In Your Dreams

by Kristan Higgins

  Levi was quiet when she finally stopped talking. "Excellent job, Deputy," he said.

  Emmaline smiled. Typical chief. "That's it?"

  "Why? You want a gold sticker? You deserve one. Write it up and we'll talk tomorrow. And Em..."

  "Yeah?"

  "Remember this. This was a good day."

  "Thanks, Chief."

  She called Jamie next, and her hostage instructor was thrilled. "I knew you had the stuff, Em! You have to come work for us. Think about it."

  "I'm happy here. But thanks, Jamie. It means a lot."

  She drove home, the adrenaline still pumping through her limbs. Too bad Angela was still in Ithaca--Em suspected she might be having dinner with Frankie Boudreau. She'd call her later, but for now, a nice glass of wine was called for. Slippers. Pajamas. A Gerard Butler movie.

  A figure rose from one of the Adirondack chairs on her porch, and Em's hand went to her holster. Just before she drew, she realized who it was.

  "Kevin. I almost shot you," she said calmly.

  "Hi, Emmaline," he said, smiling. "How are you?"

  *

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Em was in her pajamas (screw Kevin, he'd seen her in worse), had a glass of wine in one hand and had poured Kevin a glass of water, since he was still alcohol-free, dairy-free, etc., etc. He was petting Sarge, who didn't seem to care that this was the man who'd once broken Mommy's heart and was mooing a love song as Kevin scratched his ears. Em planned to have a firm talk with her puppy later on.

  "So what brings you to Manningsport?" she asked, sitting down.

  "I have an Ironman in Buffalo," he said, smiling. Still had those damn beautiful eyes. Otherwise, the shock of his physical state was still, well, shocking. "Figured I'd come by and say hello."

  "Hello."

  "You like living here?" he asked. "In your grandmother's house?"

  "I do. Why are you here, Kev? You and Naomi split up already?"

  He laughed. "No, no. We're really happy."

  "Great."

  "How's Jason?"

  "Who's Jason?"

  "Your date? At the wedding? Your fake fiance?"

  "Jack. He's fine." She took a sip of wine. "So you didn't answer my question, Kev. Why would you come see me? Aside from your wedding, I haven't talked to you in three years."

  He looked down at Sarge's head, which was resting on his knee as the faithless cur gazed up adoringly. "I'd like to apologize," he said.

  "Go right ahead."

  He gave a little snort of laughter. "You always were direct."

  "One of the many things you said you loved about me."

  "I did love you. I'm sorry I stopped."

  Em took another largeish sip of her wine. Blue Heron. She'd run out of her Lyons Den stash, and this had been in the fridge. It was excellent. Steely and bright with notes of fairy's breath and sunrises. Whatever the case, it slid past the lump in her throat quite easily.

  Kevin was just looking at her, a faint regretful smile on his face.

  She put the glass down. "I'll never understand what happened with us. I mean, I'm over you--now--but I never could figure that out."

  He nodded. "The thing is, Em...I hated myself. I couldn't think of anything except food and how disgusting I was. Everything else was fake, was just a very brief distraction from food and fat. I hated how fat I was, and I couldn't wait to eat again. When I started to lose the weight and rework my life, I..." He shrugged. "I hated you for loving the lazy, sad, pathetic person that I was."

  "And you loved Naomi for hating you."

  "Yeah. Ironic, huh?"

  "So ironic. Well, thanks for coming by. What is it, two hours to Buffalo?"

  He didn't move. "Not every love is meant to last."

  "Do you have that on a T-shirt somewhere?"

  He grinned, surprising her, and she felt an unwilling (and small) rush of affection for him. "I'm really sorry, Em," he said. "You'll always be my first love. I'll always be glad I knew you."

  Her eyes stung.

  That was a damn fine apology. Or a line from a Nicholas Sparks book. Or both. "Right back at you." She cleared her throat. "I wish you all the best, Kevin. I really do."

  He took her hand. "And, Em...I'm sorry for what I said in the People article. You were never unsupportive. You were pretty great, in fact. And I wish you all the best, too."

  She gave his hand a squeeze. "I don't know how I would've made it through eighth grade without you," she said. She might've been like Alyssa, in fact. But because of the love and acceptance Kevin gave her, she'd never had to find out.

