Lost Melody Page 7

  This afternoon? Jill hefted the heavy pile. It would probably take days to go through all these. She caught sight of Greg’s grin over Nana’s head. Was he laughing at her? If he thought he was sticking her with all the planning decisions, he’d better think again.

  “I have a great idea,” she told him. “You can come home with us and help us look through all these magazines. After all, this is our wedding, not just mine.”

  The grin faded, and his eyebrows drew together. “Me? I don’t know anything about flowers.”

  “That’s all right, dear.” Nana patted his arm as she brushed past. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know this afternoon.”

  “That’s, uh, great. Thanks.”

  Jill bit back a chuckle at his discomfiture as she dumped the magazines into his arms. “Come along, dear.” She gave him a sweet smile and followed her grandmother out of the church.

  “What about that one, only with purple icing?” Greg tapped the picture of an elaborate, tiered wedding cake in one of the four magazines spread open on the coffee table in front of them. “That’s my favorite color.”

  Jill twisted sideways on the sofa to fix him with an Are-you-out-of-your-mind stare. “A purple wedding cake?”

  Beyond Jill, Ruth gave him the pitying look he’d come to recognize in the past hour as one women reserved for men who didn’t have a clue. She stood, picked up her empty teacup, and headed for the kitchen without another word.

  “What?” He lifted his hands in an innocent palms-up gesture. “You two said I could voice my opinion. I told you I wouldn’t be any good at this.”

  Jill’s eyes narrowed. “You’re doing this on purpose. You think if you make ridiculous suggestions we’ll get tired of hearing them, and we’ll tell you to go home.”

  Busted. He ducked his head. “Well …”

  “Fine. Your heart’s not in it, so you might as well go.”

  She gave him a shove. Was it a little too firm to be entirely playful? That wasn’t like Jill. Greg examined her face for signs that she was upset with him. Her eyelids drooped, and a couple of dark smudges marred the smooth skin beneath her eyes. She’d mentioned at church that she hadn’t slept well last night, and she looked like the lack of rest was catching up with her this afternoon.

  Jill looked up and caught him watching her. A sheepish smile curved her lips. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I guess I’m not my normal sweet self today, huh?”

  “You look tired,” he told her. “Maybe you should take a nap.”

  “No.” Her quick response surprised him. She flipped the page of the magazine in her lap. “I’ll be fine. I just want to get through all these before Nana’s friends show up in the morning. They went to the trouble of finding them and marking their suggestions, and I don’t want them to think I’m not grateful.”

  That was his Jill, too kind to hurt someone’s feelings.

  He settled deeper into the sofa cushion and looked at the magazine she held. “If you’re going to suffer through another five dozen pictures of wedding cakes, I will too. What’s next?”

  The smile she turned toward him this time was tender. “You don’t have to do that. I know you’re concerned about your presentation tomorrow night, so I think you should go home and work on it. You’ve been tortured enough with wedding stuff.”

  Since that’s exactly what he’d planned to do with this afternoon and evening before being drafted to look through wedding magazines, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her brow. “Thank you for understanding. I love you, you know that?”

  “I love you, too. You’re going to be terrific tomorrow.”

  “And you are going to be a beautiful bride in just under four weeks.” He stood and gathered up their teacups. “I’ll take these to the kitchen and say good-bye to Ruth so she won’t think I escaped without permission.”

  Jill smiled, nodded, and flipped another page. He examined her profile. She looked pale. As Greg headed for the kitchen, worry wormed its way into his thoughts. Her recovery after the accident had taken so long, and for a while they’d thought she might not make it. Maybe he’d been wrong to ask for such a quick wedding date. He really hadn’t anticipated the planning would be very involved, but it looked as though he’d inadvertently created a stressful situation for her.

  “Oh, thank you, Greg.” Ruth took the cups from his hands when he entered the kitchen. “Would you like a refill?”

  “Thanks, but I need to get going.” When she gave him a sharp look, he rushed on with his excuse. “Jill said I could go home and work on my speech.”

