In Your Dreams

by Kristan Higgins

  "No. Not okay."

  "You don't want a relationship right now. You have stuff. And things."

  "Don't we all have stuff and things?"

  "Yes, we do. But you never asked me out before. You're only here because I was desperate, and you wanted to get away from Manningsport. Also, you're invested in your ex-wife."

  "You really know everything, don't you?"

  "Am I wrong?"

  At that moment, his phone chimed.

  "Bet that's her," Em said. "How many times has she texted or called you this weekend?"

  His face hardened. "A few."

  "A few? More than a dozen?"

  He didn't answer. So it was way more than a dozen.

  "Let me see your phone," Em said.

  "No."

  "Chicken."

  "Fine." He handed it over, and Em took it.

  "What a surprise," she said. "It is from Hadley. 'Just taking a bubble bath, drinking Blue Heron wine, missing you. The bubbles are sliding down my--"

  He grabbed the phone back. "Point taken," he said. "She's a little...intense."

  "Is that code for crazy?"

  "Maybe I like crazy," he answered, reaching out and taking something from her hair. A Skittle.

  "Then get back together with her."

  "That will never happen. She was mean to my cat."

  "Look. We should go. Thanks for the shag. I really do appreciate your...attention."

  He looked at her a minute longer, his eyes beautiful and unreadable, and just as she was about to apologize and maybe ask to start over, he said, "Yeah, you're probably right," and went into his room, closing the door behind him.

  It was for the best.

  She wondered if he slept with all the women who asked him to weddings and reunions, then squelched the thought. That wasn't fair. Also, if it was true, so what? He was single; he was straight. Women threw themselves at him. If he caught them, as he'd caught her last night, who could blame him?

  Part of the Bitter Betrayeds' speculation on Jack Holland was that he'd married Hadley because he wanted someone different. He'd never been serious with anyone local, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. His wife had been different, all right--as out of place, beautiful and useless as a butterfly in a February snowstorm.

  But he had loved her. Em had seen them together. She knew what love looked like.

  Em hurled her toothbrush into the suitcase.

  Theoretically, she wanted to find someone. She definitely didn't want to be a Bitter Betrayed forever. And sure, this wedding had brought up stuff. And things. Maybe she wasn't ready for a relationship. Maybe she needed more time to get over the guy she'd loved for half her life.

  Maybe, too, she was just chicken.

  Couldn't get your heart broken if you didn't fall in love.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FIVE DAYS AFTER they got back from sunny California, Jack was sitting in the hospital parking lot once again. Twice, he'd gone into the lobby. He thought about what he would say to the Deiners. Debated over bribing a nurse. Jeremy Lyon was the Deiners' family doctor, and he'd once been engaged to Faith... Surely that meant he owed Jack a little insider information, right?

  Okay, not that.

  If he could just see Josh, then...then...then what? He could apologize? Did he really think Josh would wake up from his coma and say, "Hey, thanks for pulling me out! You're the best! No worries, man--I'm doing great!"

  Jack sighed, his breath fogging the windshield.

  It was as if Malibu had never happened. There was a foot of snow on the ground, it was fourteen degrees out, Josh Deiner was neither better nor worse and his family had just filed a lawsuit against Jack, saying that as an EMT, Jack should've recognized that Josh's needs were greater than the other boys'. They were also suing the town for not having a better guardrail in place and for not having a faster response time to the 911 call.

  Not that they could win, Jack's lawyer had assured him. Josh had been doing sixty-four miles an hour in a thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone. Without Jack, the kid would certainly have died. No, this was just a grieving family lashing out in whatever direction they could.

  Unfortunately, it did cause a collective gasp among the good people of Manningsport, and, once more, Jack was the topic of conversation. It was enough to make Jack wish Prudence and Carl would get caught for public indecency again.

  And then there was Hadley.

  Jack had glimpsed her the first night he'd been home. He'd been driving back from the hospital again and had to stop at the intersection on the green, where an ice-carving demonstration was taking place. Several dozen people stood bundled up in parkas and boots, watching Carlos Mendez carve a wolf out of a massive chunk of ice. Jack caught a glimpse of some of his family, and for a second thought about joining them.

