Out of a Dream (Sandy Cove Series Book 1)

by Rosemary Hines

  Carrying the tray carefully into the family room, she put it down on the coffee table, and then helped Steve get into a comfortable sitting position. They ate together while she told him about Bev's friend, Starla, and The New World Bookstore.

  Steve raised his eyebrows as she shared Starla's interpretation of her dreams. "Sounds a little weird to me, Michelle," he warned. "Don't take this stuff too seriously.” He rubbed his hands across his eyes. “When I suggested you talk to somebody about your dreams, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind."

  "I know. It's just kind of interesting about that Marty guy in my dream the other night and how he looks like the Marty who wrote this dream book."

  "Maybe you just think that because of the name. Can you really remember what the guy in your dream looked like?" he asked, sounding skeptical.

  "I don't know. Maybe you're right. He just looked kind of familiar when I saw the photo on the book jacket. But it's hard to remember for sure what the guy really looked like in my dream," she admitted.

  "Just don't get all weird on me about these crazy dreams, Michelle. They probably don't really mean anything anyway.”

  She nodded her head, not wanting to get into a heated discussion with him when he wasn’t feeling well. He really looked tired and pale. “Why don’t you take a nap for a while?” she suggested.

  “I think I will.” Slipping back down under the afghan, he thanked her for lunch and closed his eyes.

  She quietly got up and carried the tray back into the kitchen. After rinsing out the mugs and the pan, she went upstairs to their bedroom where she could get some things done without disturbing Steve.

  Flipping open her laptop, she reread a message she’d received earlier in the week from her best friend, Kristin Matthews. As the keys clicked under her fingertips, she poured out her thoughts in reply.

  Michelle felt totally safe with Kristin and was able to candidly share all about her strange dreams. Missing Kristin more and more with every line, she yearned to see her friend and sit face-to-face sharing her thoughts and fears. She ended the email urging Kristin to consider coming to Sandy Cove for a visit.

  “Now what should I do?” she asked Max, who was curled up on the rocking chair. Thoughts of Seal Beach continued to flood her mind and she decided to call home.

  “Yes?” a male voice gruffly answered.

  “Dad?” Michelle asked tentatively, unaccustomed to her father answering the phone so brusquely.

  “Michelle?” her father’s voice softened.

  “Hi, Dad. Is everything okay?”

  “Fine, honey. Why?”

  “You sound different. I barely recognized your voice,” she replied.

  “Must be the tail end of my cold.”

  “Maybe. Is everything else okay? Mom said your heart was bothering you. Racing or something.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, kiddo. I’m fit as a fiddle. Really. Let me get your mother. She’s been eager to talk to you.” There was a brief pause. Then Michelle heard him call out, “Sheila! Michelle’s on the phone.”

  A moment later her mom came on the line. “Hi, honey. How are you?”

  Hearing her mother’s voice immediately magnified Michelle’s homesickness. Though their conversation started out light and casual, within minutes Michelle was telling her how much she missed her.

  “I miss you too, Mimi,” her mother replied, using her pet name for Michelle. “Is everything okay, honey?" she inquired gently.

  "I guess. Steve and I are doing fine, the house is coming together, and I’m learning to find my way around Sandy Cove.” Michelle paused, feeling her voice start to shake. “It's just hard being so far away from everyone."

  "I know, sweetheart. It’s a big adjustment. I've been meaning to try to get away for a week or two and come up to visit like you suggested last month. Do you want me to talk to your dad about it and see what I can work out?”

  “That would be great,” Michelle replied and then added, “Is he alright, Mom? He sounded kind of funny when he answered the phone.”

  “He’s just got a lot on his mind these days. Hold on a sec, dear,” she added. Michelle heard some rustling and then her mom’s voice returned. “I wanted to change rooms. Your dad is really touchy lately. There’s some kind of lawsuit going on at work, and he’s very concerned about it. I don’t know the whole story, but you know how your father is.”

