Lost Melody Page 10

  Ruth, also worried, had left to go check on her a few minutes after seven. Greg delayed the meeting as long as he could, but people began to grow restless. When he could stall no longer, he’d reluctantly begun without her.

  I hope everything’s okay.

  Greg returned to the podium and set down the computer’s remote control. The chart was his last slide.

  He addressed his audience with his closing statements. “I think Seaside Cove has every bit as much to offer as any of these other communities. When we start spreading the word about our town, I am confident that we will realize the same financial results.”

  A movement at the back of the gymnasium drew his gaze. Relief swept through him at the sight of Jill and Ruth stepping through the door. Jill’s head swiveled as she looked around the room, her expression a bit dazed. Ruth touched her arm, then pointed toward the front row and their empty chairs. They began making their way around the left side of the room.

  Relieved, Greg flashed her a smile, then turned it on the crowd. “But we have some prep work to do before we can handle an influx of tourists.” He held Samuels’s gaze for an instant. “And yes, we’re going to have to spend some money. Not only that, but we’re going to have to roll up our sleeves and get our hands dirty, and I’m not talking about just the business owners. Seaside Cove is a community, and we’ll all enjoy the benefits of a healthy tourist trade. If we work together, we can make this happen.”

  Rowena set her camera in her lap and clapped her hands, her grin wide. The church ladies joined in energetically, and then applause thundered throughout the gymnasium. A bit overwhelmed, Greg made eye contact with as many of his audience as he could, smiling his thanks. This reaction was better than he’d dared hope. After a few seconds, he held up his hand and the sound quieted.

  “That’s all I have to say tonight, folks. Now I want to hear from you. What do you think? What questions do you have?”

  More hands than he expected shot into the air. He’d planned to pass the microphone down the rows, but that would take forever. Better take a town-hall-meeting approach.

  “Tell you what. If you have a question, would you mind coming up here so you can speak into the microphone? That way we can all hear.”

  He drew a line with his hand around one side of the chairs, and a line began to form there. The first person to take the microphone was a woman he didn’t recognize.

  She held it tentatively, obviously uncomfortable speaking in front of a crowd. “I was just wondering what places you think should be fixed up first.” She thrust the microphone back at him like a kid playing a game of Hot Potato.

  Greg bit back a grin as she scurried back to her seat. That was exactly the kind of question he hoped he’d get. It meant they were already thinking in terms of putting the plan in place.

  “That’s a great question,” he said, smiling in her direction. “If the residents of the Cove decide my idea has merit, I think we all need to have some input into decisions like that. Maybe we’ll put together a planning committee. But personally, I think repairing the docks should be at the top of the list, with repainting the lighthouse a close second. Those are going to be among the biggest draws for tourism.”

  A smattering of applause answered his suggestions, but he didn’t give it time to catch. The line of people with questions snaked around the spectators and almost to the back of the gymnasium. At this rate they’d be here all night, but it was important to make sure everyone had time to voice their opinions.

  During the next hour, Greg did his best to answer every question, to give every opinion his full consideration. He was dimly aware of the reporter circling to the other side of the room in front of the long line and snapping a picture of him. People started to filter out of the gymnasium around eight thirty. He didn’t see when Samuels left. One minute he was there, his glare heavy as a cement truck, and the next time Greg looked, he was gone.

  Finally, the line dwindled to a handful of people. With a start, Greg realized the last person in line was Jill. What was she doing? Was she planning to make a public statement of support for his plan? He gave her a questioning smile, which she did not return. Instead, her lips formed a tight white line, and she stared at him through solemn, red-rimmed eyes. She looked tired. Unwell, even. Was she ill?

  Her nerves stretched tighter than an overtuned piano string, Jill didn’t hear a single question asked by the people in front of her. Every step took her closer to the microphone, closer to the moment of her announcement. She scanned the audience. At least half of the people had already left.

  Good. Fewer to see me make a fool of myself.

  Not that the number of spectators would make much of a difference. Word would spread through the Cove quickly. How could it not? Her gaze strayed to the newspaper reporter leaning against the bleachers. He’d put away his notepad, but the camera still hung from a wide strap around his neck.

  She glanced down the front row. Most of Nana’s knitting circle was still here, their hands busy knitting socks for orphans. They’d taken their job of supporting Greg seriously, and though they couldn’t applaud without interrupting their sock production, they tapped the gymnasium floor loudly with their shoes at every opportunity. On the end of the row, Nana’s gaze locked with hers. Jill looked away. She’d just stumbled through the front door, still buttoning her coat, when Nana’s car pulled up in front of the house. From her worried expression now, she must know Jill was about to do something alarming. Nana would likely have her committed after tonight.

