Dreaming a Reality (2 page)

“Did you do your homework?” I asked, shuffling around in the kitchen.

“Ma, come on! You ask me that every day, and every day it is the same answer.” Jeremy had a look of detest as he scooped a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth.

“I’m just making sure, Jer.”

I finished making some scrambled eggs and bacon for Jeremy, always a hearty eater. I placed his plate on the table—the one John hand carved. It was his first solid piece before Jeremy was born.

A little on edge from the memory of John’s e-mail, I was ready for Jeremy to go to school. I pondered over whether to call after he’d gone, but decided instead to wait until the right time.

“Make sure you have a good day, honey!” I kissed him on the cheek.

“You too, Mom.”

After Jeremy stepped out, I decided to get some housework done and push John’s urgent message aside—yet again.

As morning sun glistened on the green lawns, I peeked out the window to watch the changing trees shed their leaves. Autumn was well on its way.

My grey tabby pawed from inside the glass, trying to catch a leaf or two. It was quiet in the house as I scurried to get it clean. I always liked it fresh and orderly, so much so that some might even consider me a neat-freak. Finally, at noon, I slipped back an e-mail message to John: We’re okay, no worries
.

I grabbed my iPod and zipped out to take a walk, refusing to wait for another concerned message from him. I still had feelings for John, as he knew full well, but during our marriage, he couldn’t take my “extreme mood swings”, as he put it. John drank in excess for years, yet sobered up quickly after he and Jeremy witnessed my countless bipolar episodes.

As I walked, I let my shoes crunch the dead leaves beneath me and thought of the last dream I had of the girl. I looked into the clear blue sky and inhaled the air’s sweet scent of the coming fall, my thoughts flooded with John. I couldn’t believe I missed him so much. Why was he so concerned for me? He has Natalie to worry about, not me.

I finished my brisk walk, listening to Madonna, and returned home. I checked on more e-mails—no John, not yet, but there were quite a few from customers and another one from my boss, Mr. Ming. I had been working as a travel agent for the past six years. Mr. Ming knew all about my illness and worked with me on it, because I was considered a valued employee. I took in several bookings a week and was paid a decent amount on commission alone, but I often blew my job off and nonchalantly replied back. My expressive ups and downs carried with me, yet the customers had a definite liking for my great customer service skills—Mr. Jorgan especially.

I was always an outgoing kind of person, but often had to remain somewhat timid with Mr. Jorgan. In the past, he’d made some advances, but I continued a working relationship with him. He was a married businessman and always went through me to book anything he needed―for business and for pleasure.

My cell phone rang at 3.30 p.m.

“Hello. Katherine Wheeler here. May I help you?”

“Hey, Kat,” a rugged voice replied. “You can help me all right!”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Jorgan, how are you today?”

“I told you to call me Mitch,” he said, reminding me yet again.

“Okay, Mitch, I made reservations at the Ritz-Carlton, right along the beach with an oceanfront view—just like you requested.” I kept trying to be professional about the conversation but could hear in his voice he wanted to be more intimate.

“You know that trip was for us.”

“Mr. Jorgan, please!” I said, feeling the hairs rise on the nape of my neck.

“Please call me Mitch,” he insisted again.

“Mitch, the flight is booked for a Mr. and Mrs. Jorgan. The airline will need to check ID. What you’re inferring is impossible.” At that point I was getting upset, feeling slightly uncomfortable, but remained firm with him.

“Kat, when will you give me another chance?” He kept sneaking around my mind to see how far he could go.

“I don’t know how many times I have to go over it with you, Mitch. I am not interested. I can just as easily give your package to Mr. Ming to take care of.”

“Okay, Kat. You got me. Just give me any new updates on the flight status and maybe some more pictures of this hotel. Mrs. Jorgan will have a fit if there isn’t a spa.”

“Oh, there is a spa, and of course there are conference rooms for your meetings.” I reverted back to a more appropriate tone.

“Good,” he said with a sigh of relief that I was still interested in working with him.

I wrapped up the phone call in an abrupt manner after noticing it was almost time for Jeremy to come home. “Okay, Mitch, you’re all set. Have a good day.”

After getting off the phone, I went to my desk to catch up any loose e-mails that might have come in. I usually ended work around five o’ clock, the time Jeremy would come in after hockey practice, complaining of wanting something to eat.

I found it strange John never called or e-mailed back and in a way was disappointed. His e-mail sounded so urgent. I should have never blown him off.

Jeremy came in through the back door of the house with a loaded book-bag.

“Yo, Ma, I’m home,” he called out, stepping into the kitchen. I quickly sent my last e-mail and went to greet him.

“Hey, hon. Wow. Got more books?”

“No. More homework,” Jeremy grumbled as he walked passed me and into his bedroom to set his book-bag down.

I started an early dinner―pot roast with carrots and red potatoes, one of Jeremy’s favorites. As I placed everything on the counter, slicing the onions thin so they would melt quickly, Jeremy asked, “Have you heard from Dad?”

“No, not yet. Why? What’s up?” I walked to his doorway and stood there, wiping my hands on a washcloth.

“He promised me tickets for the Packers. Was just wonderin’ if he got ‘em or not,” he said as he pulled out a text book from his bag.

“Well, your dad sounded kind of concerned when he e-mailed me last. Is everything okay with you?”

Jeremy paused for a moment with a pale look on his face. “Yeah, it’s all good, Ma.”

I went back to the kitchen to continue with the pot roast, yet wondered what was going through his mind.

* * * *

I hadn’t verbally talked with John in about a week or so and thought how he seemed so apprehensive in his e-mail message. In my own silly way, I considered that he might have needed me again—even needed to see me.

