In His Dreams (6 page)

He found her stretched across her bed, her face buried in her pillow, her hands pressing the top of her head.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

She shook her head, burying her face deeper into the pillow.

“Bonnie. Tell me what’s wrong.”

A ragged sob tore from her throat. “Go away.”

“I’m not going away.” He sat on the edge of the bed. Her mother had gone away, but he wouldn’t, God willing. God willing. He was sounding like Marsha. “Do you have a headache?”

He rubbed her back in circles with one hand while he touched her cheek with the other. She felt slightly warm, but nothing serious. “Do you have a headache?”

“No!”

“Bonnie,” he said, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Are you upset? Tell Daddy what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” she moaned, turning her hands into fists and slamming them against the bed.

“Come here.” He pushed his arm beneath her and drew her closer. He wished he could sing like Marilou had. When Bonnie was upset, Marilou had sung her songs and soon she’d quieted. He began to hum a random tune.

Bonnie’s body relaxed beneath his arm. She turned her head and nestled it against his shoulder.

His disoriented tune slipped into a familiar melody, and Jeff heard “Amazing Grace” coming from his lips. Amazing grace? That was what he needed. Something amazing in his life. Something to calm his child and help him meet her needs.

She had no friends on the island. At least, at school she had people she related to and, at home, a seven-year-old neighbor girl came over to play house or to color. Barb had colored with her, and she seemed to like that. Bonnie needed a friend. She needed something to do instead of moping.

“Want to do something?”

She didn’t stir.

“Would you like to go somewhere?”

“To Aunt Marsha’s?”

Marsha again. Bonnie was becoming dependent on her. He needed to do something about it, but what? When they returned home, she wouldn’t have Marsha as she did now—not at her beck and call. Ignoring Marsha hadn’t been the answer. He needed her, too. She seemed to brighten his day and, now that they’d talked, Jeff had hopes they could continue the old friendship they’d enjoyed for so many years. Maybe it would even blossom into more.

“I’ll give her a call,” he said, as much for himself as for Bonnie.

“Well, now, look who’s here.”

Marsha spun around, whacking Jeff’s elbow with a caulking tube. She couldn’t help but grin at her accidental attack on his arm and even more the coincidence that they were both at the hardware store. “Sorry. A caulking gun in my hands can be a dangerous weapon.”

He raised his hands over his head and grinned. “I’m unarmed.”

“You have arms, Daddy,” Bonnie said, hanging on to Marsha’s basket and looking at the items she’d tossed into it. “Are you fixing your house?”

“Trying,” she said, making a silly face for Bonnie.

She laughed at Marsha’s goofy look, then eyed Jeff as if to make sure he laughed, too.

“I have to see this.”

“Me, too,” Bonnie said.

Marsha dropped the caulk into the basket. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“Looking for me?”

“I called, and Barb said you were here.” He picked up a package of screws and a light-fixture cover. “Remodeling?” he gave her a wink as he waved the packages at her.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at his silly expression. “Not quite. I’ve let things go, and I either need to do it myself or hire someone to do it for me.”

“Good idea. I know just the man.”

She gazed at the basket as relief flooded her. “Really? Do you have his card?”

“No, I can do better than that. He’s in the store.”

“Great. Introduce me.”

He slipped his hand into hers. “Marsha, I’d like you to meet Jeff Sullivan.” He gave her hand a firm shake.

“You?” She shook her head that she’d been so naive. “That’s one thing I’ve always loved about you, Jeff.” The word
love
nudged her consciousness. She managed to ignore the feeling. “You were always playful, while Don was more serious.” Don. Jeff. Why did she keep comparing them? “I was more serious then, too.”

“You had reason to be.”

“I suppose, but I loved the laughter you brought into the house.”

“I figured you needed a little lightheartedness.” He rested his hand against her arm, offering her a gentle smile. “Now, getting back to the home improvement.” His smile turned to a playful grin. “I’d be happy to help if you can give me a hand in return.”

Curiosity pulled at her face. “Sure, if I can.”

He clasped his hands on Bonnie’s shoulders and turned her toward Marsha. “Here’s your challenge.”

Bonnie grinned at her, waving a screwdriver like a magician’s wand over the edge of the basket.

“No challenge. I’d be happy to accept your offer.”

“How could I do it without you?”

“Very well, I’m sure,” she said, going along with the joke.

He slipped an arm around her shoulder and grasped the handle of the basket with the other hand.

As they ambled up and down the aisles finding what she needed, her spirits dimmed. She was concerned about Jeff’s attitude toward God. She prayed for him, and since he’d known the Lord once, she asked the Holy Spirit to lead him back to his faith. How could a man so good and so kind not understand that God didn’t always say yes? According to His will and purpose, He sometimes said no, and no one knew that better than Marsha. It shouldn’t change their faith in Him.

Bonnie tugged at the side of the basket as they walked, making it wiggle. She laughed when he asked her to stop until finally she became bored and grasped Marsha’s hand as they headed to the checkout counter.

Earlier Marsha had thought about asking Jeff to help with the repairs, but she knew he had his hands full with Bonnie and, to be honest with herself, she felt confused spending so much time with him. It seemed too comfortable and she feared she’d miss his company when she returned home. The city was different than an island. Things happened. Jobs and responsibility got in the way. People drifted.

