Through the Tears (Sandy Cove Series Book 2)

by Rosemary Hines

  Michelle sat up in bed, her nightshirt soaked with sweat and her hair damp. She pushed off the covers and stood up. It was 2 A.M. The cries of the baby echoed in her mind as she walked into the closet and changed into a dry nightie. Knowing better than trying to go to back to sleep right away, she ran a brush through her tangled locks and threw on a robe before going downstairs.

  This was the second dream she’d had about a baby crying. Both dreams ended with the same unsettling and eerie silence. She put the teakettle on the stove and wandered into the family room to look for her book on dreams. Finding it sitting on an end table, she carried it back into the kitchen and settled into the breakfast nook to drink her tea and read. As she scanned through the table of contents and index, she found several references to babies, but was disappointed to discover that none of them related to what she had dreamt.

  Michelle thought about Trevor. He had helped her with her dreams before; maybe he’d help her again. She decided to call him in the morning but knew she wouldn’t mention it to Steve, fearing he wouldn’t understand.

  Trevor was just heading out the door when the phone rang. He hesitated and decided to let the answering machine pick it up first. “Hi Trevor, it’s Michelle,” the soft voice on the other end began.

  He reached for the phone. “Hi there. You caught me on my way out the door.”

  “Oh. I can call back later,” she replied, sounding a little uneasy.

  “No, it’s fine. Really. What’s up?”

  “Well, I wanted to return your thesis to you,” she began, “and to talk to you about something.”

  “Want me to come by your house?” he asked.

  “No,” she answered quickly. “Let’s meet at the Coffee Stop.”

  “Sounds good to me. What time did you have in mind?” he asked, knowing he’d change his schedule to meet hers.

  “I was hoping we could meet for an early lunch. Like say around 11:00.”

  “Eleven is perfect. I’ll be there,” he promised. After they hung up, he glanced down at his watch. 10:00. Plenty of time to drop by the New World Bookstore and pick up the book Starla had suggested for Michelle. He smiled. This was going to be a better day than he’d anticipated.

  Michelle sat across the table from Trevor. Her insides were somersaulting and she nervously twisted a piece of her hair. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she said, looking away.

  “What do you mean?” Trevor asked, his face furrowed with concern.

  “I mean us meeting like this. Something’s not right about it.”

  “We’re just having lunch, Michelle. Can’t two friends meet for lunch?” His voice sounded impatient.

  “I guess. It’s just that I know Steve wouldn’t be thrilled.”

  “Oh, so this is about Steve.”

  She looked up and made eye contact with Trevor. “How would you feel if you were him?”

  “That’s a loaded question. I’m not sure I can answer it. Hopefully I’d be understanding enough to let you get together for lunch with a friend.” He paused for a moment and then wisely softened to her dilemma. “If you’re really that uncomfortable, Michelle, maybe you should talk to him about it. You know, clear the air, and see what he thinks.”

  “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” Now she didn’t know if she should excuse herself and leave or stay this one time and then talk to Steve about it for the future.

  As if reading her mind, Trevor spoke, “Since we’re already here, why don’t you tell me what it was you wanted to talk to me about.”

  Sighing, she resumed twisting her hair around her finger and began explaining to him about her dreams about the crying baby. “It’s so frustrating and upsetting, Trevor. I want to get to her, but I can’t see in the darkness. Then, when it gets totally silent, it’s almost like she’s dead.” Her anxiety mounted as she described the emotions connected with the dream.

  “Okay. It’s clear this is really upsetting you. Let’s step back from it for a moment.” Trevor placed his hand over her free one. “Take a deep breath, Michelle.”

  She obeyed, breathing slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth like she had learned in yoga and in the meditation exercises he taught.

  “That’s better. Now clear your mind of all distracting thoughts. Separate yourself from your emotions. Imagine you can put them into a paper bag and set them under the table. Are you with me?”

  Michelle nodded, her eyes closing as her face relaxed.

  “Good. Now direct your focus upward. Picture the light of your higher self. Can you see the light?”

  Again she nodded.

  “Your higher self can tell you what this dream is about. What is it saying to you, Michelle?”

  After a long pause, she spoke. “The baby is mine. It’s the baby I will have someday. It is already calling me to be its mother.” She paused, and then added, “That’s all.”

  Opening her eyes, she was just looking up to read Trevor’s response when she noticed someone striding toward their table. It was Steve. Quickly she pulled her hand out from under Trevor’s.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Steve said sarcastically as he glanced from Michelle to Trevor. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

  Michelle’s face was crimson. She stammered, trying to explain, “I was just giving Trevor his thesis back, and we got into a conversation about a dream I’ve been having.”

  Trevor stood up and extended his hand to Steve who ignored it. “Have a seat, Steve. I need to get going, anyway.”

  “Thanks, pal,” Steve replied sarcastically.

  Michelle cringed as Trevor winked at her over Steve’s head. “It was good seeing you again. Thanks for your input on my thesis,” he added before waving goodbye.

  “Well that was a cozy little get-together,” Steve commented caustically, as soon as Trevor was out of earshot.

  “Are you okay?” Michelle asked tentatively.

