In His Dreams (15 page)

Her face brightened, and she reached over and grasped his hand—hers so soft and small he felt overwhelmed. Did his coming to church mean that much to her?

She gave his hand another squeeze, and he knew the answer.

It did.

His mind whirled as things fell into place. Had this been the problem all along? He couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to realize what had kept them apart.

M
arsha turned onto Donegal Bay Road. “What time did you say your friend’s coming?”

“Late afternoon.”

She nodded, wanting him to talk about church, but he’d said nothing. Marsha had struggled following the worship service. Her heart soared, knowing that Jeff had been sitting beside her. Yet something frightened her. She sensed he’d decided to attend worship with the speed of a brush fire, and she wondered if the Holy Spirit had worked the change or if he had figured out why she’d been afraid to move ahead with their relationship.

Instead of questioning, she’d bowed her head and thanked God for whatever reason he’d decided to come. When God was at work, she had no right to question. She hoped something had happened during the service to help Jeff feel more comfortable and open to accepting the faith he once knew.

She longed to ask, but she fought the urge. “Did you enjoy Sunday school, Bonnie?”

“Yes.”

“Good. What did you learn?” She felt guilty quizzing her niece, but it was better than prying information from Jeff.

“I learned Jesus is my best friend.” She stuck her arm as far over the back of their seat as she could while restrained in her seat belt. “We made this.”

She dangled a card-stock bookmark adorned with a piece of colorful yarn from her finger.

Jeff took the craft from her and showed Marsha. The likeness of Jesus had been photocopied to the card stock with the words
my best friend
below. Bonnie had colored it with markers, and Marsha figured she could have done something far more artistic if she’d created the whole picture herself.

“Very nice,” Marsha said, keeping her opinion to herself.

He didn’t comment and handed it back to Bonnie.

“I think I’ll take Al fishing while he’s here,” Jeff said as if her earlier question were still part of their conversation.

“That would be nice. If you want to leave the girls at the house just let me know.”

“Thanks. They may want to go, but I’ll check.”

The conversation felt strained and Marsha was almost relieved when she turned onto the stretch of road along the water and saw Jeff’s house ahead of her.

When she turned into the driveway, she felt at a loss for words. “Have a nice day,” she said, stepping out of his car, sounding mundane in light of their recent talk.

“You, too.” Jeff waved and Bonnie stood beside him, looking a little lost.

Climbing into her car, Marsha hoped that the situation with Al and his daughter would be fun for Bonnie. She backed from the driveway and drove the familiar trip back home, her thoughts shifting to Barb.

Barb had looked fine the night before and had no complaints, so her sudden not-feeling-well excuse sat heavily on Marsha’s mind. Barb had been quieter since she’d learned Marsha had read her novel opening. She’d apologized. What more could she do? Now she was honestly tired of Barb’s concern about what she’d done. It wasn’t as if she had planned to steal her story idea or anything.

She pulled into her driveway and headed for the house, her mind a flurry of issues. She expected Jeff to be busy with his friend, and even her offers to sit with the girls had been tossed off with a thanks, but—

But what? She’d keep herself busy just as she would have to do once she returned home. Though her hopes had been that she and Jeff would continue to be friends—there was that word again—she suspected that would fade as quickly as dew in the morning.

When she stepped inside, Barb was lying on the sofa reading a novel. She lowered the book and peered at Marsha over the edge. “You’re back early. I figured you’d go out to lunch.”

Marsha dropped her purse into the chair and strutted to the sliding-door screen. “His friend comes today. He wanted to do some laundry before he arrives.”

Barb didn’t comment, but in a moment, she placed a bookmark between the pages and sat up.

A rain cloud billowed over the lake, shadowed with slate-colored streaks. They had escaped the rain most every day since their arrival. She hoped it didn’t rain for Al’s visit. The island could be dreary in bad weather since most of the activities were outdoors.

She turned into the room. “Hungry?”