  But there were Sam Miller's parents, and rather than have them hug him and choke up with gratitude once again, he stayed in his truck.

  Then he saw Hadley. She had a bag of groceries in her arms, and she was standing on the street, just outside the crowd. A few people streamed past her, and there was such a look of yearning on her face, such loneliness, that Jack almost called out to her.

  She had no one in this town who cared about her. Except him. He did care; he just didn't want to get involved again. But he didn't want her to be shunned, or lonely, or miserable.

  Fortunately, she went on her way, up the steps to the Opera House, and Jack continued home.

  Unfortunately, he saw her again the next night, when she dropped off some dinner (bought from the caterer who had just opened in town) and stood shivering on his doorstep until he let her in. Just into the foyer, and only for six minutes till he told her she had to leave.

  Speaking of difficult women, he was a little...mad at Emmaline.

  Jack wasn't used to being rejected by women. In fact, he had the opposite problem. There was the time Shelayne Schanta hid in the back of his truck like a serial killer. The time Shannon Murphy wrote her college essay on being in love with an older man (him), resulting in two extraordinarily furious parents threatening to castrate him, despite the fact that his interaction with Shannon had been limited to robbing her of a home run last spring during a baseball game. There was the time Lorena Creech Iskin cornered him at O'Rourke's and told him in vivid detail about her husband's erectile dysfunction and how all she needed was fifteen minutes of his time.

  So being thanked for a good time and sent on his way... That was new.

  On Wednesday night, they'd had a hockey game. He'd said, "Hi, Emmaline," and she'd said, "Hey, guys." That was it. She didn't even hip check him.

  He started as someone knocked on his truck's window. He rolled it down. "Hey, Abby."

  "Hi, Uncle Jack." Abby volunteered at the hospital. "Guess you're wondering about Josh, huh?"

  "Yeah."

  "I don't know anything. Even if I did, I couldn't tell you."

  "I know. But thanks."

  She reached in and patted his shoulder. About a year ago, Josh Deiner had gotten Abby drunk. He'd been one of those kids who was too spoiled, too indulged, always bored, always looking for trouble.

  Didn't look like he was going to be able to atone for any of that.

  "You need a ride, Abs?" he asked.

  "No, no, I've got Mom's car. You know what I found in it last week?"

  "Do I want to?"

  "No, but I feel like someone should share my pain, and you could use a distraction. You ready?" She paused for effect. "A riding crop."

  "Please tell me she's taken up horseback riding."

  "She has not."

  "You're a cruel child, Abby."

  She grinned. "Have a great day, Uncle Jack. Get out of here. Go do something with people your own age."

  He watched to make sure she got to her car okay, and that it started, and then tailed her back to town to make sure she didn't speed or break any traffic laws (or careen into a telephone pole or a lake).

  She didn't. Turned onto Old Farm Ro
ad with no problems.

  But his breathing was getting shallow and fast, and he recognized the signs.

  He couldn't go home. Not that his cat was bad company, but he needed humans. O'Rourke's it was.

  "Hey, Jack!" said Colleen and Connor in unison as he came through the door. He nodded, figured he'd sit at the bar, maybe hang out with Lucas, who was there, as well. If things were slow, Connor might come out and have a beer with him.

  Prudence, dressed much like he was in a flannel shirt and jeans, approached. "Hey, Useless!" she said, smacking his shoulder. "How's it hanging? Guess what? I'm officially in menopause. The results came back today."

  "I'm thrilled for you."

  "Oh, bite me. It's horrible, Jack. I want to climb Carl one minute, then slowly choke the life out of him the next. Speaking of Carl, do you happen to have any spurs?"

  "No, Pru. Believe it or not, no."

  "Damn. I back-ordered some, but they're still not here."

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw a table of women. One of them was studiously holding a beer to the side of her face.

  She didn't even want to be spotted, in other words.

  "Catch you in a little while, Pru," he said, walking over to the ladies--Shelayne Schanta, Allison Whitaker, Grace Knapton and Jeanette O'Rourke.

