In Your Dreams

by Kristan Higgins

  "Jack? You okay?"

  "Yeah!" he said too quickly. "Sorry. Just a little tired. You take care, Emma."

  No one called her that. More than likely, Jack Holland had just forgotten her name. He opened the door to the pub. There was a roar of "Jack!" and "Hey! The hero!" and general cheering. The iron bell behind the bar clanged; the O'Rourke twins rang it in times of celebration.

  Poor guy.

  Emmaline knew that the good folks of Manningsport--and America--had been quite dazzled with what Jack Holland had done. So had she. How many people could have done what he did, after all? It was dazzling.

  Which didn't explain the look on Jack's face.

  Well. He had a big family and a lot of friends. Everyone loved the Hollands. He'd be well taken care of.

  With a deep breath of the frigid air, Emmaline went around the corner to her house, a little bungalow. She'd left a couple of lights on for the puppy, and her little house fairly glowed with welcome.

  Emmaline wasn't a Manningsport native, but she'd gone to high school here, living with her grandmother in this very house. Nana had died four years ago and left the house to Em and her sister, Angela, who lived in California. But to Em, the bungalow meant more than just home--it was where she'd found refuge and normalcy back in the day...and again when she'd moved here three years ago. She'd kept a lot of Nana's furniture, bought some of her own, painted here and there, and the result was a pleasing mix of old and new, no real style per se, but comfortable and cheery, and it never failed to make her smile.

  She scooped her mail from the little brass mailbox, unlocked the door and got down on all fours. "Mommy's home," she said.

  The scrabbling of paws and yips of joy were happy music of the soul.

  Sarge ran to her, Squeaky Chicken, his favorite toy, in his jaws as an offering.

  Emmaline gathered the puppy into her arms and kissed his furry head. "Hello, puppy," she said. She resisted the strong urge to indulge in baby talk to the dog to preserve his dignity and her own, but she couldn't help laughing as he licked her face, wriggling like a little otter.

  She stood up, did a few twirls, since he loved that, then encouraged him to go outside before he peed on the floor from excitement. He galloped out, chasing a leaf across the small, fenced-in backyard.

  Em flipped through her mail. A flyer for a discount on heart-shaped cookies and cupcakes at Lorelei's Sunrise Bakery--Valentine's Day preorders now accepted. No need to save that, unless she wanted to buy herself some goodies (which she did, though her uniform pants seemed a little hostile these days). A bill from the cable company. A postcard from her sister. Saluti da Milano! Right. Flawless Angela had been in Italy at, yes, an astrophysicists' convention.

  Em flipped the card over. "Hello, sis! Hope you're doing well. I haven't been able to see much of Milan yet, but I hope to squeeze a few days of holiday after the convention. Hope to catch up soon! Love and kisses, Angela."

  That was nice. Her sister, younger by four years, was incredibly thoughtful. She was Daughter 2.0, adopted from Ethiopia when Em went away to high school. The kind of daughter Dr. and Dr. Neal hoped to have, though they never said anything like that. Angela was brilliant, kind, cheerful and also stunningly beautiful with her glowing brown skin and enormous, expressive eyes. She'd modeled in college, even. If Emmaline didn't love her so much, it'd be really easy to hate her.

  Sarge came back in through his doggy door, a clot of snow right on his nose. Ridiculously cute. She gave him his supper, then poured herself a Blue Point Toasted Lager. Yeah, yeah, the Finger Lakes were known for their vineyards, but there were plenty of great microbreweries, too.

  Oops. There was one more piece of mail on the kitchen floor. She leaped for it, snatching it up just before Sarge pounced. He loved paper.

  It was a wedding invitation, from the look of it. Thick ivory envelope, red calligraphy, a flower stamp.

  It was postmarked "Malibu, CA," her hometown.

  Her knees gave a warning tingle.

  She sat down at the little enamel-topped kitchen table. Opened the envelope to find another envelope inside. "Miss Emmaline Neal & Guest," it said. She opened that, as well.

  "Together with their parents, Naomi Norman and Kevin Bates joyfully request the honor of your company at their marriage ceremony."

  Sarge put his paws against her knee, and she scooped him onto her lap. "So," she said to her dog, her mouth dry. "Looks like my fiance is getting married."

