She kissed my cheek. “Now that I’ll agree to.”
I poured my coffee, then waited for mom to leave before I covered my face with my hands. This was not happening. I doubted a therapist or a minister could help me make sense of any of this. Then I felt the pressure within me start to build, and I quickly opened my eyes and held on to the countertop to steady myself. I took deep breaths. “Don’t panic,” I whispered.
Forgetting the coffee, I went outside and headed toward the beach. I didn’t want to scare Mom anymore, but I needed to talk to Jayce. Hopefully, the beach would be far enough way.
Sure enough, I heard him following me. When I thought we were far enough away from the cabin, I stopped.
Jayce turned me to him, his eyes wet with tears. He tried to blink them back, but he couldn’t hide the emotion and turmoil from his face. “Brooke…what’s happening?”
“I tried to tell you!” I cried. “When I sleep it’s like I’m in another dimension. In water! And I drown. Every. Single. Time.”
Jayce pulled me to him and held me as if I might vaporize right there. “This is unreal,” he said. “But to think you’ve been going through this by yourself for well over a month, I can’t even imagine.”
I pressed my face into his shirt and breathed in the familiarity of my best friend. Just him knowing and believing brought such sweet relief. I didn’t feel as alone. “So now you know that I’m not crazy. That I’m seriously enduring some other-worldly type of stuff.”
He released me but stayed close. He rubbed his face and breathed in deeply, then shook out his arms and chest. “Okay, I’m in this. I’m over the initial Oh-my-God-my-world-has-just-flipped-upside-down shock. Let’s figure this out.”
Even though I was scared and still slightly anxious, I smiled. “It’s so nice not being in this alone.”
“I’m here,” he said. “And we’ll figure this out. Together.”
I nodded then sat down on the sand. I patted the spot beside me. “What did you see when I was sleeping?”
“Well, at first, you were sleeping fine. I read what you wrote on your laptop—by the way, major impressed, but we’ll get to that later—then I played solitaire, but you were sleeping so peacefully, I sort of dozed. I woke up because I smelled lake water really strong. You were drenched just like you said. I had locked the door after you fell asleep to make sure you weren’t sleepwalking. It was still locked. I opened to see if maybe there were wet footprints, but no. Everything was dry and all was quiet. That’s when I stepped back into the room and watched you. You weren’t only wet. You weren’t breathing. I went over to you and started shaking you awake. I was about ready to get your mom and call 9-1-1, but suddenly your eyes shot open, and you sucked in a breath, and well, the rest you know.”
“At the start of this re-do, my dreams were about me stuck in the kayak. I’m hanging upside down, trying to get out of it. I had that same dream last night, but there was so much more.”
“Anything more about your dad?”
“I think I’m remembering what happened. Except in the dream, it’s real. Like I’m living through it. Until I drown. At one point, I saw Dad swimming in the water, trying to find me. At least that’s what I think. But he doesn’t see me. Last night though, I was out of the kayak and he was trying to get me to the surface.”
“What happened then?”
“Some debris got loose and hit him. That was it. I woke up.”
“So you got trapped upside down in the kayak, and your dad helped you escape, but he died…”
“Trying to save me,” I interjected.
“Which is exactly what he would have wanted,” Jayce said. “How could your father have lived with himself if anything had happened to you?”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“I do. Your memories are back, Brooke. And that’s good. Especially because now you can have some closure. Your dad died heroically. He saved you from what would have been a horrible death.”
“But I’m still drowning. It’s weird.”
“Have you been waking up soaked every morning?”
“No. At first, I thought it was night sweats or something. But a couple of days ago, I woke up early from the dream. I came out to the kitchen to make some coffee and start writing, but I laid my head down. I was so tired. I was sucked into the water immediately. Only this time, the water was dark and someone swam toward me that wasn’t dad. It jolted me so bad, that I sort of pushed back. All of a sudden, I was back in the kitchen, the chair out from under me, and I was on the floor, wet.”
“So another dream is doing that to you,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t getting wet with the dream about your dad. That seems like it’s your repressed memory. You might have woken up sweaty, but that’s not the same thing as being completely drenched with lake water. It wasn’t until you started dreaming about the dark water. Whatever that is.”
“You’re right,” I said, as the realization came to me. “And it’s just been recently. And now I can feel this weird pressure inside of me. And if I close my eyes for too long, I’m sucked in.” I stopped to think about what it all meant. “There are only two times I’ve struggled in the water. The memory of me in the kayak, and when I fell off the yacht.”
“When did you do that?”
“Last summer. Which is technically this summer. I’m reliving it. And I know it doesn’t seem possible, but you’re going to have to take my word.”
“I believe you,” he said. “After what happened last night, I honestly believe anything is possible.”
“It must mean that the do-over’s almost done.”
“What happens when the do-over is done?”
“I don’t know.” Was this it? My life. Eighteen years. Done? Then what was the purpose of having me relive it?
“You look deep in thought,” Jayce said.
