sleep soon, she would do something crazy.

Laughter snorted through her nose. Like anything could be crazier than standing up in a public meeting and announcing that the town had to be evacuated because of a dream. She threw herself backward on the mattress and shoved the pillow over her face with both hands. If Greg heard her laughing, he’d call for a straitjacket for sure.

A familiar noise reached her. Nana’s heels on the staircase. No doubt the sewing circle ladies had lingered after the meeting to rehash all the juicy details. Greg’s footsteps receded toward the kitchen, and she heard the mumble of low voices as he and Nana conferred. More footsteps on the stairs, this time Greg’s heavy tread descending. The relief shift had arrived, and he was going home.

Jill rose up in bed, switched on the lamp on her nightstand, and arranged her pillows behind her. When the door cracked open and Nana peeked in, she was sitting comfortably with her hands folded on top of the thick quilt.

“Greg said you were sleeping.”

Jill shook her head. “Who can sleep with all that worrying and pacing going on right outside the door?”

Nana opened the door wider and stepped into the room. “You can hardly blame him.”

A sigh escaped Jill’s lips. “I know. Instead of worried, he should be furious with me.”

She scooched sideways and patted the mattress beside her. Nana hesitated only a second before accepting her invitation. She lowered herself to the bed, kicked off her pumps, and twisted around until her legs were parallel to Jill’s. Jill removed one of her pillows and plumped it behind Nana, who settled back into it. The sweet scent of her perfume seeped into the air, bringing with it a wave of comfort. The smell of childhood, of nighttime prayers, tight hugs and lipstick-kiss prints on her cheek.

“So. Tell me about this dream.”

“There’s not much to tell, really.” Jill described the disjointed images and associated feelings, and tried to convey the sense of urgency that increased with every recurrence of the dream. “I had to do something. I couldn’t ignore the warning anymore.”

“You could have talked to me about it.”

“You’re right. I should have.” Jill plucked at an imaginary thread on the quilt. “I didn’t really plan to do that tonight. It just happened.”

Nana’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you couldn’t help yourself?” Jill didn’t answer at first. Could she have stopped herself from standing up in front of the town spouting doom like some
deranged fanatic? Yes, of course she could have. It hadn’t been an irresistible compulsion, like she was possessed or anything. It had been a conscious — albeit desperate — decision.

“I wanted to stop the dream from coming back.” Her words were slow. “I figured one way to do that would be to get it out of my system. But there was another reason.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and held it there.

“And that was?” Nana prompted.

She twisted sideways in the bed to look her grandmother full-on. “What if it’s real? If some disaster really does happen in Seaside Cove next week and I didn’t warn people, I’d never be able to live with myself.”

Nana searched Jill’s face. After a moment, she nodded. “You did the right thing.”

“I did?”

She nodded. “Given your position, I’d have done the same thing.” A grin twisted her lips. “Of course, I’m a fossilized old Fruit Loop myself, so that’s probably not a comforting thought.”

Laughter bubbled up from deep inside Jill. “If you’re a Fruit Loop, I guess I’m a Honey Nut Cheerio, huh?”

“We
are
related, after all.” The grin melted away, replaced by concern. “Are you better now that you’ve delivered your warning?” A note of worry crept into her tone. Worry, or maybe skepticism?

“I think so.” Jill closed her eyes and took an inventory of her feelings. The anxious urgency that had become her nearly constant companion the past few days was gone. In its place was a hot, sticky embarrassment when she remembered the shock on Greg’s face tonight, the scornful expressions of her fellow Cove residents. Mostly, though, she felt the soft and insistent nudge of slumber pressing her down to her mattress. Finally. “Right now
I’m too tired to know what I’m feeling. All I want to do is sleep for a million years.”

“I’ll leave you alone then. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Nana rose from the mattress. When Jill slid down beneath the quilt, she grasped the edges and pulled the covers up beneath Jill’s chin, then tucked the sides firmly around the outline of her body like she used to years ago. With cool fingers she brushed the hair off of Jill’s forehead and planted a soft kiss there.