  And Emmaline.

  "Hello, ladies. Mind if I sit down?"

  "Jack!" four of the five of them cried, moving their chairs to make room for him. "How are you, you look so handsome, want a drink, sit next to me, how was the wedding, have you eaten?"

  One of them didn't say anything.

  "Hi, Em," he said.

  "Jack."

  "You want to go out sometime? Grab dinner? Catch a movie?"

  She gave him a dark look.

  The rest of the women fell silent. "I'm game if she's not, Jack," Shelayne said.

  "So am I," Allison said. "Just in case you're looking for an older woman with two not-terrible children."

  "I'll go out with you, Jack," said Hannah O'Rourke, coming up with a tray full of peachy-pink drinks.

  "Me, too," said Colleen's mother. "Though I am dating Ronnie Petrosinsky on and off."

  "The Chicken King?" Grace asked, naming Ronnie's franchise. "I just love their Mm-Mm Maple Glazed."

  "How about it, Emmaline?" Jack asked.

  "I'm very busy," she said. "But thanks just the same."

  "That's too bad." He looked steadily at his prey, who was staring determinedly at the jukebox over Allison's shoulder. "Because I had a great time in California. Especially that last night."

  Her eyes jerked back to his. "Good! I'm glad. Good for you. That's great. I have to run. Sarge needs walking. Nice seeing you, Jack. Bye, girls."

  "You seriously don't want to go out with him?" Mrs. O'Rourke said.

  "I'll walk you out," he said, following her.

  "Together again!" Colleen called. "So cute. Coulda called it. Did call it, in fact."

  "Stop harassing the customers, Colleen," Connor called from the kitchen.

  Emmaline was already outside.

  "Em. Hang on," he called, catching up to her. "Why won't you go out with me?"

  "Is your ego bruised?" she asked.

  "A little."

  She smothered a smile. "You're really nice, Jack, and you're not exactly the Elephant Man, but I don't think this is a good idea."

  "I just want to have dinner."

  She took a breath and held it, clearly on the fence. "Just dinner, Emmaline," he said. "Please."

  Her eyes went a little soft and wide.

  Score.

  But then she looked over his shoulder, and her cop face reappeared.

  "Have dinner with your wife. Here she is. Take care." With that, she turned and walked away, her feet crunching on the snow.

  "Well, hey, stranger!" Hadley said. "How are you, Jack?"

  And so, not wanting to be a jerk, he held the door for Hadley, took off her coat when she turned her back and gave her his hand as she struggled to sit on a stool.

  Then, rather than getting webbed into a conversation with his too-beautiful ex-wife, he opted for the company of his cat and walked across the street to where his truck was parked.

  There was a note on the windshield, on bright pink paper.

  "You better watch yourself," it read. Laser-printed, not handwritten.

  He glanced back at O'Rourke's. Was this a warning from Hadley, something to do with his interest in Emmaline? She seemed to be talking to someone.

  Might be from Mr. or Mrs. Deiner. But they'd been camped out at the hospital around the clock.

  You better watch yourself.

  The pink paper watered down the threat of the words.

  Might not be a threat after all. Or it might have been meant for someone else; half the people in this town drove gray pickup trucks. It was just a note, anyway. Not a big deal.

  He could feel the water slicing into his scalp as he went under. His chest burned from the lack of air.

  By the time the flashback was over, Jack's flannel shirt was damp with cold sweat. He started up his truck and headed for home, his throat raw from the cold, cold air.

  *

  TWO DAYS LATER, Jack, his father and Pops were at work. It should've been easy, but for some reason, everything Jack did seemed wrong today. He bumped against a barrel, spilling his coffee. Missed what Dad had just said. Stepped on Pops's foot.

  "You okay, son?" Dad asked.

  "Yeah," he answered. "Not enough coffee, that's all." Except he'd had three cups.

  The three Holland men had always been close. First of all, it was them against what seemed like dozens of women.... Mom, back in the day, the three girls coming and going with their girlfriends, then Mrs. Johnson. When talk turned to periods or squabbles over who used whose hair goop, the three men would slip off to talk about baseball or vines.