“I don’t get it,” I said with a sigh. “I don’t get why I’m reliving this summer if I’m already dead.”
“You’re not dead,” Jayce said. “Don’t even go there. You’re here. Very much alive.”
“I drown. In all of my dreams.”
“Then fight it!” he said. “And just because you die in your dreams doesn’t mean that it’s reality. I sometimes die in dreams, then I wake up. You’re here. I see you. You’re not dead.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Stop!” he said, getting worked up. He acted like he might shatter in a million pieces. “Stop talking like that. You’re not dead. I can’t lose you. Not now.”
“I won’t talk about it anymore.” I reached for his hand. I had to remind myself that he hadn’t been living through my nightmare these last six weeks. He already acted super freaked out by what happened last night. “It’s probably only dreams. Maybe Mom’s right. I’m going to go see another minister. Maybe it has to do with my memories coming back to me.” I lied to my best friend, but only because I wanted to protect him. Once again, I felt alone. Not because Jayce wasn’t here with me, offering support, but because no one had to live through it but me.
He nodded without looking at me. Instead, he stared at our fingers interwoven together. “I can’t lose you, Brooke McFadden, so please do whatever you can to figure out how to live.”
I watched him, watched as his features wrestled with turmoil and questions, watched as he tried to even his breathing, and my heart seemed to grow in my chest. How had I never before realized how much I cared for my best friend? “I’ll fight,” I said to him. “I promise.”
I thought of the one piece of the dream I had left out. Heather. She’d been the one swimming toward me in the dark water. Maybe I needed to go to her and see if she had some sort of clue as to what happened. I doubted it, but I had to try. Because if Heather had been in the water with me, then maybe she was my way out of it.
18
Mom walked with me into the church building. I welcomed the rush of air conditioning and immediately lifted
my arms. I didn’t know if I was sweating from the heat or my nerves, but in any case, the cool air felt wonderful. “You need to tell Mr. Fairchild to put air conditioning in the cabin,” I said.
“I already have, but I don’t think that’s too high on his priority list.”
Normally I balked at counseling or therapy, but now that Jayce saw firsthand what was going on, it only cemented the legitimacy of it. I wanted answers. This air conditioning was a perk. I would have stood in the church’s foyer with my arms extended for a lot longer if the minister hadn’t chosen that moment to step out of his office and greet us.
“I thought I heard someone,” he said with a gentle smile. “I’m Reverend Edwin Starr.” He shook Mom’s hand and then mine. He stood a good foot above us with caramel-colored skin and kind, brown eyes. “You must be Brooke,” he said to me.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
“It’s not a problem at all. I’m friends with your pastor, and when he called and explained the situation a little, I opened up some time in my calendar. Follow me.”
Mom pulled at my arm. “Do you want me in there? I don’t mind.”
“I’m good. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s fine. I’ll stay here in the foyer, enjoying the air conditioning.” She sat in an available chair and pulled out a book.
I knew Mom was purposefully acting low-key, but she couldn’t hide the worry that lined her face. I didn’t expect this minister to give me any answers about the summer re-do, but if I was going to be here, I might as well find out some info about what happens after death. Still, as I followed Reverend Starr to his office, I shuddered just thinking about it.
“Have a seat.” He indicated an available chair. He sat across from me, not at his desk, but in another chair in front of it. “I find that sitting at my desk doesn’t reassure people.” He must have noticed the question in my eyes. “So, Brooke, I know a little about some recent events, but I want to hear about you first.”
I made fists and stuck my hands under my armpits, suddenly feeling chilled. I didn’t like being the center of attention. But I needed to do it. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about yourself. Anything at all.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“Funny how everyone starts off saying something very similar. But we all have stories to tell. Our lives are complex, and we are each very unique. So, tell me anything. What makes you…you?”
The therapists I’ve been to have started sessions similar to this, but the gentle reverend seemed keenly interested in what I had to say. I felt compassion from him in a way that I had yet to feel in any session, including with our family’s pastor. It wasn’t as if the other counselors were cold and unfeeling, but right now, at this moment, I felt that this man cared. But I still didn’t know how to answer. “I just turned eighteen, and I’m starting college in the fall.”
“So are approximately all the other eighteen-year-olds. That’s not what I asked.” The words were gentle, his eyes still kind.
“I like to read. And write. I won a short story contest last year.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So, you’re good.”
“Not as good as my dad, but I like to do it. I’m working on something now.”
“What are you working on?”
“My dad’s fifth book. I’m not sure anything’s going to come of it, but I’m having fun, and I feel close to my dad, which is good. I feel like it keeps him alive somehow.”
“All right. What else can you tell me about yourself?”
“There’s not much to tell. I like the summer.” I knew that was a lame answer, but I was running out of small talk.
“What about summer? The beach? The sun? The lake?”
“Not the lake,” I said. “I like the sun the most. It’s warm.”
“Not the lake? You’re not much of a swimmer?”
“I swim, I just don’t like open water.”
“Is this a recent dislike? Due to circumstances?”