  Only one person stood between her and Greg now. Nausea roiled in her stomach. Would he be upset with her? She knew he would. But that no longer mattered. Nothing mattered, except plowing through the ordeal of making a public spectacle of herself. Afterward, when she’d had about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep and the pressing urgency of her warning was gone, she could deal with the aftermath. Greg loved her. He would understand. She’d make him understand.

  But what if the dream didn’t leave? What if she acted like a lunatic in front of the whole town and it did no good?

  It has to. If not, I’ll check into a mental ward myself.

  The person in front of her complimented Greg on his plan and made a public statement of support, then turned and handed the microphone to her. Her stomach lurched when her fingers closed around the warm casing, and her throat spasmed shut. The handle shook with such violence she had trouble holding it still in front of her mouth. Directly behind Greg, Rowena Mitchell’s camera lens pointed in her direction.

  Greg stepped in front of her, concerned creases etched in his forehead. He spoke in a low voice that only she could hear. “Jill, is everything okay?”

  “Yes. I mean no.” She stepped sideways to look out over the heads of the seventy or so people left in the gymnasium. That was a trick she’d learned from one of her professors in college. To ease the pressure of stage fright, you were supposed to look at the tops of people’s heads instead of their faces. Jill had never needed to worry about stage fright since she’d been supremely confident in front of a crowd for as long as she could remember. Until now.

  She cleared her throat. “I support everything Greg said, and I think his plan is vital for the future of Seaside Cove. I hope you’ll vote for him to represent you on the council.” She swallowed, and held Greg’s eyes in a mute apology before continuing. “But that’s not what I want to say. I want — no, I have to tell you something that’s going to sound really crazy. I’ve been having these dreams. Well, only one dream, but I’ve had it several times in the last few days.”

  With a dry tongue, she tried unsuccessfully to wet her lips. Instead, she filled her lungs and spoke in a rush.

  “Seaside Cove is in danger, and unless we evacuate the town next Tuesday morning before ten o’clock, something terrible will happen.”

  There. She’d done it. She thrust the microphone back into Greg’s hands and headed for her chair on the end of the first row without waiting to see his reaction. Tho
ugh her gaze was fixed on the floor as she hurried past, she couldn’t help but notice that the nimble fingers of every member of Nana’s knitting circle had gone still, and their mouths gaped open like a neat row of ice fishing holes on a frozen lake. Nana’s jaw yawned wide enough to pull a whale through.

  “Uh.” Greg’s voice filled the silence as Jill collapsed onto her folding chair. She risked a glance at him and cringed at the uncertainty of his expression. “Well, I guess if there are no more questions —”

  “No, wait.” Someone from the back of the gym interrupted. “She can’t say that and walk away.”

  “Yeah,” shouted someone else. “What do you mean by ‘something terrible’?”

  Several voices mumbled in agreement. Jill didn’t turn her head to face them, but she did speak loudly enough to be heard by everyone except perhaps those in the back of the room. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Only that it’s going to be devastating.”

  “Devastating? You mean like a hurricane or an earthquake?” The catastrophe in her dream didn’t feel like a natural disaster. “No, nothing like that.”

  “What then?”

  She opened her mouth to say she didn’t know, but Nana placed a hand on her arm and shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  Greg’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Folks, Jill hasn’t been feeling well lately. She’s tired, like we all are. It’s been a long meeting, and I appre —”

  A chorus of shouts interrupted him.

  “Wait a minute.”

  “Tired? Crazy’s more like it.”

  “Hold on. Let her tell us about that dream.”

  Chairs scraped across the floor as people got to their feet. Out of the corner of her eye, a movement drew Jill’s attention. The reporter from The Cove Journal had stepped to the front of the gymnasium and was pointing his camera at her. Jill slumped down in the metal chair.

  “Oh, come on,” someone called from right behind her head. “Do you think we’re fools? This is a publicity stunt, right?”

  Jill shook her head at the same time Greg answered, “No, this is not a publicity stunt.” A touch of anger gave his denial extra volume. Anger at her? She squeezed her eyes shut. Probably.

  “There’s only a couple of fools in this room tonight,” someone else shouted, “and it ain’t us.”

  The comment was met with laughter that made Jill cringe. In the next instant, she found her chair surrounded and questions thrown at her faster than she could keep up. Someone tugged at her arm, and then several hands were touching her. Not roughly, but she sank lower in the chair and covered her eyes to block out the sight of their scornful faces.

  “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.

  Chapter 13

  GREG 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 eve
ning. “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.