Jill searched the face that hovered over hers. “You don’t believe my dream is true, do you, Nana?”

Tenderness softened her features. “I don’t know what I believe. I’ll have to pray about that, just as I’m sure you will. But I know I love you.”

She reached for the light switch, and darkness descended on the room. With a satisfied sigh, Jill nestled farther beneath the covers and, for the first time in days, welcomed sleep’s embrace.

Tuesday, November 29

Greg approached the door of the counseling office and tried the handle. Locked. He glanced at his watch. Just past seven thirty in the morning. What time did they open? He hovered on the concrete stoop, trying to see through the gauzy curtains that covered the narrow window beside the door. He could wait around until eight, but he had a meeting with a client at nine.

He’d just about decided to leave and call later when a car pulled into the parking lot. The woman in the passenger seat eyed him curiously through the windshield. Doreen Davenport. Jill had introduced them a couple of times. He tucked the newspaper he carried beneath his arm and shoved his hands in his coat pocket to wait for her to exit the car.

She did, her gaze fixed on him. She approached carrying a briefcase in one hand and a cardboard coffee cup in the other. The car pulled out of the parking lot.

“Hello.” She spoke when she was halfway down the sidewalk. “Can I help you with something?”

“You’re Doreen Davenport, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.” She set down the briefcase and thrust a hand toward him. “How are you this morning, Mr. Bradford?”

Ah. She knew who he was. Good. That would save time.

He shook the hand, then picked up her briefcase for her while she unlocked the door. “Not too good, actually. Sorry to show up unannounced, but I was hoping I could talk to you about Jill.”

The door opened, and he followed her inside the dark office. “I do have a minute, but I’m afraid I can’t discuss Jill with you.” She gave him a smile of thanks as she took her briefcase from him. “Confidentiality. I’m sure as an attorney you understand that.”

“But I’m her fiancé.”

The smile became apologetic. “I know, but she hasn’t signed a release form that would allow me to discuss her condition with you.”

Greg set his teeth together. He knew the counselor was right. “Okay. I’m going to ask her if she’s willing to do that as soon as possible. In the meantime, maybe we could talk in general terms. If you’ve read the morning paper, I’m sure you’ll understand my concern.”

Her head cocked upward, her expression curious. “I usually read the paper here, after I get to the office. Has something happened?”

In answer, Greg unfolded the newspaper. The story wasn’t the top headline, but it did take up the bottom right quarter of the front page. At the top of the article was a picture of Jill seated on the front row at last night’s meeting, slumped down in a metal folding chair with a hand shielding her eyes. A half-dozen or so people towered over her, their expressions ranging from angry to outraged. In bold letters, the headline read, “Local Woman Predicts End of the World.”

“Oh, dear.”

Doreen took the newspaper from him and turned to go through a door into an office, reading as she walked. Greg followed her.

“She didn’t really predict the end of the world,” he pointed out as she rounded her desk, still reading. “That headline is obviously an attempt to sensationalize the story and sell more newspapers.”

She lowered herself in her chair and indicated with a wave that Greg should sit in one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. He sank into it, but perched on the edge, watching her eyes move as she read the article. When she finished, she set the paper down on the clean desktop and met his gaze.

“Was the rest of the article accurate?”

Greg nodded. “Afraid so, though that reporter manages to make it sound like I think Jill’s ready for the loony bin without ever saying so.” Greg’s fist clenched as he remembered the section that had set his teeth together when he read it this morning.
Mr. Bradford offered this excuse for Ms. King’s outrageous claim: “She hasn’t felt well lately.”

“Has Jill read this?” Doreen gestured at the newspaper.

“No. I called her grandmother as soon as I saw it, and she said Jill was still sleeping peacefully. We agreed to let her sleep as long as she can.”

Doreen nodded. “That’s good.”

