In My Dreams

by Muriel Jensen

  The images disappeared. He stared at blackness. Corie gripped his arm and sobbed against him.

  Sarah said in a tortured whisper, “Oh, Jack.”

  “So...” he began. As a kid, as a soldier, he’d had to face the night, no matter what. He had to do that now. He forced himself out of the sucking darkness of his memories and made himself examine the truth. “I killed a man,” he said simply, “and my mother went to prison to protect me.”

  “You killed a man who was beating your mother,” Ben said, getting in his face. “I’ve covered enough domestic calls to know that if you’d waited for the police to arrive, he might have killed her. Or Corie. Or Cassidy. You did what you had to do. You’ve done that enough times as a soldier to know you bear no guilt in it. No guilt, Jack. No guilt. Do you hear me?”

  It was hard to remember Brauer and feel badly about his absence in the world. But he’d killed him, not his mother.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But my mother gave away her life...” He felt the knot tighten. He swallowed and struggled to take another breath.

  “Take it easy, Jack,” Ben said.

  “I’ve hated her my whole life.” He needed to admit that, to get that out of him. “For what she did to our family. Sometimes hating her was all that got me through. And all that time...she’d taken the blame for me. And when she told me to get away from her, it wasn’t because she hated me, but because she didn’t want me to get blood on me. She didn’t want me there when the police came. She wanted them to think I was asleep and that she killed Brauer. And all the time, I’m the one who did that to our family.”

  He put his head in his hands. “She went to prison and then died there of a drug overdose. She took the blame for me and then she died.”

  It was agony. And he couldn’t fix it. His entire life had been about coming to terms with what he remembered, repairing his reactions to all the bad things that had happened to him, repairing himself so that he loved instead of hated. But it was too late to repair his relationship with his mother.

  Helen came to sit beside him. Corie stood to give her room. “Jack,” Helen said gently, “the thing to take from all this is that she was a beautiful young woman who couldn’t face her life without drugs. God knows why some people can and others can’t. But she loved you under it all. She did a fine, noble, maternal thing by taking the blame. But in the end, she still had to have drugs to get by—even after all the misery it brought into her life and her children’s lives. You have no blame for what happened to Brauer or to her. All the things that happened to your family are because of the choices she made.”

  She leaned into his upper arm and held it tightly. “No one begrudges you your memories of her, Jack. And I’m so glad you know that in that awful moment, she protected you and loved you.” She raised her head and forced him to look into her eyes. “Let that go, Jack. For the rest of our lives, I’m your mother. I know the man you are, and I’m so proud of you. This family is all together, right here, right now, and you’re a critical part of it. We are your life.”

  * * *

  SARAH WATCHED HIM as he tried to absorb his mother’s words. She knew they were meant to help move him forward, but he seemed stuck in a truth so harsh he couldn’t move.

  “Want some coffee with brandy in it?” Helen asked.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’m good.” He looked at everyone gathered around him. “Why don’t you all go back to bed? I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  Corie said his name apologetically. He stood to put his arms around her and hold her closely for a moment. “Please don’t feel badly about telling me the truth. I must have just buried it because it’s so...” He shook his head. There was no word strong enough to describe what he felt.

  “He would have killed her,” Corie whispered tearfully.

  “Yeah.”

  Helen took Corie by the shoulders. “Go to bed, Corie. It was all so long ago. It’s been over for more than twenty years. I know it’s impossible to forget, but it’s time for the two of you to put it away and never take it out again.” As she led Corie to the stairs, she turned to Sarah with a look that said she was leaving Jack to her. Ben and Gary wandered away.

  “Jack,” Sarah said gently.

  He tried to meet her eyes. He did, but the man she knew didn’t seem to be inside.

  “Please don’t do this to yourself.” Frightened by her inability to connect, to find the man who was always there for her, she began to babble. “No one would blame you. No court would ever convict you. My God, you were eight years old, he was beating your mother and you had two little sisters in the house. Jack, she’s gone, he’s gone, and you and Corie are here together. And I’m here. Just please let it go.”