  She looked up, and, for a second, he looked like the boy she'd loved when she was so young, and her heart swelled. She and Alyssa both knew the might of first love, the huge, beautiful, terrible power it had.

  And then the feeling was gone, and in its place was...nothing. Not in the bad way...in the way a room feels after you've tossed out the old furniture and put on a fresh coat of paint.

  "I should go," Kevin said.

  "It was good to see you." And even better to mean it.

  She hugged him quickly at the door. "Give Naomi my best," she said, and she didn't even feel the urge to choke or roll her eyes.

  "Will do."

  "And good luck in the race."

  "Thanks! It's a tough one, all right. But you know how it is. Excuses are for people who don't want it bad enough. Naomi says--"

  "Drive safely!" she said and closed the door.

  Sarge came over and licked her knee.

  "That went well, don't you think?" she asked. "Me, too. And this, my friend, calls for some Ben & Jerry's. We can talk about your whorish ways later."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  JACK GOT BACK from Savannah just in time for dinner with Dad and Mrs. Johnson. "How was your trip, my darling boy?" Mrs. J. asked after he finished his third helping of roast pork, peas and salt potatoes, his favorite.

  "It was okay," he said. "And it's done. That's the best part."

  "How's her family?" Dad asked.

  "They're great."

  "I always liked them," he said.

  "But not her," Mrs. J. said. "I told you, Jack, that woman wasn't good enough for you, but you didn't listen to me, did you?"

  "No, Mrs. J. And I should have. I'm sorry. Please can I have some pie?"

  "In a moment, you ungrateful child." She folded her arms. "What's this nonsense I hear about you and Emmaline Neal?"

  "Don't worry. That's over." His voice was casual, but the words caused an odd tightness in his chest. He and Emmaline hadn't been together very long, really. He shouldn't feel so...hollow.

  Mrs. Johnson turned to the counter and cut him a piece of pie. "It being over is the nonsense to which I'm referring, Jackie." She put her hand on his shoulder, and Jack looked down. He was used to glossing over things where the Coven was concerned. Mrs. Johnson, though...she wasn't so easy to brush off.

  "Hyacinth," Dad said, "could you give us a moment, sweetheart?"

  "Of course, my darling. Jackie, listen to your father." She kissed Jack on the cheek, then left the kitchen. If Jack knew her (and he did) she'd eavesdrop.

  "What's up?"

  Dad gave him a long look. "I'm worried about you."

  "You don't need to be," he said, too quickly. Somehow, his father's kind eyes made Jack feel a thousand times worse.

  "I am, son. You seem lost."

  Shit. Jack's throat tightened. "I'm doing okay."

  Dad didn't speak right away, but when he did, his voice was soft. "When your mother died," he said, "there were days when I didn't know how I got from one place to the next. I'd be down in the barn and think, 'How did I get here? Did I eat breakfast? Did I drive here?' Sometimes I'd see my face in the mirror and I wouldn't even recognize myself."

  Jack knew the feeling. He just didn't want his father--or anyone in his family--to lose sleep over him.

  "So I see you these days, son, and I recognize that lost look." His father put his hand over Jack's. "I know you're
hurting. We all do. I know it's not going to go away overnight, either. What happened with those kids was terrifying."

  "I keep thinking," Jack said, and the words were hard to get out, "if I'd done something different, if I'd been even twenty or thirty seconds faster, or even ten, maybe..."

  "You're only human. You did everything you could. You helped them. Those other boys would all be dead without you, Jack. You saved three lives that night. Those matter, too."

  Jack nodded. Swallowed. He knew his father was right. Feeling that, though...believing it was harder.

  "I want you to stop in at Honor's," Dad said. "She has the name of a couple of therapists who specialize in PTSD. Will you do that?"

  Jack nodded again. He stood up, and Dad did, too, and Jack hugged his father. Dad, who was as solid and enduring as an oak tree. "I don't want you to worry about me, Dad," he whispered.

  "That's ridiculous," Dad murmured, hugging him back. "I'm your father. Mrs. J.'s your stepmother. Your sisters adore you, and you've always been here for us. Let us take care of you for once."

  *

  HONOR HAD A LIST, of course, complete with phone numbers, emails and office hours. "Come on, brother," she said after she handed it to him. "Let's walk up to the cemetery." She clipped the leash on Spike, who bounced and pranced and bit Jack's boot.