  CHAPTER TWO

  ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Jack Holland drove from the hospital in Corning back to Blue Heron, the vineyard owned and run by his family. The radio was tuned to a talk show, though what the topic was, Jack didn't quite know. Still, the voices were comforting.

  It occurred to him that he was probably alone too much these days. That a battered cat was insufficient company. That he should be with people. But last night at O'Rourke's had been a circle of hell, all those people clapping him on the back and offering to buy him beers. Asking how he was doing. How Josh was doing. Thanking him. Telling him he was one brave son of a bitch and the town wouldn't stop talking about this for years, which made Jack's hands sweaty.

  Still, he'd smiled and thanked people for whatever it was they were saying, because he knew in one corner of his mind that they were saying nice things, or what they thought were nice things, and he knew that the longer he stayed away from regular things, the harder it would be. He was fine. It was all fine. It was okay.

  He'd stayed as long as he could take it. Colleen O'Rourke, who was like yet another sister in addition to the three Jack already had, gave him a hug, and so far as he could tell, he'd returned it. But once he'd gotten home, he just sat on the couch, Lazarus next to him, not touching but still there.

  So being with his family, doing normal things, that was a good thing. He loved his family. They weren't a circle of hell. Well, not completely.

  He put on his turn signal even though he was alone on the country road. Ever the cautious driver.

  If only he could see Josh. Go when the parents weren't around. Just to see him.

  Shit. He might have to pull over.

  Once, when Jack was building his house, a bobcat had wandered in, lured by the smell of Jack's meatball sub there on the sawhorse. Jack came into the great room, and the animal panicked, ran straight for the closed slider and hurled itself against it again and again.

  That's what Jack's heart was doing right now. Smacking and thudding against his ribs. His hands were slick on the steering wheel, but it was okay; it was fine--he didn't have to pull over. He was fine.

  There looked to be a thousand cars at Honor's house. Jack and his sisters, Prudence, Honor and Faith, had grown up here in the New House, built in the 1800s. His middle sister, Honor, now lived with her husband, Tom, and Charlie, the teenager they'd sort of adopted. Jack's father and stepmother, Mrs. Johnson (technically Mrs. Holland, though no one called her that), lived in a spacious apartment over the garage.

  Today was Faith's baby shower.

  "Hey, Uncle Jack." Pru's son, Ned, approached Jack as he got out of the truck. "Why are we here again?"

  "I have no idea," Jack said. "Solidarity for Levi, I guess."

  Sure enough, the men of the family--Jack, his father and grandfather, his three brothers-in-law, and unofficial nephew, Charlie--were manfully hiding in the kitchen as a wave of feminine laughter came from the living room.

  "Jack!" said his father. "Wine?"

  "Thanks, Dad. Hey, Levi. How you doing?"

  Levi looked pained. "They were just talking about nipple infections," he said, nodding toward the living room, which was hung with blue streamers.

  "I call them the Coven for a reason," Jack said.

  "Levi!" called Faith. "Come see this, honey. It's a Diaper Genie!"

  "Ooh. A Diaper Genie," said Ned. "Grandpa, can I have some wine, too? Please? Quickly?"

  "Are you old enough?"

  "I am. Hurry."

  "Levi!"

  "
They're calling for you, mate," said Tom, slapping Levi on the shoulder. "Best not keep the pregnant wife waiting."

  "Your turn will come," Levi muttered darkly. "The baby, I'm all for. It's the...stuff...that's making me nervous." He sighed and went into the living room to admire the diaper thing.

  "A new baby," Dad said contentedly. "About time. Right, Jack? Another nephew for you."

  "We can only hope he'll be as cool as Charlie and I are," Ned said.

  Jack smiled. His wine was gone, he noticed. Funny. He didn't remember tasting it.

  Mrs. Johnson bustled in, a towering plate of food in her hands. "I thought I heard your voice, Jackie, my darling boy! Would you like something to eat? You look thin."

  "Mrs. J.," Jack said to his stepmother, "you look beautiful today. And every day, now that I think of it." His voice was pretty normal, he thought.

  "Oh, you terrible liar!" She cuffed his head and beamed. "Come. See your sister. Make haste, and then you can eat."