  “Swell,” he replied with a scowl.

  “Listen, Steve, it’s really nothing. Trevor is just a friend. That’s all.”

  “Do you always sit holding hands with your friends?” he asked pointedly.

  “We weren’t holding hands. Trevor was just trying to calm me down after I told him about a disturbing dream I’ve been having.”

  “Oh, is that all? How comforting.” Steve was obviously reading more into it. “Since when do you confide your dreams to this guy?”

  “He knows a lot about dreams. It has to do with his study of psychology.” Michelle was grasping for a lifeline. “Remember when you told me you thought I should talk to someone professional about my dreams?”

  “Yeah, but I never imagined you’d be sitting at some restaurant holding hands with your therapist. Besides, this guy isn’t even a licensed counselor yet, right?”

  “Yeah, but he knows how to help me sort through my nightmares -- how to make sense of them,” she tried to explain.

  “Have you ever thought about asking God to help you?” Though his question had validity, she could only respond to the hostility she heard in his voice.

  “God may be able to answer all your questions, Steve, but I’m not there yet. I still need people to talk to, people who will really listen.”

  “Are you saying I don’t listen?” It was clear her husband was not going to soften.

  “At this point, I’d have to say no. If you could hear yourself, you’d know what I mean.” Pushing her chair away from the table, she stood up. “I’ve lost my appetite,” she said and headed for the door.

  Michelle drove her car down to the beach. She pulled to the end of the road and turned off the engine. Staring out over the sand and sea, her eyes began to fill, blurring the horizon. Everything was such a mess. Her father was struggling to regain his life, her perspective on truth and God was radically changing, her friendships in Sandy Cove seemed to be in upheaval, and Steve was making her feel like some kind of cheat.

  Was it wrong to be friends with Trevor? Hadn’t he helped her through som
e confusing and troubling times? He seemed to genuinely care about her, to take a real interest in the issues of her life, while Steve seemed more interested in work.

  And what about Monica? She acted more distant lately. It wasn’t anything Michelle could really put her finger on, but the kinship they once shared just wasn’t there.

  She thought back to those first few weeks in Sandy Cove and remembered the homesickness and loneliness that had followed her through each day. Then she’d met Monica at the yoga class and it all turned around. Now she thought about the possibility of losing that friendship as well as those with Trevor and Starla.

  She bit her lip and shook her head from side to side as the tears began to stream down her face. Why was this happening?

  Hugging herself as she gently rocked back and forth and cried, Michelle began to pray. “Dear God, please help me. I feel so alone. I don’t want to lose my friends, and Steve can’t stand Trevor. Am I wrong to want him as a friend? I’m so confused. Please, God, show me what to do.”

  Michelle sat back against the seat and took a deep breath. She waited, hoping for some kind of answer. Nothing came except a memory of her grandfather’s face as he had spoken to her in the hospital chapel saying, “If you are sincere about wanting to know the truth, God will show it to you.” And God had met her in that chapel. Her spirit knew it. But today, He seemed silent.

  A moment later she heard a tap on her window. Startled, she turned to see Steve leaning down and looking in at her, his face furrowed with concern. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Michelle.... I’m..” he began.

  Before he could finish, she was out of the car and reaching for him. They stood hugging while both of them tried to apologize.

  “I know I’m acting like a jealous jerk,” he admitted. “But sometimes I get scared I’ll lose you.”

  “Why would you think that? You know how much I love you. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

  “I just don’t trust that guy, Michelle. There’s something not quite right about him.”

  “You don’t really know Trevor. He’s not the way you think he is. He’s honestly just a nice guy who cares about me like a friend,” she tried to explain.

  “I know guys, babe. Believe me, Trevor wants more than friendship.”

  She could feel herself starting to stiffen, but decided it would be better to change the subject. “Let’s forget about Trevor and go get some lunch,” she suggested, knowing Steve must be starving after leaving for work that morning without so much as a bowl of cereal or a piece of toast.

  “Got your appetite back?” he teased with a wink.

  Michelle just smiled and rolled her eyes. “Let’s go home. I’ve got some lunchmeat from the deli. We can have sub sandwiches.”

  “Okay. See you back there,” Steve said, closing her car door and walking back to his car.

  After lunch, Steve went back to work, and Michelle got on the phone to call Kristin. If only Kristin lived nearby. Then she’d have a great friend who really understood her -- someone to hang around with when Steve was busy. Well, for now she’d just have to settle for emails and phone calls.

  Michelle was disappointed to get voicemail, but she figured Kristin had a lot to do these days what with planning a wedding. When she heard the beep, she said, “Hey, Kristin. It’s me. Give me a call.” Just as she was about to hang up, Kristin’s voice sounded on the other end.

  “Michelle? Is that you?”

  “Kristin -- I’m so glad you picked up the phone,” she said, elated to hear her friend’s voice.

  “I was just walking out the door. Appointment with the photographer.”

  “Oh. Well I won’t keep you then. Are you and Mark still coming for Thanksgiving?” she asked hopefully.

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” she replied enthusiastically.

  “I’m so glad. I miss you, friend. There are so many things I want to talk to you about. Plus it will be good for Steve and Mark to get to know each other better.”