  He took her hand and held it between his two. “I can’t, Sarah.” He rubbed it gently, kissed her knuckles, then dropped it. There was a finality about the gesture that chilled her. “I can live with having shot Brauer because he was horrible. I can go to the police and explain. But how do I live with the knowledge that she took the blame for the shooting and went to jail? And not only that, but I hated her, hated her all this time, when she made such an enormous sacrifice to protect me.”

  “I don’t think you really hated her,” Sarah said, catching his hand again, refusing to let him slip into the darkness he was creating for himself. “I think deep down you loved her. Maybe you didn’t even know you did, but you did. That’s why it hurts so much. Jack, she did it so you could have a life. Please. Have a life with me, like we’ve planned.”

  She saw the rejection of her plea in his eyes. “I can’t now, Sarah.”

  Desperate, she grasped his arms and shook him—or tried to. It didn’t even rock him, but it did make him give her his attention.

  “Listen to me,” she said, her voice quavering. “The only thing wrong with you is that you’ve taken the blame for her behavior your entire life. Her going to jail for you was a great, loving gesture, but she did it because she knew she owed you, and even she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if you’d ended up in the system for all the selfish choices she made. So don’t let her actions be for nothing.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and she thought for a moment that she’d won, that he understood. But when he pulled away, she saw in his face that she’d lost and he was simply tired of arguing. He looked bone-tired—of everything.

  “I’m going out for a while,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “Not sure. Just out.”

  “Can I come?”

  “No.” He lifted his head. “Ben!”

  His brother, who’d been making himself scarce in the hallway, appeared.

  “Can I use your condo?” Jack asked. “Just for a day or two?”

  Ben dug into his pocket, pulled out a key ring and worked one of the keys off. Ben tossed the key and Jack snagged it out of the air.

  “Thanks.”

  Jack went to the door, but Sarah ran around him and plastered herself against it. “I hate melodrama,” she said, “but know this. I’m not going to let you just walk away from me as though what we’ve been through to try to understand each other was all for nothing. And I’m not picking up my life as a nurse again, sticking out my chin and my neck and my...my heart without you. You told me that getting people where they wanted to go was your job. Cavalry Scout. Well, I want to go forward, I want to help old people be happy and thrive. I want to have your babies and drive you crazy and make you grateful every day that we’re together. So don’t leave here thinking this is over, because it isn’t.”

  He reached for the doorknob and she stepped aside.

  The man had just learned awful truths about his life tonight and maybe he needed time alone to process them, she realized. She’d tried to beat him into submission with her love, but love shouldn’t be used as a weapon.

  He was staring
at her as though he hated to leave but had no choice.

  She said a crisp good-night, her tone implying strongly that it was absolutely not goodbye.

  He stared at her for another few moments and then walked out the door. She turned away and found Ben standing behind her, arms open. She sobbed against him.

  * * *

  JACK LET HIMSELF into Ben’s condo on the bay. It was a bastion of guy stuff: NordicTrack, telescope, televisions in every room, huge leather furniture and five remotes lined up on a wide coffee table. He turned off the lights and sank onto the sofa, glad to be away from his parents’ house, away from the dream of Sarah, away from all the good things in his life he shouldn’t have because of who he was—and what he’d done.

  He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep, but secretly wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep again.

  * * *

  SARAH STARED AT the ceiling for hours. The glass of wine Ben had insisted she drink to help her sleep could have been caffeine-laden coffee for all the good it did.

  She finally fell asleep shortly after 6:00 a.m., but awoke just two hours later with a pounding headache and an emotional clot in her chest that no amount of deep breathing or antacids would dissolve.

  Seeing Corie still soundly sleeping in the extra bed, she pulled on jeans and the sweater she’d worn the day before and padded quietly out of the room and down the stairs. There was not a sound in the house. She looked out the kitchen window and saw that all the vehicles were still there. Everyone else must have slept better than she had. Must still be sleeping.