  “Mr. Independent. Yeah, I know, Mom. I wonder if he’d talk to Steve about it.”

  “Maybe. I’ll see if I can get some more information before I come up. If I talk to Steve first, he might be able to give me some pointers to mention to your father.”

  “Good idea,” Michelle replied. “I’m so glad you’re going to try to come up and visit, Mom.” Her spirit felt lighter just thinking about seeing her mother again.

  “Me too,” Sheila agreed. “I have a couple of appointments this week, but I could try to fly up next Monday or Tuesday."

  "That would be great!" Michelle replied enthusiastically. "Call me back as soon as you’ve talked it over with Dad."

  They wrapped up their conversation with Michelle feeling much better. The sound of Max mewing by the closed bedroom door reminded Michelle of Steve downstairs with the flu. She silently hoped that he would be better before Monday. I hope I don’t get sick, too.

  She picked Max up and cradled him in her arms, nuzzling his soft fur. “Want to read with me?” she asked as she picked up the dream book and carried it to the rocking chair. Max wasn’t interested in sharing her lap with the large green volume. He leapt down and strutted across the room to settle next to the heater vent.

  Perusing the table of contents, a chapter heading caught Michelle’s eye. “Spirit Guides and the Link to Dream Analysis – Find Your Spirit Guide Within”. That sounds interesting, she thought, flipping the pages to that chapter.

  I just might be getting to know you better, Marty, she reflected silently as she thought of the man in her dream.

  Michelle’s father, John Ackerman, sank into the dark burgundy leather chair in the corner of his den. It was well after midnight and, unable to sleep, he had gotten out of bed to keep from waking Sheila with his tossing and turning. All vitality was drained from his spirit, and he felt desperately alone.

  Fear closed in on him with a vise-like grip, and he felt himself being pulled into a black chasm in his mind. Over and over he replayed in his mind the events at the hearing and the incriminating evidence that was being twisted and used against him. Most of the documents had never crossed his desk. Yet there they were, clearly revealing his signature on them.

  It had been apparent for months that someone at Mathers, Inc. was trying to discredit him. The numerous, unfounded complaints that he had tried to ignore or brush aside as unimportant were now fitting into this picture like a complex puzzle of deception and defamation. But why? Who would want him out of the company? And why would anyone go to such desperate measures as these forgeries?

  Could this be about his former secretary, Marilyn Marlow, and their brief affair?

  He sat back in his chair and replayed in his mind those three weeks in Dallas. Marilyn’s youth, coupled with her intense passion for John had invaded his well-ordered life at a time when age was robbing him of his sense of virility. But it hadn’t taken long for him to come to his senses and terminate the affair.

  Duty and responsibility overruled personal pleasure in John’s world. It had been difficult to watch her pale green eyes fill with tears at their final parting, and he could still remember the feel of her long, soft hair and firm, well-formed body. But his life was back in Seal Beach with Sheila and the kids. Not in the arms of his secretary.

  Marilyn was a vulnerable young lady with a crush on an older man. Surely she wouldn’t do something this drastic.

  Until this morning, John had been certain that he would eventually be cleared of the charges. His main concern had been the loss of productive time at work and the attorney fees necessary to clear his nam
e. Now he wondered if any amount of time or money could free him from this nightmare.

  Gazing pensively around the room, his heavy brown eyes lit on a picture of Sheila taken on the beach a year earlier. Tears welled up, and he felt very small in his large masculine body. He could still remember clearly the day Sheila had agreed to marry him. As he looked at her gentle face in the photograph, he yearned to protect the only real love of his life from this debilitating scandal. But how? He needed time to think.

  Slumping back in his chair, he gazed out the window at the streetlight. An almost suffocating sensation of despair overtook him. Reaching down, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and stared at the gun inside.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Northwest Airlines Flight #213 from Orange County, California, was descending over the Portland airport. From the air, Michelle’s mom, Sheila Ackerman, gazed out of her window as the ground rushed up to meet her.