  When Jack was in the navy, Dad called twice a week, checking in, the gentle constant in Jack's life. Both Pops and Dad assured him he had no obligation to return to Blue Heron, and Dad only wanted him there if it was what Jack wanted. It was. The family, the farm, the wine... It was everything Jack had ever wanted. He was the eighth generation of Hollands on this land.

  But since the accident, he couldn't seem to get back in the groove.

  Today, they were racking a small vat of cabernet out in one of the big barns. Racking was the process of siphoning the wine off the sediment into a clean vat in preparation for bottling. As soon as Jack pulled the bung, though, Pops looked up. "Something's off," he said. The old guy had a nose like a bloodhound. "It's over-oxidized."

  Jack grabbed a glass and filled it halfway with the wine.

  It was too brown, and Pops was right. It didn't smell right.

  "Did you add the Campden tablets last time?" Dad asked.

  "I thought I did," Jack said. The tablets kept microbes from forming in the wine. They'd just racked this barrel for the first time three weeks ago.

  "Well, don't worry, son," Dad said as Pops pried the head off the barrel to dump it. "Happens to everyone."

  "I'm really sorry," Jack said.

  "Smells like your grandmother's perfume," Pops said, winking at Jack. "Speaking of the old bag, I should get back."

  "That's my mother you're talking about," Dad said mildly.

  "And the love of my life. Just don't tell her I said that." Pops smiled and ambled off to his battered old truck.

  "Let's get rid of this," Jack said.

  "It can wait till tomorrow," Dad said. "So how are things, son?"

  "Good. Fine." Dad waited. "A little tense," he admitted.

  "I ran into Hadley the other day."

  "Yeah. She's like a dog with a bone."

  "Any chance of you two getting back together?"

  "No."

  Dad tapped another barrel and started siphoning that one. "This is better," he said, filling a glass. "Smell that. It's beautiful."

  Jack obliged. This batch was fine, no oxidization, a
nice jammy aroma. He took a sip and felt his shoulders drop a notch.

  He'd never screwed up a batch of wine before. Wine making was all about science and luck, but mostly about science, and he prided himself on the quality of wine that came out of Blue Heron. He'd grown up watching his father and grandfather make wine, and he had two hefty degrees that said he should know better than to forget something as basic as sulfites.

  "Anyway, I was just wondering about Hadley," Dad said, not quite meeting his eyes. "She was very, ah, forthcoming with me. Said she'd made a terrible mistake with you, but she'd grown up and learned her lesson and hoped that we'd be supportive if you decided to reconcile."

  "There's no reconciliation," Jack said.

  "You sure? Because if you were over it, we could be, too."

  "Mrs. Johnson will never be over it," Jack said, forcing a grin.

  Dad smiled. "No, maybe not her. But the rest of us would follow your lead, Jack. If that's what you wanted."

  "It's not." He put his glass down. "And I sure am sorry about this barrel."

  His father gave him a long look. "Jack, maybe you need some time off."

  "I just took some, Dad."

  "If you need more, just say the word. You've been through a tough time." He gave Jack a slightly awkward hug. "I love you. We all do." He pulled back and cleared his throat. "You want to come for dinner? Mrs. Johnson would sure love that."

  "Dad, you two are coming up on your first anniversary. Aren't you allowed to call her Hyacinth yet?" Jack asked.

  "Sometimes," Dad admitted with a sheepish grin.

  "I'll take a rain check on dinner. You go home. I'll finish this up." He took the siphon from his father. "And thanks, Dad."

  His father squeezed his shoulder, then left to go home to his bride.

  Odd to feel jealous of your own father for having a wife to go home to. As for doing something fun... There wasn't a lot of fun to be had in the middle of winter here in Manningsport.

  "Hallo, Jack." His British brother-in-law came into the barn. "Just saw your grandfather. He said I'd find you here."

  "Hey, Tom. What's up?"

  "I got an email today from Dr. Didier, the high school principal. You know her?"

  "Only a little," Jack said. "I've seen her at the gym a few times."