  Desperate for coffee, she put a mug under the Keurig and waited impatiently for the thirty seconds it took to brew. Before it was finished, a light rap sounded on the back door.

  Her only thought, going to answer it, was that Jack wouldn’t have knocked. Annoyed to be separated from the aroma of Tanzanian dark roast, Sarah pulled the door open—and stared in astonishment at Marcie Thurgood, of the fund-raising committee. Her jaw dropped a little farther at the long, lean young man standing beside her. Both wore sweats, though Marcie’s were pink and black and the young man’s were more traditional graphite-colored fleece.

  Marcie pushed past Sarah into the kitchen. The young man shook his head at her behavior and offered his hand. “Hi, Sarah. I’m Bobby Jay Cooper. May we come in?”

  The country singer, Sarah thought, in person. Still staring, she shook his hand, then stood aside and gestured him in. “Yes, please. Welcome to Beggar’s Bay.”

  “Thank you.” He had red-brown hair that fell across his forehead and a mass of subtle freckles. He also had the widest smile she’d ever seen. Sniffing the air, he said, “I smell coffee. Marcie dragged me out of the house before I could have a cup.”

  Sarah actually thought twice about giving him the cup that was ready and then reminded herself that this man had donated his time to help their fund-raising. She handed him the cup. “Cream or sugar?”

  “No, thanks.” He took it from her and seemed to need it almost as much as she did. No surprise. He was staying with Marcie Thurgood.

  Sarah started another cup.

  “Listen!” Marcie ordered, coming to stand beside her. “I know it’s early, but you won’t believe what’s happened.”

  “I won’t? You want coffee?”

  “Please. Are you paying attention?”

  “Uh, yes. I just didn’t sleep very well.” She watched the coffee drip. “What is it?”

  “Pete Daley voted to sell the Cooper Building to the seniors!” She clapped and did a little leap at her own announcement.

  Oh, yeah, Sarah thought. The Cooper Building. She was happy. It was just that her heart had been smashed to powder and she didn’t know how to express happiness.

  “That’s wonderful,” she said, struggling to put enthusiasm into her voice. She handed Marcie the now full cup and started another, aching for her own caffeine. “How did it happen?”

  “Well—” Marcie indicated the table “—can we sit?”

  “Please. I mean, it was looking pretty good for Forman at our last meeting. Did the Daleys change their minds about the divorce?”

  “No. But while Lucy Daley was in Forman’s office talking about it, she noticed his plans for the Cooper Building. I guess they were over-the-top contemporary. He wanted to add balconies, an outside glass elevator, take the brick off the front...”

  “What?”

  Bobby Jay pulled Sarah’s chair out as she came to the table with her coffee.

  “Lucy fired him on the spot as her lawyer,” Marcie went on, “and told Pete if he didn’t vote for the seniors, she’d get a Portland lawyer and take him for everything he had.”

  Sarah felt a little pleasure push against her heartache. “That’s wonderful, Marcie. I can’t believe it. Carol must be beside herself.”

  “We all are. Bobby and I went out for a run this morning and I thought it would be fun to deliver the news to you in person, since you’ve worked so hard.”

  “Thank you, Marcie. That was thoughtful.” Now, if she could just fix her personal life...

  There was another knock on the kitchen door. Bobby Jay, who was closer, rose to pull it open. Sarah, still sitting at the table, stood in complete surprise at the trio in the doorway.

  “Bobby Jay Cooper!” Vinny said, clearly surprised but in no way intimidated by the celebrity who’d answered the door. He reached out to shake hands. “I’m Vinny Caruso,” he said. “One of the acts you’ll be judging tomorrow.” He turned to his companions. “This is Margaret Brogan, also competing, and Jasper Fletcher.”

  Bobby Jay shook hands all around, gestured Margaret inside and then reached for Jasper’s arm. “Can I give you a hand there?” he asked.