“But then what?” Greg ran a hand through his hair. “She told me you said this dream was probably because of stress, and if she wanted it to go away she had to get rid of the stress.” He tapped a finger on the paper. “This is a pretty extreme way to get rid of stress. Was it your suggestion?”

“Absolutely not.” Doreen leaned back in her chair, her long-fingered hands folded in her lap. “She must have decided on her
own that the way to get rid of her stress was to follow through with what the dream was urging her to do.”

“Well, she’s not thinking straight.” Greg launched himself off the chair. “Maybe next time you could suggest a bubble bath, or a massage. Something other than an announcement in a public meeting.”

“Maybe you could suggest those things.”

The woman’s face remained completely impassive, which in comparison made Greg feel like a raving maniac. He circled the chair in which he’d been sitting, stood behind it with his hands grasping the back, and schooled his voice to match her calm tone. A question had plagued him all night, one he had to ask even though he was afraid of the answer. “Am I the cause of Jill’s stress? Does she not want to marry me?”

For one moment, he thought the counselor might actually answer him. Her expression grew soft, and she looked at him as though evaluating whether or not to take a chance on talking to him. When she put her hands flat on the desk and pushed her chair backward to stand, Greg knew she wasn’t going to answer.

“Mr. Bradford, I am going to tell you the same thing I told Jill.” She came around the side of the desk. “You need to talk to each other. If you want to schedule an appointment together, I’ll be happy to speak with both of you. But that’s all I can say at this time.”

Defeated, Greg’s shoulders slumped forward. “I understand.”

Doreen placed a hand on his arm and gave him a kind smile. “Look on the bright side. If her grandmother said Jill was sleeping peacefully, maybe her strategy worked. Maybe she got the dream out of her system, and this will be the end of it.”

“I sure hope so.”

When he picked up the newspaper and his glance fell once
again on the headline, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling that this thing wasn’t over yet.

Jill woke a few times, once during the night to stumble through the darkness to the bathroom, and then again hours later when a ship passing the Cove on its way to Halifax Harbor blew its horn. The third time she pried her eyelids open enough to see sunlight streaming through her bedroom window, pulled a pillow on top of her head, and went back to sleep.

Consciousness returned to her hours later, when someone slammed the front door downstairs in Nana’s house. She welcomed the day slowly, giving herself time to enjoy the drowsy feel of sleep creeping away, replaced by a growing wakefulness. The sheet felt soft and luxurious beneath her as she stretched and then curled up on her side, hugging her pillow. Her eyes drifted open and she caught sight of the alarm clock on the nightstand.

She shot straight up in bed. One o’clock? She’d slept for fifteen hours.

A smile tugged the corners of her mouth upward. Fifteen hours of dreamless sleep. Ah! What a blessing, one she would never take for granted again.

Indistinct voices drifted upward through the wooden floor. Nana had company. Probably another meeting of the overenthusiastic wedding planning committee. With a grin, Jill realized she was looking forward to hearing the ladies’ latest outrageous suggestions. Pink and blue daisies for a Christmas wedding? Well, why not?

As she dressed, she recalled Greg’s tender care last night. He would have been within his rights to ask for his ring back after
she turned his meeting into a fiasco. Heat burned her cheeks at the memory. Nobody would blame him, especially her. Yet he’d brought her home, listened to her crazy-sounding explanation, calmed her, even sang to her. Was there another man in the entire world as understanding? She doubted it.

Maybe now she could put this dream behind her. Last night would become nothing more than a bad memory, a funny story for her and Greg to laugh over together in the years to come. Starting today they could move forward with their wedding, and with the start of their new life. Forget the whole disaster thing.

Except …

A sudden realization froze her hand in the act of running a brush through her hair. Except she couldn’t forget it. The dream had not returned, thank goodness. But if she thought about it, she could still feel a certainty of the impending disaster, and a sense of urgency to warn others.

It’s not over yet. Not until December 6 has come and gone.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, fighting a sudden rush of tears.

This is so unfair! Why me, God? Can’t you make this go away?