  Her lips pursed as she considered, then gave a nod. “I suppose that’s important too.” She turned toward the sink with the dishes.

  Greg stepped up beside her and pitched his voice low. “Is she doing okay? She seems pretty stressed today, and she mentioned she didn’t sleep well. Do you know if that’s just a one-time thing?”

  Ruth glanced toward the open doorway. “Oh, I think so. She’s just experiencing the normal pre-wedding jitters.” He must have looked startled, because she rushed on. “Not about you, dear. Just about all the things that need to be done.” Her expression grew stern. “Done in a very short time, I might add.”

  Of course, all those “things” weren’t really necessary, if you asked him. And Jill didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about having a wedding cake, or pictures, or anything like that either. It was Ruth who was pushing those “things.”

  He had to tread lightly there, though, since obviously Ruth cared a lot about them. “Well, maybe you could encourage her not to go overboard with the planning.” He leaned a hip against the counter. “Remind her that one of the benefits we discussed about a family ceremony was not having to stress over the planning.”

  He couldn’t tell if his subtle suggestion hit its mark or not. The only reaction he got as Ruth rinsed out the teacups was, “Hmmm.”

  He straightened. “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

  “Absolutely.” A broad smile stretched across her face. “My knitting circle is planning to get there early and sit up front.”

  “Good. Ask them to leave the rotten tomatoes at home, okay?” He grinned. “Save them for Samuels’s next public appearance.”

  She laughed her hearty laugh, and fell in beside him as he headed toward the front door.

  In the living room, he opened his mouth to say good-bye to Jill, but snapped it shut when he caught sight of her. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, the magazine still in her hand. Her head lolled backward against the rear cushion, her eyes closed, chest rising and falling evenly. Sleep smoothed out the lines he’d noticed earlier around her eyes, and her lips were soft and pliable. He resisted the urge to brush a good-bye kiss against them, lest he wake her. The sleep would do her good.

  He mouthed a silent good-bye to Ruth and tiptoed from the room.

  Crushing weight. Searing heat. Icy cold fingers reaching for her, pulling her down …

  Jill came fully awake with a gasp, screams from her dream still echoing in her mind. She was on her feet beside the sofa, and for a moment couldn’t remember how she got there. The scattered magazines jarred her memory. The wedding. Flowers and cakes. She’d sent Greg home to work on his speech and then she’d done the one thing she had vowed not to do.

  She fell asleep.

  And the dream had returned.

  Her chest heaved with a sob. What was wrong with her? It couldn’t be stress from wedding planning. That wasn’t stressful. In the past ten years she’d learned what real stress meant. The loss of her father, her mom’s stroke, and finding solace in her music only to have it taken from her in the brutal accident last year. Having the only future you’d ever wanted ripped away from you, that was stressful. Having a doctor tell you another surgery would do no good, that you’d regained as much motion as you were ever going to have, that was stressful. Recurring thoughts of children flying through the air in front of your eyes and slamming into a window that was where the ceiling should hav
e been, that was real stress. What was selecting bouquet flowers compared to that?

  I’m losing my mind.

  That was the only explanation for the recurring nightmare, and for the ever-increasing urge that someone wanted her to warn the people of Seaside Cove that they must leave. Evacuate their homes. Take their children, their loved ones, and head inland.

  The feeling was so strong she found herself halfway across the room toward the front door before she realized what she was doing. With an effort, she stopped. What was she going to do, run into the street and scream at the top of her lungs?

  Yes, that’s exactly what her instincts told her to do.

  That’s crazy.

  Which proved her point. She was losing her mind. The sight of Nana’s cozy living room blurred behind a pool of tears. Poor Greg. He was engaged to a crazy person. He deserved so much better.

  God, can’t you make this dream go away? I don’t want to be insane.

  Could insanity be stopped? Reversed, even? Doreen would know. That’s what she’d do. She’d call her counselor. A wild hope blossomed in her chest, but it felt alarmingly close to hysteria, so she clamped her teeth together before she made a noise that would attract Nana’s attention from the other room.