  The sun broke through momentarily and the lush green field and trees bordering the airport were vibrant. Homes dotted the fir-covered rolling hills on the outskirts of town, resembling a miniature village one might put out at Christmas time. The Columbia River looked like a ribbon of blue satin as it meandered below them. Seconds later, the bright rays of the sun were swallowed by thick white and gray clouds reclaiming their spot over the runway.

  Sheila’s thoughts had been on Michelle since boarding. Their recent phone conversations worried her. Michelle's voice sounded uneasy and anxious the last time they spoke. Sheila couldn't shake the feeling that her daughter was troubled about something.

  As they descended toward the runway, she braced herself for the slight jolt of the landing gear touching down. Smiling at the passenger beside her, she breathed a silent prayer of relief. Although she loved the convenience of flying, she never could never get used to the idea of such big monstrosities actually being airborne.

  The pilot's voice could be heard over the speakers. "Welcome to Portland, Oregon. It is now ten-thirty and the current temperature is a chilly 48 degrees. Thank you for flying Northwest Airlines. We look forward to serving you again soon."

  Sheila shivered at the thought of the crisp air that awaited her outside. She pulled her compact out of her purse to make a quick check of her appearance. After running a small comb through her caramel-colored hair, she reapplied a muted shade of lipstick.

  Her peaches-and-cream complexion was only slightly marred by soft lines around the corners of her eyes and across her forehead. The pale blue suit John helped her pick out for her birthday flattered her soft, natural coloring. Snapping the compact shut, Sheila dropped it into her purse and unbuckled her seat belt.

  The flight attendant, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant round face, reminded them to check the overhead storage compartments for their personal belongings. Then the passengers began to disembark.

  Sheila retrieved her carry-on bag and started up the aisle. She felt slightly claustrophobic as she waited for the passengers in front of her to filter out of their rows. After finally exiting the plane, she took a deep breath and hurried through the walkway to the terminal.

  As she approached luggage claim, she could see Michelle waiting, eagerly watching the long stream of passengers flowing into the airport. Businessmen wearing conservative suits and toting briefcases briskly brushed past her, followed by several tourists and a young mother with two small children.

  Sheila waved, catching Michelle’s eye. A relieved smile lit her daughter’s face as she waved back. Eagerly, they wove between people to embrace.

  Michelle's hair felt soft and silky against Sheila's cheek. She squeezed her daughter tightly, feeling the tension in Michelle's firm and prolonged embrace. Then she gently drew back and looked into her eyes.

  "I've missed you, sweetheart," she said, smiling through tears.

  "Oh, Mom. I'm so glad you're here." Michelle placed her arm around her mother's shoulder.

  They worked their way through the crowd to the conveyor belt full of luggage. After collecting Sheila's bags, they headed out to the parking lot.

  The chilly air penetrated through her linen suit. “Brrr!!” she exclaimed, pulling up her shoulders.

  “Do you want my jacket?” Michelle asked. “I’ve got a sweatshirt on under it.”

  “Thanks, honey, but I’ll be fine. Is your car close?”

  “Right over there,” Michelle answered, pointing to her car.

  They hustled over and loaded the bags into the back, then climbed inside.

  “A bit nippy up here,” Sheila said, glancing over to drink in another look at her daughter.

  “Not like sunny Southern California,” Michelle observed.

  Sheila could hear the homesickness in her daughter’s voice. “It’s not so perfect down there, either. If our drought doesn’t end soon, they’ll start rationing water. We could really use some of your rain.”

  “You can have it. I’d take a little drought about now.”

  Sheila reached over and patted Michelle’s knee, realizing once again how much she missed having her daughter close to home. But she knew Michelle was probably in Sandy Cove to stay because of Steve’s position at the firm. “You’ll get used to Sandy Cove, Mimi,” she said, hoping her voice sounded reassuring rather than concerned.