  Sarah greeted her clients while Marcie vacated her chair for Margaret and Bobby Jay helped Jasper into his. Sarah pointed Vinny to her chair. “You all want coffee?” she asked. The quick reply of “Sure!” sent her to the K-Cup drawer in the hope that there was enough. She could always make a pot.

  “How did you get here?” she asked as she pulled down mugs.

  “Jasper drove,” Vinny replied. Getting the laugh he’d hoped for from her other guests, he said, “We took a cab. The good news about the building is circulating like wildfire among our friends, and we had to come and thank you for helping make it happen.”

  Margaret held up a colorful tin. “Peanut butter cookies,” she said.

  Sarah remembered asking her once why she’d never been given a sample of her cookies. Margaret had replied that it was because she wasn’t a “hungry little waif with a world of sadness in her eyes.”

  She guessed that wasn’t true this morning.

  Sarah carried cups to the table, put Margaret’s cookies on a plate and placed it in the middle of the table. “Not a traditional breakfast, but... Thank you, Margaret.”

  Conversation carried on about Bobby Jay’s home outside of Memphis, about the show and about the building and all the seniors would be able to do in it.

  “And Jack Palmer,” Sarah said, “has offered to do the repainting and sanding and restaining of the floors at cost.”

  It pained her to even say Jack’s name, not knowing if she’d be a part of his life anymore.

  “That’s wonderful,” Bobby Jay declared. “He’s part of this family you’re staying with, isn’t he?”

  Sarah nodded. “He is. He’s been back from Afghanistan just a couple of months and wanting very much to reconnect with the community.”

  “Well. We’ll just have to see that that young man gets lots of work around here.” Marcie wagged a pink-polished fingernail. “And not at cost, either.”

  Sarah looked up to see Helen, Gary, Ben and Corie standing at the foot of the back stairs, clearly uncertain what to make of Sarah’s early morning company. Corie looked particularly surprised.
But of course she would, Sarah thought.

  Sarah waved Corie and the others in and made introductions. Corie was awestruck by the presence of Bobby Jay, and Gary and Ben went in search of more chairs.

  “I could make some breakfast,” Helen said hesitantly as they returned.

  Ben put a bench seat from the upstairs hallway behind his mother and pushed her onto it. “No, no. I’ll make a McDonald’s run. Is that okay with everybody?”

  The affirmative was unanimous and Ben did a quick count, then left with Gary along to help him carry.

  Conversation picked up, then Sarah noticed the back door opening again and couldn’t imagine who else was visiting.

  Jack. He took a step into the kitchen and froze at the sight of all the people around the kitchen table. He didn’t look as though he’d slept any better than Sarah had. Her heart punched against her ribs. Was he coming home?

  She met his eyes across the room, thought she could hear the sliding-bolt sound of their hearts connecting. “Hi, Jack,” she said.

  Before she could say anything more, Bobby Jay rose from his folding chair and frowned at Jack in concentration.

  “Jack...Manning?” he asked, taking a step closer. “From Cubby’s?”

  Jack turned to Bobby Jay in complete surprise. He took another step into the room, frowning as he studied Bobby Jay’s face. “Robby Turner? No.”

  Bobby Jay stuck out his hand and the two men shook. Then Bobby Jay stood back and looked at Jack in amazement. “I can’t believe it, either. Yes! Robby Turner. Only, my mother married Paul Cooper, who already had a boy named Robby, so I became Bobby and then Cooper when he adopted me. How are you, man?”

  Sarah could see how Jack was: still shaken from the revelations of last night, stunned, exhausted, in pain. She saw him force a smile and come out of his misery to engage in the moment and this gift of fate of an old friend.

  Bobby Jay shared the story with the group of how he and Jack had met. “It was a tough time for me,” he said, growing serious. “My parents had separated, I missed my dad, and my mom and I were in a new town. She worked nights in the nightclub that was in the Cooper Building then.” He smiled quickly at the seniors. “Jack used to always bring this cool dump truck.”