Barb shook her head. “My appetite has been bad for a few days.”

Once again, Marsha hadn’t noticed. She passed Barb and opened the refrigerator, then closed it again, aware that she had missed something. She turned to face Barb. “Something’s wrong.”

It wasn’t a question. She couldn’t believe she’d been so unaware. Not feeling well had been an excuse to arouse conversation. She’d let it slip by this morning as she’d almost done again.

She sank into the chair and looked at Barb’s stressed face. “What’s wrong?”

Barb flinched at her question, and Marsha knew this was something serious. Had Jeff said something to her? Her heart kicked, then skipped a beat. “What is it?”

“I should have told you this a long time ago. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Get on with it, Marsha screamed in her head. “Just tell me. What did Jeff say?”

Barb’s face washed with disbelief. “This isn’t about you, Marsha. It’s about me.”

The sting of her words smarted through Marsha’s conscience. Not everything was about her. Why would she even think such a thing? “I’m sorry, Barb. I’m edgy today. Please. I’m listening.”

“This began when I felt so angry at you for looking at my novel.”

“But I apolo—”

“It has nothing to do with an apology. It made me realize that you couldn’t be blamed for something you didn’t know.”

Marsha gripped the arm of the chair but remained silent. She too often talked when she should listen.

“The story is a release for me. Something that happened to me so long ago and has stayed inside me like an aching boil that could never burst because it would only poison me more.”

“What happened?” Her mind flew back to their past. Barb had changed somewhere in time from a typical teenager to a withdrawn wallflower, but Marsha couldn’t remember exactly when it had happened.

Her sister’s face twisted as if she’d lost control, but then she closed her eyes a moment and seemed to calm.

Marsha thought about the novel. What had she read? Something about a rainy night. She dug into her memory. A flash of paragraph crept from her mind. Her clothes clung to her as if hanging on to her for fear they might be torn from her. And they were. She’d never remembered that happening to Barb.

She leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “Your writing has given you a release.” She repeated her sister’s words, hoping to motivate her to talk.

She nodded. “The story’s not the same as mine, but the emotion is. The fear is. The guilt is.”

Guilt? Fear? She clung to her sister’s words.

“I—” a ragged breath shot from Barb’s lungs and seemed to rattle her bones “—I was molested when I was thirteen.”

“You were what?” Marsha forced her legs to move forward. She sank onto the sofa close to her sister. “Barb. No. By who?”

“Our neighbor.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Which neighbor?” Her mind tore into her memory, reconstructing her neighborhood and the people who lived there.

“Mr. Buehl.”

Buehl? The name meant nothing until she recalled the small house at the end of the street with the mousy woman and the tall, angular man who lived there. “They had a son? Clinton?”

Barb nodded.

“Was it Clinton who did this?”

“No. His father.” She closed her eyes. “The first time it happened he came over to borrow something when no one was home but me.”

The first time. Marsha’s shoulders knotted. “Did he rape you?”

“No, but he might as well have. He touched my body and kissed me on the mouth. It was disgusting.”

“What did you do?”

“I was scared to death. I was only thirteen. I thought I’d done something to make him think it was okay. I pulled away, but I can still feel his slimy mouth pushing against mine and his big hands bruising my skin.”

“Oh, Barb.” All the questions Marsha had had over the years dissipated into understanding. Barb’s reaction to being touched unexpectedly. Her distrust of men. Her lack of sociability. It all tumbled into the open like a puzzle that tipped over and lay exposed to be put together with careful hands. “I’m heartbroken. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t supportive when you needed help. I didn’t know.”

“I kept it hidden, especially when it happened again. He must have followed me sometimes. Remember the vacant lot near the corner? I took a shortcut one evening from a school event, and he caught me there. He exposed himself. It made me sick.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why did you hold it inside?”

She fell against the sofa cushion. “Mom was so sick then. How could I burden the family with that problem?”