  Michelle just nodded and smiled at her mom as she pulled out of the parking lot.

  As they merged onto the street, Sheila wondered if Michelle would want to stop for lunch on the way back to Sandy Cove. The last time she visited, they’d eaten at Camp 18, a rustic restaurant and gift shop made of knotty pine that was just off of Highway 26.

  “Are you hungry, Mom?” her daughter asked, as if reading her mind.

  “I’m fine for now. They gave us a snack on the plane,” Sheila replied.

  “Would you mind if we eat at the house?”

  “That would be fine, honey. I’m eager to get into some warmer clothes anyway, and we can relax and visit better there than at a restaurant,” Sheila added, settling back into her seat and glancing out the window at the interesting cloud formations.

  The drive back to Sandy Cove passed quickly. They had a lot of catching up to do, and one topic easily led to another just as the road transported them from the city to the quiet coastal community. While they visited, Sheila soaked in the beautiful scenery along the tree-lined highway.

  First they drove through the wide, open spaces of the Willamette Valley. As the highway narrowed from four lanes to two, they began winding gradually up and through the coastal mountain range. The forest of pines reluctantly parted to allow the road to make its way through its shrouded terrain. Everything seemed so breathtakingly natural in contrast to the man-made confines of suburbia. Occasional encounters with logging trucks reminded her the forest had uses that extended beyond its scenic beauty.

  As they drove, Sheila asked about Steve's new job and Michelle's plans to return to school. Michelle seemed proud as she reported her husband’s recent success in his first court case, then she told her about Pacific Northwest University where she hoped to complete her teaching credential. She explained that she planned to begin attending classes in the fall.

  “That’s great, honey,” Sheila replied.

  "So how's everything with Dad?" Michelle asked next.

  "He's okay. I worry about the strain of his long hours, but he’s always managed to burn the candle at both ends and come out winning," she said.

  Michelle nodded.

  As their conversation reached a lull, Sheila closed her eyes and dozed off.

  Michelle looked at her mom and thought about their family. Rarely in her parents’ thirty years of marriage had they ever really vacationed together as a couple or a family. All of their trips and excursions usually involved business meetings for Michelle’s dad.

  He was a driven man, determined to succeed in every undertaking. He thrived on endless hours of hard work and was quick to climb the corporate ladder. A self-made man, propelling himself from a lower middle-class you
th to a well-established comfortable lifestyle in a Southern California beach community, her dad preached that all things in life were possible for those who believed in themselves and were willing to work hard.

  Michelle remembered his stories of his early days as a “gofer” for a small advertising agency, and how he had worked his way up to West Coast manager of Mathers, Inc., a multimillion dollar advertising firm.

  Her father had no time for people who were lazy, and he never entertained any notions of spirituality, other than to say religion was a crutch for weak people. “If you want something, you’ve got to get out there and fight for it!” he repeatedly declared to Michelle and her brother, Tim.

  Extremely pragmatic, he often lacked the warmth Michelle craved in their relationship. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her. He just didn’t have time for needless sentimentality.

  He gave his family the best money could buy. In his eyes, that was his role as head of the household. Although she appreciated the creature comforts he provided for all of them, she still felt something was missing, especially when she saw other fathers walking on the pier with their kids or joining them for a romp on the beach.

  She could picture her father’s expression of deep concentration as he huddled over paperwork spread out on his desk or gazed into his computer screen. Every once in a while he would run his fingers through his wavy gray hair and take a deep breath, then resume his work.

  There was never any point in trying to get him away from his desk. Any interruption would meet with a short-tempered response. So she and Tim learned to stay away from the study when John was working.

  Michelle sighed and turned her attention back to the road. A short time later, she noticed her mother stirring in the passenger seat. “Sorry I dozed off,” Sheila said apologetically. “You look like you’ve been deep in thought.”

  "Just thinking about Dad,” she replied. “I was worried about his heart, but he says he’s fine.”