  Tonight was Sunday. Doreen would understand an emergency call on Sunday, but only if it was a true emergency. Did insanity count as a true emergency?

  Jill bent her forefinger and bit down on her knuckle. No. She would not bother Doreen on Sunday evening. The dreams were getting more vivid, and the urge to warn the people of the Cove was growing stronger with each one. But it could wait until tomorrow. Nothing would happen tonight, she was certain of that.

  Because now she knew when the disaster was going to happen. Now she had been given a date.

  How crazy was that?

  Chapter 10

  Monday, November 28

  Jill was waiting in the parking lot at seven-forty when a car pulled up in front of Doreen’s office. From the passenger seat, the counselor’s eyes connected with Jill’s through the windshield and her eyebrows arched. Doreen had once mentioned that she chose to live in a small town so she wouldn’t have to bother with owning a car. Jill switched off the engine and waited while Doreen gathered her belongings and stood. She bent to say something to the woman driving, then headed for the building carrying a briefcase, a purse, and a Starbucks cup already decorated with bright pink lip prints. The car left. Jill dropped her keys into her purse, shouldered the strap, and joined Doreen on the sidewalk.

  “This is a surprise.” The counselor walked up the short walkway, jangling keys in her hand. Her pumps crunched over gritty, blue salt the maintenance people had scattered over the concrete to melt a trace of snow that had fallen during the night. “Did we schedule an appointment this morning that I forgot to write down?”

  “No.” Jill clipped the word sharply. If she elaborated she would cry, and she didn’t want to cry in the parking lot where anyone in the Cove might drive by and see her.

  Doreen shot her a keen glance, dipped her head in a brief nod, and unlocked the office’s front door. She held the door open to allow Jill to enter the small reception area first. Jill stepped inside, stopped in the center of the room, and managed to wait until the lights flickered on overhead before losing her composure.

  “Oh, D-huh- Doreen!” The words gushed out on a sob. She gulped some air. “I’m losing my mind.”

  “What?” Rarely did Doreen’s professional mask slip, but this time surprise animated her features.

  Jill jerked her head up and down. “I am, truly. Bonkers. Ready-for-the-nuthouse crazy. I’m having insane urges.”

  “Urges?” Concern carved lines in the skin above her eyebrows. “Have you considered hurting yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Harming your grandmother, or Greg?”

  The ludicrous suggestion shocked Jill momentarily out of her emotional outburst. “Of course not.”

  Doreen’s face transformed into the calm mask Jill knew so well. “Let’s talk in my office.”

  Jill followed her through the outer door, past the deserted receptionist’s desk, and waited while she unlocked the inner office door. The instant Jill stepped inside the familiar room, the knotted muscles in her shoulders started to relax. This was a safe place. She could talk freely here, and together she and Doreen would figure out what was going on. She dropped into her regular chair.

  Instead of taking her usual seat, Doreen stood in front of Jill and leaned against the desk. She did not, Jill noticed, pick up a pen or reach for her notepad. Did that mean this wasn’t an official session? She folded her fingers and let her hands hang casually in front of her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s that stupid dream. It keeps coming back, and it’s not the sleeping pills. I haven’t taken any more of those.”

  “Jill, we talked about this on Friday. Dreams aren’t uncommon when someone has suffered a traumatic event, as you have.”

  “I know, but this one is making me want to …” In her lap, the fingers of her right hand pressed against the scar on her left until pain shafted up her arm. “To do something.”

  “What does the dream tell you to do?”

  Her throat burned like the Sahara in August. “Warn people about a disaster that’s coming to Seaside Cove.” She risked an upward glance and felt a ridiculous sense of relief when Doreen’s expression remained impassive.

  “What kind of disaster?”

  “I wish I knew.” Jill propelled herself out of the chair and paced to the center of the room, ignoring the twinge of pain in her injured hip the sudden movement caused. “It’s all jumbled together. I see flames and water, feel hot and cold.” She pressed her hands against her ears. “I hear people screaming.”