Certainly he could. So why hadn’t he? Did that mean he didn’t want to rescue her from this nightmarish situation? Maybe he was even responsible for the whole thing. He’d taken her music away from her, and still expected her to sacrifice everything else.

It was too much to ask.

Maybe she should leave town for a week and come back next Wednesday, on December 7. Sure, she’d take a little ribbing when she returned and nothing had happened on December 6, but she could handle that.

As long as nothing really did happen.

She practically jumped off the bed and crossed the room to
stare out the window. The sun shone today, turning the water green-blue in the shallow sections of the channel closest to the shore. A wave crashed up onto the jagged rocks near the lighthouse and painted a bright rainbow in the air with salty spray. In the opposite direction lay the town. The familiar buildings of Seaside Cove lined Harbor Street, forming a man-made barrier that faced the Atlantic. This was her town, her home. Its residents were her extended family, even if they did think she was crazy.

With a shudder, she let the curtain drop back into place. No, she wouldn’t leave town. If something did happen, she didn’t want to be the lone survivor. Not again.

Dumb, Jill, dumb. Nothing is going to happen. This is a result of stress, that’s all. Get over it.

But how? She’d done what she was supposed to do, made a fool of herself and delivered the ridiculous warning. Why had the cloud of doom not left along with the dream?

What if she just ignored it? She’d done her duty. If people chose not to listen, her conscience was clear. She blinked a couple of times, banishing the tears that prickled in the back of her eyes. There were plenty of other things for her to concentrate on these days. A wedding. Christmas. Her students. Maybe if she ignored the feeling, it would go away. The cloud would lift and go hover over somebody else’s head. Today that felt entirely possible. With a good night’s sleep behind her, she could be strong and keep her mouth shut. As long as the dream didn’t return and she could rest at night, this feeling of impending disaster would fade.

That’s what she’d do. Ignore it. Surely she could do that for one more week. And then, on December 7, things could get back to normal for Jill and for Seaside Cove.

I hope.

Her decision made, she felt a tiny bit better as she finished
dressing. In her kitchen, she downed a full glass of water to quench a throat parched from fifteen hours without liquid, and decided against making a pot of tea. Nana probably had tea downstairs, and maybe some more of that apple bread she’d served yesterday. Jill’s stomach rumbled as she made her way down the stairs toward Nana’s kitchen.

Halfway down the staircase an odd odor reached her. She wrinkled her nose. Definitely not apple bread. Cleaning products, maybe? The sound of ladies’ voices alerted her to the presence of a group of Nana’s cohorts, but maybe they weren’t the wedding planners. Maybe they were a cleaning crew or something.

The sight that greeted her downstairs halted her progress toward the kitchen. She stood in the hallway to stare, mouth gaping, at the chaos in the living room.

The coffee table had been pushed aside and the sofa shoved back against the wall. Two large cardboard boxes had been stacked in front of the fireplace. The rug in the center of the room was covered with a white bedsheet. Arranged around the sheet, three elderly ladies perched on the sofa and chairs, and another stood with her back to Jill. Everyone’s attention was focused on Nana, on her hands and knees on the sheet, a paintbrush in one hand.

“There.” She balanced her brush carefully on the rim of a can of black paint, and surveyed her handiwork with a satisfied nod. “I think that will work just fine.”

“It looks better than I thought it would,” agreed Mrs. Montgomery.

“What’s going on?” Jill asked from the doorway. Five heads turned her way.

“Our Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.” Nana struggled to rise to her feet, and Jill rushed forward to give her a hand up. “We’d decided to wait until two before waking you.”

“We’ve been checking on you though, honey.” Mrs. Cramer patted her arm and smiled. “You were sleeping very soundly.” “Snoring,” put in Mrs. Tolliver.

“She was drooling when I checked,” announced Mrs. Montgomery from her perch on the sofa. She glanced at Mrs. Fontaine seated next to her. “Before we leave we should change those pillowcases for her.”