  The night was cool, but spring was coming. Tomorrow, Ned was planning to tap the trees so they could make maple syrup, and in another month, the Hollands would gather for the blessing of the crops. Pops was still with them, Faith and Levi's baby would be here, Tom and Honor were married now and Charlie was living with them full-time.

  Josh would be dead by then, Jack guessed.

  Honor opened the gate to the cemetery, and they sat on one of the benches. There were flowers on Mom's grave. There always were.

  "You gonna lecture me, too?" Jack asked.

  "I'm so good at it," Honor said, linking her arm through his.

  "True." Her dog nuzzled its way into Jack's coat. "You and Tom seem happy."

  "Thanks. We are."

  "Charlie, too."

  "He's pretty great." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I was surprised you and Em broke up," she said. "She seemed kind of perfect for you."

  An image of Emmaline coming through his door, a smile on her face, rolled over Jack like a truck. Her in the bathtub, up to her neck in suds. In the hotel room in Malibu, that smear of chocolate on her cheek. Laughing with her teenagers.

  "I didn't really plan on this," he admitted. "It's not like it was with Hadley."

  "Thank God," Honor said, her tone dry.

  "If I ask you a question, will you tell the rest of the Coven?"

  "It depends on how much you spend on my next birthday present." She nudged his arm. "No, of course I won't tell."

  "How did you know with Tom?"

  She didn't answer right away, which was good, because unlike his other two sisters, it meant she was actually thinking. Pru would say something about the raw animal attraction between her and Carl. Faith would say something dreamy and mushy.

  Honor would tell him the truth.

  "I guess it was pretty simple. I pictured what I wanted in the future, and he was it. His smile, his laugh, his voice. I couldn't see me with anyone else. We, um...we didn't have the most typical start, but when it came down to it, he was just...the one."

  There had been a night with Emmaline...a completely unremarkable night at his house. He'd cooked dinner, and she told him about a call involving a squirrel that had somehow gotten into Barb Nelson's china cabinet, and the subsequent rubble the rodent caused. Jack had laughed long and hard when she told him how she had to trip Everett and take his gun so he wouldn't shoot the wee beastie, Barb snapping pictures for the newspaper. They'd watched a movie after dinner. Well, half a movie. Maybe a third, because they'd ended up doing it on the couch, Em's skin so soft, her eyes big and dark.

  An unremarkable night, except it was perfect.

  "I screwed up with her," Jack said. "I'm not sure how to fix that."

  "Well, you're a guy. Of course you screwed up. It goes with the territory." She straightened up. "But you'll make things right." She stood up. "I have to get back to the house. Tree Bark Man is on, and I don't want to miss it. Why don't you come watch it with us?"

  At that moment, his phone rang.

  Jeremy Lyon. "Hey. What's up?" Jack asked.

  "Can you get to the hospital?" Jeremy said. "Gloria Deiner wants to see you, and you should come now."

  "On my way," he said, hanging up. "Sorry, Honor. I have to run. Another time, okay?"

  "Everything all right?" she asked.

  "I think so. I'll see you tomorrow."

  *

  THE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED to the fourth floor. Jeremy was right there, waiting, looking oddly official in his white doctor's coat. "Josh is winding down," he said without preamble. "His parents are going to take him off life support, and Gloria asked to see you."

  "Okay."

  "You ready for this, Jack?"

  "No. But yes." In fact, his heart was pounding, and his T-shirt was damp with sweat.

  Jeremy smiled sadly, gave his shoulder a squeeze and led the way down the dimly lit hallway. "Gloria? Jack's here," he said outside room 405.

  There was a whispered exchange, and then Mr. Deiner came out. He nodded at Jack, his eyes wet, and went down the hall.

  "Come in," Mrs. Deiner said.

  "I'll go stay with Alan," Jeremy said. He lowered his voice. "Good luck."

  Jack went in.

  And there he was. For the first time in all these weeks, Jack saw Josh Deiner, the boy whose life he didn't save.

  What was left of Josh, that was. Weeks on a feeding tube, weeks of profound brain damage and respirators and muscle wasting had reduced Josh to near-skeletal proportions.

  Jack looked at Mrs. Deiner, who was staring at her son. "Mrs. Deiner?"

  She didn't look at him. "I thought you might want to see him," she said.