  “Like the screams on the subway?”

  She shook her head. “No. These are different. Farther away or something.” Her hands tightened into fists. “It’s not the subway accident. This is something different, something worse. And I have to tell people, warn them to leave the Cove before next Tuesday.”

  Doreen’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “You have a date?”

  Miserable, Jill nodded. “Tuesday, December 6. Eight days from today.”

  For one moment, Doreen studied her face. Then she picked up a pen from the cup on the corner of her desk and slid into her chair. Relieved, Jill returned to her own seat. Now maybe they could get to the bottom of this.

  The counselor clicked the pen. “How are the wedding plans coming along?”

  “Nana has taken charge.” Jill pulled a grimace. “She and her friends have all kinds of ideas.”

  “Hmm. And how did the piano lessons go on Saturday?”

  “Fine. Great, in fact. One of the girls has a lot of natural talent.” No doubt where this line of questioning was going. Jill leaned forward. “I know what you’re thinking, but this dream isn’t related to the wedding or my students.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  Jill hesitated. She wasn’t certain of anything lately. Today, all she felt was exhaustion from sitting up all night, afraid to fall asleep again.

  Doreen went on. “Perhaps this recurring dream is your subconscious mind’s way of telling you that you’re moving too quickly. There are still some traumatic experiences you have not faced about the subway accident, and maybe it’s time to resolve them before you can truly put the event behind you and move forward.”

  “I’ve resolved everything,” Jill insisted.

  The counselor’s eyebrows arched. “Even Robert?”

  Jill’s protest died on her lips. No, she hadn’t resolved Robert’s death. And she didn’t want to. That was too harsh, too unfair. Too painful.

  “Jill, what if you talked to Greg and requested to postpone the wedding for a few months?”

  “No.” She couldn’t do that. Didn’t want to do that. She loved Greg, and there was no reason to wait to begin their life together. “No, I want to get marrie
d on Christmas.”

  “Then what about putting the piano lessons on the back burner for a while? Just a few months, until the rush of the holidays and the wedding are over.”

  That’s what she’d wanted to do from the beginning. If Nana hadn’t pushed her into starting immediately, she wouldn’t have begun for several months. And yet, could she call Kaylee and tell her to come back in six months? The shy girl’s face flashed into focus, so excited and proud as Jill lavished praise on her. No, she couldn’t disappoint the child that way.

  “I don’t want to do that either,” she told Doreen.

  A prolonged silence fell between them. Jill shifted her weight in the chair.

  Finally, the counselor clicked the pen. “Jill, I don’t think you’re losing your mind.”

  Hope soared like a bird in springtime. “You don’t?”

  “No. But you are obviously under a tremendous amount of stress. That’s completely understandable, given your past trauma and the recent changes in your life.” She leaned forward, her arms resting on her thighs, and held Jill’s gaze. “I’d like you to make an appointment with Dr. Bookman to talk about an anti-anxiety medication.”

  “Oh, that’s a great idea.” Jill didn’t bother to filter the sarcasm out of her voice. “Pop a pill and voila! The dreams will disappear. Although I won’t want to do anything except sit in a corner and tie knots in string or something, but at least I won’t dream.”

  Doreen’s laughter filled the room. “When did you become so dramatic? We’re not talking about an antipsychotic medication. You won’t have a sensation of being drugged. In fact, the only way you’ll be able to tell you’re taking anything at all is that you’ll feel better able to cope, and you’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep. And let me repeat what I said a minute ago, in case you didn’t hear me: You are not going insane. Anti-anxiety meds are just one part of a stress-reduction regime that can help you manage until your life calms down a bit. This doesn’t have to be permanent.”

  Jill tried not to feel offended by Doreen’s laughter. Didn’t she realize how upsetting this dream thing was? How close Jill had come to running into the streets and making an idiot of herself like some sort of doomsday prophet?