  Jack allowed himself to be led into the living room, where Faith sat, a plate of cake balanced on her baby bump, pastel-colored wrapping paper and tiny outfits strewn around her.

  A dozen or so women talked at once, sounding like a slew of metal trash cans bouncing down a brick staircase. "Jack, how are you? Jack, you were amazing! Jack, thank God you were there! Jack, Jack, Jack!"

  "Ladies," he said. The bobcat started ramming the door again, over and over and over. "Hey, sis." He bent down and dropped an obligatory kiss on his sister's head.

  "Jack!" Faith said, reaching up to pat his arm. "Thanks for coming, buddy."

  "Sure. Which sister are you again?"

  "The pregnant one. The queen."

  He smiled. See? Perfectly normal. Faith was funny, and he reacted appropriately. Honor flashed him a smile, telling him he was doing okay.

  "Well, I hope your labor will be better than mine, Faith," their grandmother said grandly. "Three days. No painkillers back then, either. It was the ether, or you toughed it out. Sometimes you died. John! Where are you, son?" Dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, already looking guilty. "Three days of labor with you."

  "I'm sorry, Mom," he said. "Still." He sent Jack a pained look.

  "I loved giving birth," Prudence said. "Ned slid out like a little otter, and with Abby, I didn't even have time to get to the car. She was born on the kitchen floor. Ass-first, no less."

  "Thanks, Mom," Abby said. "I'm so glad everyone got to hear that."

  "It explains a lot," her brother yelled from the kitchen.

  "Make sure you get an episiotomy, Faith," said another woman. "Otherwise, you tear, and you wouldn't believe how much. Anyone else have stitches in their butts?"

  Sadly, Jack had heard it all before. Three sisters who took no prisoners when it came to "sharing." It was like comparing war stories, he guessed, though his own stint in the navy hadn't resulted in any; he'd been in research down in D.C.

  It was a little weird being in the New House--so called because it was newer than the original house built on the property, which had burned down last year. Honor had overhauled the New House this past summer, and while it was still the same friendly, sprawling old place Jack had grown up in, it took some getting used to. More power to her, but still a little disconcerting.

  Or maybe that was just how everything was these days. The same, but off.

  Levi came over and sat down next to him. "You hear some of those stories? Good God."

  "Yeah, well, I grew up with three sisters. They can't be in the same room without talking about blood and ovaries. And then there was the crying and snarling when they were teenagers. Terrifying."

  "Makes me glad I was in Afghanistan when my sister went through puberty," Levi said. "Probably a lot safer there." He was quiet for a minute. "You doing okay, Jack?"

  "Oh, sure."

  "Sleeping all right?"

  "Pretty much," he lied. Levi shouldn't have to worry about him.

  "Well, even with a good outcome, sometimes these things can be...traumatic."

  "Yep. Sure."

  "If you ever want to talk, just say the word."

  "Thanks, pal. I appreciate it." The bobcat was back. Thud. Thud. Thudthud. Thud. He wondered if Levi could see the pulse in his neck.

  Jack stood up as another peal of laughter came from the living room. "All right, I've had my estrogen dose of the day." He paused. "Have you heard anything about the Deiner kid?"

  Levi looked up. "No change."

  "Okay. Thanks." He tried to take a deep breath, but the air wouldn't fit in. Nodded at Levi, waved to the women, then made his way into the kitchen, where the other guys were now playing poker.

  "Pull up a chair, Jack," said his grandfather. "We can deal you in."

  "I have some stuff to do at home," he said, squeezing Pops's shoulder. "Dad, we should check the pinot tomorrow, okay?"

  "Whatever you say, son." His father smiled at him, and Jack made sure he smiled back.

  He went out to his truck. The sky was nearly dark. Another day past, so that was good. Not that the nights were easier. Just the opposite, in fact.

  The door closed behind him. Tom this time.

  "Hang on, mate," he said. "Just wanted a word. How are things?"

  "Thanks, Tom. Things are fine."

  His sister's husband was a good guy. In fact, all his sisters' husbands were good guys. They were even his friends, though he hadn't known Tom, a transplanted Brit, as long as he'd known Carl and Levi.

  "If you need anything, say the word, yeah? You're always welcome here, of course. Honor's hoping you'll come watch one of those disgusting medical shows with her." Tom smiled, his eyes kind.