Marsha pressed her hand to her chest. “What about me? You could have told me.”

“I didn’t think you’d understand and, if you did, you’d have told Mom. I thought it would end, but it didn’t. I finally avoided going anywhere at night and I didn’t answer the door when I was home alone with Mom or when she was in the hospital. You were out on dates or working your job at the pharmacy. I felt so alone.”

The tears Marsha had been fighting gave way and rolled down her cheeks in a steady stream. She’d been so wrapped up in her own life she’d missed something drastic that had affected her sister. How could she have been so unaware?

Barb wrapped her arm around Marsha’s shoulder. “It should be me crying, Marsha, not you, but then I’ve shed enough tears for both of us.”

“I’m sorry for blubbering. I’m just startled and so angry at myself. I should have figured it out. You changed so much. One day you stopped laughing. You didn’t participate in anything. You volunteered to care for Mom. Why didn’t I see it?”

“Because you were a teenager wanting to live your life to the fullest. I never blamed you, but I just couldn’t tell anyone. It was too painful and frightening.”

Marsha wiped her eyes with her fist, then rose and grabbed a tissue to blow her nose. “So what made you tell me now?”

“I’ve already told you.” She motioned to her legal pad. “The writing. It’s been a release. I guess you call it a catharsis. Putting it on paper, giving it to a character and allowing her to struggle and grieve took the pain from me. As I wrote, I realized I was innocent. I should have told someone to get the man off the streets. I wonder how many other girls he hurt in that way.”

“How awful. They moved, didn’t they?”

“It was the best day of my life. When I saw the moving van pull away, I felt released from prison, yet I kept the bars closed. I put up the barricade to protect myself. I wasn’t going to take any more chances on being hurt again.”

“So you never dated. You never married. You never had children, and all because of that horrible man.”

She shook her head. “No, because I didn’t do anything about it. I knew I should, but I’d allowed it to happen more than once, more than twice, and I figured people would think I was lying or making it up or only the Lord knows what went on in my mind. I was ashamed. I felt dirty.”

Barb’s concern for Bonnie fell into place. “You’re as white as snow, Barb. God knows the truth. You were never guilty, and it was never your fault, and now I see why you’ve talked about predators and why you fear for Bonnie. It was all too real to you.”

“Way too real.”

Marsha opened her arms, and Barb rose and fell into her embrace. This time Barb’s tears wet Marsha’s shoulders, tears she should have shared so many years ago, but at least now, they were out and shed.
Lord, heal her wound and open new doors for Barb.

“Great shot,” Jeff said, watching Al’s ball hit just short of the green.

Then Jeff strode forward and stood on the tee, lined up his drive and did a practice swing, hoping to leave his hook behind and at least get somewhere near the end of the fairway. He swung back, and, as his arms moved forward, Bonnie let out a yell, and he pulled the shot, clipping the end of the club, and landed the ball seventy-five yards ahead of him. He barely passed the women’s tee.

“Bonnie, please don’t yell when we’re hitting the ball.”

Al chuckled. “Good excuse for fluffin’ the shot.”

Jeff managed to smile, but he’d struggled throughout the game to concentrate. Bringing the girls had been a mistake.

Since they’d arrived, Jeff had had second thoughts about Al bringing Lindsey, but it was too late now. Jeff had been startled when Al’s daughter had arrived, wearing the shortest shorts he’d ever seen and a skimpy top that seemed too revealing for a girl of twelve. She’d looked at Bonnie as if she were an alien, and it troubled him. He feared Marsha was right again. Regular kids and Bonnie might not mix.

Today Lindsey had dressed in something similar while Bonnie wore her jeans and a T-shirt. He’d noticed Lindsey rolling her eyes at things Bonnie said and hoped that Al had explained to her that Bonnie had a disability. He hated making excuses for his daughter. He loved her, but sometimes life seemed so unfair, and then he detested feeling that way. He couldn’t win.