Dreaming a Reality (7 page)

“Oh, okay. How are you?”

“I’ve been coping, and you?”

I wanted to say more but didn’t want to get into it at the time. I wanted desperately to tell him what had happened with Dean, but became increasingly nervous at what he might think of me, so I didn’t have the heart. “I miss you,” I said blurting out the statement.

“I know, Kat.” John’s voice lowered, and then he paused.

“We don’t have to get into anything right now, John. I know you’re worried about me and Jeremy. Really, we’re doing okay.”

“Well, that wasn’t just it. I wanted to talk to you about Natalie.”

I knew what was coming, since I’d talked to Jeremy, but instead acted like I didn’t know anything. “Oh, really? What is it? Everything okay?”

“Well, yes and no. She wants us to get married.”

The thought of it caused a lump in my throat. I couldn’t picture him with her, but for some odd reason I needed to hear more.

“I thought she was out of the picture. Didn’t she want to break up with you?”

From what I could remember, their relationship was going nowhere. The last I’d heard, before the marriage proposal, Natalie wanted to move out.

“Well, we did. It’s been a few months now.”

“I thought she was there when Jeremy came to visit.”

“So you did know then?”

I paused a moment, feeling a rushing sensation hit my face. I didn’t want to seem like I was lying, so I kept at it that I didn’t know. “No, I just assumed. Jeremy never said anything.”

“Well, we’ve been discussing it and―”

Before John could finish, I interrupted him. “Why are you telling me all this?” His voice lowered again and began to break up a little. We had only been talking on the phone for a few minutes when another call came through. I didn’t want to take it, but I saw it as a sign. Besides, I didn’t want to hear any more depressing news. “I gotta go; there’s another call.”

“Kat, please wait!”

Suddenly my nervousness turned into anger. “Wait for what, John? For you to decide whether this is a good idea or not? I mean, come on. Look at your first marriage.”

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

“John, we all make mistakes. This might be another one. I gotta go.”

I ended the call on that note and buzzed into the other caller. It was just a telemarketer, but I was glad to get off the phone with John. It sounded like he wanted my approval, and that I wasn’t going to give. It was a slap in the face to hear of the engagement. “What is he thinking?” I mumbled to myself.

At that point I just wanted the weekend to end, so I could throw myself into my work and hopefully get a fresh start from there, but it was Saturday, my day off, which seemed to drag endlessly with bad news.

Later that evening, I relaxed to one of the library books and fell asleep—and into a deep sleep this time. So deep, I woke up eight hours later.

Chapter Eleven

Days passed and no word on my mom. I grew deeply concerned, thinking she was still upset and that I wouldn’t be able to see her, yet I didn’t call because I didn’t want to seem too eager and overbearing.

It was another bland day as it rained sheets of water against the windows. The neighborhood was cold and quiet, and the air beneath the gray sky was damp. I absorbed the melancholy mood and didn’t do much at all. Every inch of my body felt completely drained. I just wanted peace—to be alone and not be bothered by anything or anyone.

Instead of answering my e-mails and catching up on work, I lay down on the couch and watched the rain. I thought of John and the proposal to Natalie, and then I thought of our proposal.

* * * *

We were still in our teens at the time. He took me to the park where we first met, by the swings, propped me against the only maple tree standing inside the park and got down on one knee. He whispered those unforgettable words. “Will you marry me?”

Tears streamed down my face as I began to remember more and more. That year I became pregnant with Jeremy. After the miscarriage, John promised he would never leave me. All the promises he made in the past seemed a distant memory now.

I thought of how we first lived in a related-living apartment, downstairs from his grandfather Henry Ebbs. He was a good man who’d served his country and looked after his children. Better yet, he was good to me and John.

John’s mother Marie was the youngest and the only girl, and a feisty one in her own right. She grew up in the seventies and was very much a flower-child, and she praised John in whatever he did. However, no doubt due to their poor living arrangements, and his dad’s alcoholism, John’s parents separated.

Marie, an untamed woman, had always been outspoken, yet never judged anyone. We got along like two best friends. She loved me, I knew she did.

A year before John and I started having our own marital problems, he received a call from the hospital stating his parents were in a horrible car accident. Apparently, John’s dad Luke was in town that day helping Marie with errands—driving her around from place to place―but as always, Luke was drunk. What made it worse was that he was behind the wheel. They both died instantly.

* * * *

After thinking of my past, the day was ruined, and I’d got nothing done. It was like I’d taken a day off.

When Jeremy got home from school, I told him to make something for himself. I just didn’t feel up to doing anything at all, so I went upstairs and rested on the futon.

Later on, I made a point of calling Mitch about his Denver trip. Mitch, being a very well-to-do businessman, worked as a stockbroker and always wanted things his way.

I dialed the number, and he picked up right away.

“Hey, Kat, it’s great to hear from you. How’s my kitty doing?”

“Mitch,” I said coyly, “we don’t have time for that.”

“Let’s make time then.”

“Mitch, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Oh, do I hear another chance coming on?”

“I still feel uncomfortable that you’re married. It never was a good idea in the first place.” I shifted the phone to my other ear as I paced around the room.

“Kat, a couple of drinks won’t hurt anyone.”

Where did I hear that before? I instantly thought of Dean and our horrific encounter—how he whispered a similar phrase in my ear―but something inside me wanted to see Mitch again. For one, I was lonely, and for another, although I didn’t like to admit it, Mitch made me feel good. I wanted to feel good again, so I agreed. “Okay, Mitch, but no strings attached.”

“No, of course not. We’ll just take it as it goes.”

Later that evening we met up at Michael’s restaurant for drinks.