  "Yes," Jack said, then cleared his throat. "Thank you."

  "Then have a seat," she said. Her voice was oddly calm. "You can talk to him if you want. They say hearing is the last thing to go."

  Jack sat on the hard wooden chair. Mrs. Deiner didn't say anything else. The rhythmic wheeze of the respirator counted the seconds.

  It was hard to see past the medical equipment, and the spooky, half-closed eyes. The respirator obscured much of Josh's face. His hands curled inward, and his arms seemed too long, they were so thin.

  But his eyelashes were long and blond, and he looked more like a child than the eighteen-year-old Jack had pulled from the lake. He had a freckle under his ear.

  "I'm sorry," Jack whispered. "I'm so sorry." He put his hand over Josh's. The skin was cool and too smooth.

  And then Jack bent his head and covered his mouth with one hand so Josh's mother wouldn't hear him crying. But the hot tears spilled out of his eyes, and even though it had been twenty years since Jack had cried, he couldn't now seem to stop. The best he could do was try to keep quiet, even as his shoulders shook.

  This wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

  "Was he scared?"

  Jack straightened up and cleared his throat. "No," he said, his voice husky. "He was unconscious."

  Mrs. Deiner adjusted the blanket, pulling it over Josh's sunken chest. She smoothed his hair back, her hand lingering for a minute on her son's forehead. "I don't want him to die," she said, then gave Jack an almost embarrassed smile. "Obviously." Her eyes filled. "Even if he stayed like this, I'd take care of him. I wouldn't mind. I'm his mother. That's what I'm supposed to do."

  Jack nodded, unable to speak.

  "But he's dying anyway. He never did listen to me." She stared at her son, petting his too-long hair. "I know you did your best, Jack," she said without looking up. "Thank you for trying."

  Once again, Jack bent his head and gripped the cold metal bar of the bed hard.

  And then Gloria Deiner came
to his side of the bed and put her hand on Jack's shoulder. "You should go now," she said.

  Jack nodded. He stood up, then kissed Josh on the forehead. He turned and hugged the boy's mother, felt her sob against him. Tears sliced down his face again. "I'm so sorry," he said once more.

  "I know," she whispered. "Me, too."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ON AN OBSCENELY sunny day in the last week of winter, when it seemed impossible that the birds could be singing and the sky so pure and blue, Josh Deiner was buried.

  The whole town turned out for his funeral. Em was on traffic duty and led the procession to the cemetery. She parked the cruiser outside the gates, leaving the lights flashing, and got out. Right behind her was the funeral home limo, and as Mr. and Mrs. Deiner got out, Em swallowed hard. Mr. Deiner was bent by the weight of his grief, bowed like an old tree that would fall in the next storm, and Gloria looked right through Em without a flicker of recognition, her face tight, lips trembling.

  Em's chest ached with suppressed sobs.

  The entire senior class was there, each kid holding a white rose. Alyssa Pierson walked past, flanked by her parents, tears streaming down her face. Mr. Pierson nodded to Em, and Em murmured a hello. Mrs. Pierson had called Em to tell her Alyssa was doing better, and, indeed, the girl looked less unkempt. Devastated, of course. Everyone was, because though Josh wasn't the best kid, it was an unavoidable, wrenching truth--today, two parents were burying their only child. Josh would never get to be more than a reckless kid who broke his parents' hearts, ruined their lives, leaving a legacy of "don't be like me."

  Emmaline lifted her sunglasses and wiped her eyes.

  There were the Hollands, and her heart ached even more.

  Jack's blond hair shone in the sunlight. He wore sunglasses and a suit, easy to spot, since he was taller than most. Did the Deiners know he was here? Please, God, there wouldn't be another scene like the one at the hospital, when Mrs. Deiner had screamed at him. He was too far away for Em to tell if he had that awful haunted look in his eyes that she'd seen so many times these past couple of months. This funeral must be agonizing for him.

  Levi stood next to him, maybe as a guard, handsome and solemn in his dress uniform. He said something, eliciting a nod from Jack. Faith was right there, as well, recognizable by her red hair and enormous belly, and she put her hand on her brother's arm. Any day now for her, and it was good, a new baby in that family. Something for Jack to smile about, because that smile was one of the best things in the world, and, God, Emmaline missed seeing it, missed it so much in that second that it was hard to breathe.