  “Mark is eager to get to know both of you. I talk about you all the time. Can you believe it, Michelle? Me marrying a pastor?”

  “I think it’s great. You deserve the best.”

  After a pause, Michelle spoke again, “Lots of stuff has been happening around here. I wish you were closer...”

  “I know what you mean. Every time I go out looking at flowers or china or dresses for the wedding, I wish you were here with me.” Kristin sighed and then added, “Maybe I’ll kidnap you when we’re up there and bring you back with me.”

  Michelle laughed. “Actually, I’d love that,” she admitted softly.

  “Hey, how’s your dad doing?” Kristin asked.

  “I call home every day, and so far Mom seems to think he’s continuing to improve. But I can hear how tired she sounds. Wish I could be closer and help her. We’ll be going down for Christmas.”

  “I’m sure they’ll both be so glad to see you again, `Shell. It’s such a miracle that your dad is doing this well.”

  “Yeah. Just pray for him to keep improving. He’s got a long way to go, and if he plateaus for any extended period of time, they’ll stop the therapy. Pray for my mom too. This is really hard on her. My dad was always the strong one.”

  “I’ll pray. Mark too.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So is everything okay with you and Steve these days?” Kristin asked.

  “I guess. We had a big fight today, but I think we got it straightened out. I’ll tell you more about it when you’re up here. I don’t want to make you any later for your appointment.”

  “I can cancel the appointment if you need to talk, Michelle.”

  “No. It’s okay. I can wait. It’ll be better when we can talk face- to-face.”

  “Alright. Well, in the meantime, I’ll be praying for you guys.”

  “Thanks, Kristin. I appreciate it. Really.” Before they hung up, Kristin gave Michelle the information about their flight for Thanksgiving. “Steve can pick you guys up at the airport,” Michelle added.

  “No way. We’ll just rent a car. I wish I could help with all that cooking. We tried to get a reservation for the night before, but everything was totally booked.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just glad you’ll be there to share the feast with us,” Michelle replied. “Hopefully it’ll be edible,” she added with a grin.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Clark Christianson’s eyes lit on a name. Marilyn Marlow. Why did that name seem so familiar? He rolled his chair over to the file cabinet and pulled out his file on Harrison Brady. Maybe this was the link he was looking for between Ackerman’s case and Brady’s.

  “Bingo,” he said with a smile as he spotted the same name on the roster of employees at Burksted’s Technologies. “Now how does this Marilyn fit into the puzzle?” he asked himself aloud, knowing he was the only one burning the midnight oil at his office.

  Scrolling through his contacts, he found Harrison Brady’s home phone number. Punching it in, he pushed up the sleeve of his oxford shirt and glanced at his Rolex watch. 10:00. Hope Brady isn’t in bed, he thought as he heard the phone begin to ring on the other end.

  “Hello?” came a male voice. “Mr. Brady?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Clark Christianson.”

  “Clark -- What a surprise!”

  “Listen Brady, I hate to bother you so late at night,” Clark began.

  “No problem. What’s up?” Harrison asked.

  “Well, I’m working on another case very similar to yours, and I’ve stumbled across something that may link these two cases together.”

  “Really? What?”

  “It’s a name. A name that appears on both companies’ employment records. Do you remember someone named Marilyn Marlow?”

  “Do I ever. That gal was something else. If you want my opinion, I think she had a thing for old Preston. But once it was uncovered that he was the one trying to frame me, she seemed to be totally
disillusioned with him. A few months later, she turned in her resignation.”

  “So what makes you think she had something going with Preston?” Clark asked, his interest piqued.

  “I didn’t say she actually had something going with him. Preston was a pretty staunch family man. I don’t think he’d fall for some floozy like Marlow. But she did hang around his office quite a bit, strutting in those tight sweaters and short skirts of hers.”

  “Thanks, Harrison. I really appreciate this. It could be just the lead I’m looking for,” Clark commented halfway to himself.

  “Happy to help in any way I can. And Clark,” Harrison Brady added.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll never forget what you did for me. You saved my life, pal. Thanks again.”

  The words reached into a part of Clark Christianson that very few people or things touched. It was moments like this that made his job his passion.

  “Don’t mention it, Brady. I was just doing what you hired me to do,” he replied, covering all traces of emotion.

  The next morning, Clark Christianson decided to take a little trip over to John Ackerman’s office at Mather’s, Inc. He wanted to meet this Marilyn Marlow and see what he could find out about her.

  Entering the glass doors to the downstairs lobby, he was impressed by the simple, yet dramatic entry. Gleaming white marble flooring complemented the soaring, tinted glass windows and mirrored elevators. In the front left corner, black leather furniture and a sleek glass and steel coffee table provided a general waiting area, rarely used since each department had its own reception room.

  Off center and to the right was an imposing, markedly uncluttered cherry-wood desk. Void of any type of paperwork, it boasted a handsome matching cherry-wood set comprised of a large blotter, a gracefully carved pencil holder, and a simple, but elegant, daily calendar. The attractive woman stationed behind this fortress wore a headset for the telephones. It was clear her only responsibility was to channel incoming calls and visitors.