Mitch waited in the parking lot inside his gray Chevrolet Corvette, as I walked to the front of the building. My nerves jittered about like ants crawling in my veins, yet on the outside I was calm and cool. I stood there, hair flapping in the wind like a blonde flag, wearing a tiny silk dress and pearl earrings, the ones Mitch gave me for my birthday last June. My dart-sized heels were beginning to bother me as I hadn’t worn them in a while. As I lit up a cigarette, he walked toward me and kissed my cheek.

“Mitch,” I said abruptly, giving him a half smile, as I flicked my smoke to the ground.

“Don’t look so surprised, Kat. You haven’t seen me since before the Cancun experience, let me tell you.” He smiled back at me with tanned skin wrinkling around the sides of his mouth. “What a joke that was.”

His dark-brown eyes stood out, and he sported a custom-made designer suit from Domenico Vacca, with glossy black leather shoes to match. It was just like Mitch to go over the top.

“You look amazing,” he whispered in my ear, while holding me by the hand. I still felt unsettled about being touched after Dean’s visit. I’d felt dirty when that happened, and it was a bitter reminder when Mitch reached for me. Although it was just light hand-holding, I flinched.

“Is everything okay? You seem jumpy.” He looked at me with concern and even though he displayed an I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, I knew he still cared about me.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go in.”

“With pleasure.” He opened the door for me and let me go in first.

After walking in and getting seated right away, Mitch went on to say how miserable he was with his marriage. I just nodded my head in agreement, but inside I was thinking that the majority of the time my marriage had been solid; well, until our split.

“So, Katherine Wheeler, when are we going to hook up again?”

I blushed and said, “We are now.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” He looked me straight in the face and winked, holding up his glass of Chardonnay.

His words jumped out at me, catching me off guard. I tangled and weaved, whipping something up to say, yet all I said was, “I don’t know.”

I felt very apprehensive connecting with him again on that level and wanted to sway the conversation a different way, yet I couldn’t find the words.

“Weekend getaway on my yacht, perhaps? Or maybe you can get us tickets from your job? You always know where all the hot spots are. Come on, Kat. What do you say?”

I just glared at him for a moment. I was still attracted to him, to be honest. Mitch never lost that flair, but I could feel the anxiety starting to wear on my face.

“Earth-to-Kat. Still with me?” he asked, smiling again.

I gave it a long thought. A weekend getaway would be nice. There was a peek of interest growing inside me. The rhythmic roar of the waves sounded really inviting, plus I wanted to get away for real—get away from all my problems. “I’ll see what I can do, Mitch.”

“Well, all right then.” He raised his glass again. “To our getaway.”

Chapter Twelve

Tuesday night and the recurring dream of the girl happened again, but this time she was older.

She looked about thirteen or fourteen—same face, same medium-length blonde hair as mine. Her sky blue eyes lit up the room as she stood beside a bed holding hands with an old woman. The girl wore ripped-up jeans and an eighties T-shirt, and I noticed that in fact the time was set in the eighties as she had her bangs sprayed up high in the front. She was carrying a bump underneath her shirt, like she was a few months pregnant.

The old woman looked very ill, with a pale face and ghostly skin, and the bones of her hands protruded like the spokes of a bike wheel as she lay on the bed. The girl was crying and began to kneel beside the bed. I was within earshot and heard a little of their conversation. The old woman continued staring at the ceiling, not giving the girl any glances. It was almost as if she was already dead.

The two held hands for what seemed like forever as I stepped in closer from behind the curtain, trying desperately to hear what they were saying. Their speech grew softer and softer.

The old woman’s face had an eerie familiarity to Marie, John’s mother, yet she had my features as well. Her hair was braided in two side-by-side ropes of strawberry blonde pigtails, and she was gaunt. One thing that struck me was the penny sized tattoo of a rainbow with a tiny cloud underneath her left wrist.

As the girl was about to kiss the old woman good-bye, she turned around and locked gazes with me. Then I awoke.

* * * *

A few days had gone by, and my dreams were becoming increasingly bothersome. I felt as though I needed to see the doctor or therapist again. The urge of wanting to talk was building inside me like layers of cement around my legs, and I felt myself being pushed over the edge of the lake at any moment and drowning like the girl in my dreams. I was self-medicating and couldn’t stop. I was spiraling out of control.

After making an appointment weeks ago it was now time to see the doctor. I had made arrangements to take the day off and got to my appointment at 11:30 a.m.

When I pulled up to the office, my heart fluttered like moths to the light. My hands shook as I lit my cigarette, sucking it down with deep, inhaling drags. I felt the fluttering feeling continue as I stepped inside the elevator. As the doors closed, I shut my eyes and swallowed down my fear, or tried to at least. I was a bundle of nerves by the time I entered the office. This time it would be an hour and a half before my name was called.

I waited another twenty minutes or so for the doctor to finally walk in. My first thought was whether to say something about my meds. I attributed every bad thing happening to that, when I knew, in my heart, it wasn’t—it was me.

“Hello, Katherine, how are you today?” Dr. Sandue asked. He was an Arabian man with curly gray hair and glasses, and he stood only five feet five inches or so. He was subdued and softly spoken. I didn’t know why I was always nervous seeing him as he was a kind-natured soul and never criticized me for anything, yet I worried about being judged by him. After all, he was my doctor and knew everything regardless.

“I’m feeling a little on edge, Doctor.”

“Tell me more, Katherine.” Even though my nickname was Kat, he never called me that. He always pronounced my full name.

The palms of my hands began to sweat inside my clenched fists.

“You haven’t been keeping up on your regular appointments, Katherine. I wondered how you were doing. It’s lovely to see you again.”