We met in our teens and were high-school sweethearts all the way through until senior year, when I had a miscarriage. At seventeen, I desperately wanted to try to become pregnant again. I remembered my mother taking me for my first ultrasound and the doctor taking her out of his office to discuss things away from me. I knew it couldn’t be a good sign.

Although pregnancy wasn’t planned in the beginning, after receiving the devastating blow of the miscarriage I wanted a child. John, two years older and finishing school before me, was just as stupid and in love as I was and agreed.

We got married after my second pregnancy at eighteen. We finally had our son when I gave birth to Jeremy a few months later.

The first few years of marriage seemed like a dream. John would work out as early as three in the morning—the time Jeremy would wake, wanting to be bottle fed. The routine was perfect. I went back to work at PETCO after maternity leave, while John worked on building a carpentry career. He was always good with his hands and when we first dated would carve out little wooden animals and give them to me. I was fond of whatever he did and very much in love with him.

As I thought of John, I could smell that the pot roast was almost done. Jeremy was in his bedroom reading when the telephone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. How are you, Kat?” said a sleek voice.

“John!” I said, happily surprised.

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t called lately—been busy.”

“That’s okay, John. I got your e-mail,” I said as I untangled myself from the telephone cord.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk with you about that. Jeremy tells me you’re smoking a lot more and not sleeping as much. I hope you’re taking that medication the doctor prescribed.” John sounded vexed.

“Please, I can handle this, okay?” I felt a potentially heated discussion coming on.

I didn’t want to get into it, and as John started questioning me a little more, my voice began to rise.

“Mom, is that Dad?” Jeremy called out from the back room.

“Yeah, here, you talk to him. I am done with his interrogation.” I handed the phone over to Jeremy as I tried to finish up cleaning in the kitchen.

I didn’t think it was just that. I questioned myself as to what else it could have been. What had Jeremy been saying to his dad?

Disappointed, but not surprised, I now knew what was up—me and my behavior.

I instantly had racing thoughts of how it all started. Trying to remember my changes, I thought back to about a month before, when sleep began to elude me. I knew by not taking my meds, I would become manic and might even have another episode, but I was sick of all the side effects and decided to stop, yet again. I knew I was playing with fire but did it anyway, hoping my nausea and stomach discomfort would go away. No one knew I’d stopped the meds, not even my doctor or therapist. I kept that hidden from everyone—that amongst other things.

Chapter Three

Friday, and finally done with a full week of working and running back and forth to hockey for Jeremy, I was getting excited about the day.

Mr. Ming wanted me to check out the Drake Hotel in Chicago and evaluate it for potential clients. As he’d received two tickets from Southwest Airlines, complimentary of the hotel, I decided to ask my friend Jenny as she’d never been to the Windy City before. It was a good deal I got from my job, one of many I received.

Jenny and I had been friends since early grade school, and I remember when I first met her. A tall, lanky girl with curly brown hair, she’d been standing at the corner of my block. She’d asked me for directions after I nearly collided into her with my bike, yet Jenny didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she laughed at my riding skills.

I decided, while preparing for the trip, to take my mood stabilizer again. I took it even though it caused some dizziness and stomach discomfort. At least it was helping me sleep a little better, and that was what mattered most at this moment, and after I’d spoken with John, I figured it was about due time to take my medication. I was still upset at his accusations, yet knew he was right. I didn’t want to scare Jeremy any more than I had been lately.

While I packed a few of my dresses and make-up kit, I noticed a few e-mails had come in, so I sat down to read them. It was nice to receive another one from Dean, and I thought how refreshing it was to talk to him.

Although we’d only chatted a few times earlier in the week, I was interested and, after viewing his profile, increasingly intrigued. The picture he’d posted wasn’t bad, so long as it was really him and not his good-looking younger brother, or him thirty years ago. His profile read: Just looking for a good friendship, which is difficult to find, let alone a romantic relationship. I am open to anything, as long as you are too.

I popped opened Dean’s e-mail right away:

Dear Katherine,

Hello again! I just wanted to say I’ve been having a great time talking with you this past week. I know we only met online, during the night, when I couldn’t sleep. That night I was glad I didn’t get any rest. Hope to hear from you today. Can’t wait to meet you. Take care and talk to you soon.

From your restless friend,

Dean

It just so happened Dean lived in Chicago, and he suggested meeting me somewhere downtown later that night. I agreed as long as he didn’t mind meeting Jenny also. I did all the checking to make sure the dating site was secure, but I was still apprehensive about it. I mean, it’s not every day you meet people on the computer. Well, unless you work with them—which reminded me of Mitch again.

I had seen Mitch’s couple of e-mails and decided not to open them. I knew it would be the same thing—saying how we were together in the past and how great it was. Just because it happened once didn’t mean that it would happen again. It would be different if Mitch wasn’t married, but he was, and he wasn’t about to leave his wife—not for me—not for anyone.

As I glanced at the clock, I realized I was running late. I was to meet Jenny at the airport in less than an hour and had called a cab to take me there.

The cab pulled up at a quarter to two as I hurried to stuff the rest of my clothes in my bags. I left a note for Jeremy; I wasn’t worried about him since he’d already made arrangements to be with John, yet I felt bad leaving without saying good-bye. I reminded myself he was almost an adult now and could take care of himself.

I got in the cab after lobbing my luggage into the trunk. Once the driver pulled up to the airport drop-off center, I could see Jenny standing next to the Southwest Airlines sign.

“Hey, Jen,” I said, waving as I got out.

“There you are,” she yelled back, waving her arms too.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem, we still have time.”