“No. I mean, I’m fine in pools and even in shallow water. But when I was little, we were boating on Lake Cadillac, and I guess I was leaning over the boat to watch the waves, and I fell in. I don’t remember it. But that’s what I was told.”
“You’re afraid.” He said it, not as a question, but as a statement. “You let that fear control you.” Once again, not a question.
“Just of open water. I don’t walk around being afraid.” But even as I said it, I thought of the previous summer, and how I had stayed hidden in the cabin most of the time.
“Here’s a little helpful advice,” he began. “Let go of the fear. You’ll never fully live life if you continue to hold on to it.”
“That’s easier said than done, especially when there’s a lot I don’t understand.”
“The Bible says to be anxious for nothing. That means there is nothing too hard for God to handle, but sometimes it’s hard to get past things outside of our control, and we become anxious.”
Okay, enough with the small talk. “Listen, I agreed to come here because I have questions I want to ask you. So, can we move on?”
“Sure, everything comes back around.”
I had no idea what he meant, so I asked, “What happens when a person dies? Is it just heaven or hell? Could there be purgatory?”
Reverend Starr took a breath before stating, “The Bible says there is a heaven and there is a hell. It doesn’t say anything about purgatory.”
“And you take it at face value?”
“I believe the Bible to be true, yes.”
“So, how can someone who’s fallen off a yacht, wake up, and redo a passage of time?”
“Who fell off a yacht?”
“That’s beside the point. Let’s say, hypothetically, that I did.”
“You fell off a yacht?”
“Hypothetically.”
The reverend watched me for a moment as if trying to put puzzle pieces together. “I don’t know that I’m understanding the question, but if you fell off a yacht and died, you would have two options. If you fell off a yacht and weren’t in either place, then I would suppose that you’re still alive.”
“Even if in my dreams, I drown. Every single time.”
“You’ve been through a traumatic event, Brooke. And our brains are very powerful organs. We haven’t even figured it all out yet. Maybe your brain is trying to figure out what to do with all of the life-changing events you’ve had to deal with.” He leaned forward. “Be patient with yourself.”
I realized at that moment, that he couldn’t help me. Not with this. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” I said to myself, feeling defeated. How would this minister have any idea about do-overs and waking up smelling like lake water? I stood up. “I don’t want to take any more of your time. Thanks though.”
“Wait,” he said. He closed the gap between us. “Sometimes we forget that God isn’t trapped and confined to time the way we are.”
“I’m not understanding.”
“The sun rises. The sun sets. We are here in time. This moment. But God is beyond all of this. So, who’s to say we have all the answers about time. It’s a great big universe, and we’re relatively small within it.”
“There’s so much we don’t know. Like why good fathers die too soon.” I wiped at my eyes. “Thanks for your help.”
“It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to ask questions. God is bigger than any of that.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know anymore.”
“About what?”
“About God. Forgive me because I’m not trying to insult you, but if there’s a God, why do I feel so alone?” My eyes welled up. I tried to blink the tears back, but a few slipped out.
“I see you, Brooke McFadden,” he said so quietly I barely heard him. “And I too know grief. It can be the most isolating feeling, but don’t give up hope.”
“In my dreams, I die. Every tim
e.” The tears flowed freely now. “I don’t know what to do.”
“When I was in my last year of seminary, I lost my father.”
I heard the pain behind his voice. He had to be in his fifties, but the pain was still there. “I’m sorry.”
“Alcohol,” he said. “He died because of alcohol.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“He was coming to pick me up so that I could be home for the holidays. He never made it to my school. Trust me, Brooke, you’re not the only one who knows pain.”
“But that wasn’t your fault. You didn’t make him drink.”
“He wasn’t the one drinking,” Reverend Starr said. “He was just a small-town minister, coming to pick up his boy from college when a drunk driver t-boned him. The drunk driver didn’t have a scratch on him, but my father didn’t make it to the hospital. The drunk driver was the police captain’s son, and my father was a black man. The drunk barely served a sentence.”
My heart broke into tiny pieces because at that moment I understood why Reverend Starr was so compassionate, and why I had felt such a connection. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I see you,” he said again. “I see you holding on to fear. I know because I too held onto something for a long time, and if we’re not careful, it’ll rob us of life.”
“Fear?” I asked.
“Not for me,” he said, shaking his head. “For me, it was anger. Unforgiveness. And it wasn’t until I finally forgave the man who killed my father that I found peace. So, let the fear go, and forgive yourself, and I’m certain you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
***
I walked until the boardwalk ended, then I walked past the dorms. I walked until I wasn’t even on yacht club property, and I kept walking.
Mom had asked only one question, “How did it go?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She didn’t speak another word, and I was grateful. When we got to the cabin, I started walking. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” I said, not looking up.
I walked on trails through trees, and sometimes I walked on the beach. I didn’t look at the water. I only kept staring straight ahead. Every so often, my eyes would well up with tears, and I’d have to slow down. Eventually, I felt depleted.
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