  "I definitely will," Jack said. He probably wouldn't. "Thanks, Tom."

  He got into his truck and headed down the driveway.

  The road crew still hadn't repaired the guardrail, and a makeshift memorial had sprung up there the first night. Now the flowers were dead, rotting in their plastic florist wraps. A sodden teddy bear holding a heart had tipped over in the snow.

  Don't look.

  The truth was, he thought as he drove up the road, turning onto the long driveway that wound through the woods to Rose Ridge, he didn't want all the concern and attention and questions and hugs. He wanted not to think. He wanted Josh to get better. He wanted to have a do-over.

  He put his key in the door and stopped dead in his tracks.

  The house smelled like perfume.

  Candles were burning on the table, and a fire flickered in the fireplace.

  A beautiful woman unfolded herself from the couch. "Jack. Oh, baby, how are you? I've been so worried."

  Shit.

  The very last person on earth he needed.

  "Hadley," he said, and with that, his ex-wife wrapped her arms around him.

  *

  SHE WAS HERE, she said, because of course she'd seen the coverage on TV and come as soon as she could. What a wonderful, amazing thing he'd done! The Midwinter Miracle indeed! Daddy was so proud, all of them were, of course it was just like Jack to--

  "Hadley, what are you doing here? Really?" he interrupted.

  She settled back on the couch, wrapping the throw around her. He'd have bet that she'd checked herself out in the mirror before he got home. Blanket on or off? Do I want to look waifish and lost, or confident and strong? Hair up or down?

  She sipped her wine (which she'd helped herself to, he noticed). "I just had to come," she said. "And I don't want you to worry about a single thing. I took a leave of absence from my job, and I'm here for as long as it takes."

  "As long as what takes?"

  She took a deep breath. "Jack, I know how hard this all must've been for you, and I know we've had our problems--"

  He laughed. That was one way of spinning it.

  "And I want to be here for you. Take care of you." She paused, looking him directly in the eye. "Make things up to you."

  "I haven't seen you for two years, Hadley."

  "I know exactl
y how long it's been. I can't tell you how much I've regretted what happened between us. I've done some serious growing up these past couple of years, and I want to show you I'm not that person anymore."

  It was a pretty good speech, he thought. "That's nice, but I'm not interested."

  She looked down at her hands. "Can't say I blame you one bit."

  She'd always had a way of making everything she did look beautiful.

  "You need to leave now," he said. "Thanks for coming by."

  "I understand," she said, and her voice was husky. She stood up and folded the throw. "Well, I'm staying in town for a little while, at any rate."

  "Why?"

  "Because even if you don't see it yet, I know we have unfinished business. And I want to help, Jack. I do."

  "I don't need help. But thank you and good luck in the future and all that crap."

  "You're angry. I don't blame you. Be that as it may, I'm here for the duration. Besides, it'll give me a chance to be closer to my sister."

  Right. Frankie Boudreau, the youngest of the four Boudreau sisters, was in her final year at Cornell, getting her veterinary degree, which Jack knew quite well, since he still had the occasional dinner with his former sister-in-law.

  "Well, don't let me keep you," he said. "Have a good night."

  "That's fine. I...I just need to call a cab. I haven't rented a car just yet."

  He closed his eyes briefly. Manningsport didn't have cab service in the winter. She'd have to wait a half hour, maybe more, for one to get here from Penn Yan. "I'll drive you. Where are you staying?"

  "The Black Swan. Oh, Jack, thank you. You're such a gentleman."

  Her suitcases were by the front door. Four in all, enough for her to stay for months. He grabbed them and went back to the truck. Hadley followed, shivering delicately. He held the door for her, the politeness ingrained.

  "Thanks." She gave him a soft smile as she climbed into the passenger seat.

  Jack had a feeling his life had just gotten considerably more complicated.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "WHAT THE HELL are those?" Emmaline looked in horror at the...the...the things in Shelayne's hands.

  "Trust me," Shelayne said. "They're gross, but they work."

  The Bitter Betrayeds had taken her clothes shopping, because, yes, she was going to the Wedding of the Damned. Every time she thought of it, she was tempted to channel Edvard Munch's painting The Scream, but she was going.