His teasing question, How could I do it without you? filled her thoughts. Yet, that wasn’t the real question. What would she do without him?

M
arsha leaned her shoulder against the bathroom door frame and watched Jeff as he straddled the bathtub and dug into the old caulking. The discolored curls of putty broke and dropped into the tub as he pried it loose so he could recaulk.

Jeff’s broad shoulders flexed beneath his shirt, and Marsha let her gaze slip to the muscles that knotted beneath the pressure of the scraper. Jeff’s lean build disguised his strength. Marsha couldn’t help but admire his physique.

“How’s it going?” she asked, wondering if he realized she’d been watching him. She leaned against the sink counter as he brushed perspiration from his forehead.

“Slow going, but I’m getting there.” He swung his leg over the tub edge and rested both feet on the floor. “What’s up?”

She gave her head a toss toward the doorway. “I’m running to McDonough’s Market and thought I’d take Bonnie. Okay?”

Jeff’s shoulders raised as he took a deep breath. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I only need a couple of things. It’ll give her something to do.”

Jeff didn’t respond for a moment. “You know, she can be a handful.”

“I can handle her.”

He rose and tilted her chin upward. “You’re an amazing woman.”

She had never been called
amazing,
and she stretched upward and kissed his cheek. “You’re even more amazing.”

A tender look filled his eyes, and warmth swept through her. “I need to go.” She pulled away, afraid of the intimacy she felt standing beside him. She needed to keep her distance. In-laws weren’t supposed to be that affectionate. As the concern bolted into her mind, she asked herself, why not? Friends showed affection. It was natural.

Hoping she hadn’t made a mistake with her decision to take Bonnie along, she grabbed her grocery list and her shoulder bag. Bonnie charged from the porch into the kitchen and nearly tripped over Marsha as she headed out the door. Marsha wished she could harness that kind of energy.

For some reason, getting Bonnie into a seat belt felt like trying to lasso a wild boar. “I don’t need a seat belt,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

Marsha sat behind the wheel, counting and asking God to keep her calm.

“Let’s go. Let’s go,” Bonnie yelled, slapping at the steering wheel.

“We can’t go anywhere, Bonnie,” Marsha said, keeping her voice as controlled as she could under the circumstances.

“Yes, you can.” She gave the wheel another wallop.

“It’s against the law. I’d be in jail for letting you ride without a seat belt.”

Bonnie threw herself against the seat cushion, but, in a moment, she fumbled with the buckle and strapped herself in.

“Thank you,” Marsha said, sending up a prayer for patience.

During the short trip to town, Bonnie returned to her more pleasant self, and Marsha’s confidence grew. So did her admiration for Jeff. She’d been critical of him, but today, she had second thoughts. Not that she didn’t worry about Bonnie needing to understand how her body was growing, but she realized the difficulty in explaining this to the mentally immature girl.

Only a few cars were parked in front of the market. Marsha pulled into a slot and turned off the ignition.

“Can I push the basket?” Bonnie asked as she slipped from the car.

Marsha weighed the request and agreed. Though Bonnie darted too quickly through the doorway and whacked the cart against the glass, she slowed when she reached the aisles.

Marsha tossed items into the cart and, before long, Bonnie left her position behind the handle and wandered to a cookie display. Sugar was one thing her niece didn’t need, but Bonnie snatched a package off the shelf and knocked a few to the floor.

“We have some at the cottage, already,” Marsha said, picking up the fallen boxes and returning them to the shelf. She held out her hand for the package.

Bonnie tucked them behind her back. “They’re mine. You can’t have them.”

“They’re not yours until you pay for them.”

“They’re mine,” she screamed. “You’re not in charge of me.”

“Right now I am.”

A mixture of embarrassment and frustration sent heat up her neck. Marsha took a step forward as Bonnie took one backward. “You’re not a child, any longer, Bonnie. You’re growing up, and you need to act—”

“You’re not my mother. Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Please, Bonnie,” Marsha said, extending her hand toward Bonnie as she backed away.

Her mind twisted with solutions. She could buy the cookies, but what did that teach Bonnie? If she pulled them away, she knew a major tantrum could result.

“I can do things myself,” Bonnie said, continuing to back away until she came to the end of the aisle. When Bonnie saw where she’d ended, she darted around the corner.

Marsha stood paralyzed and waited for the crash. She refused to chase her. Yet Jeff had told her the kind of damage Bonnie could do. Her heart felt heavy as her hopes sank.
Lord, what should I do?

She grasped the cart to steady herself and took a long deep breath.

“They’re mine!”

She heard Bonnie’s voice soar from the next aisle. Keep calm. Think. Think. Her legs trembled as helplessness smothered her. How had Jeff endured this for so long? She closed her eyes, prepared for another outburst.

Nothing happened.

Her hands trembled against the shopping-cart handle, and she could hear the raggedness of her breath in her ears. Marsha opened one eye a slit and looked to the end of the aisle. She took a step forward. Then another.

A flash of color came around the corner, and Bonnie reappeared, holding the cookies against her chest. A look of confusion filled her face, and she laid the package down on a shelf as she drew nearer. “You lost me.”

Marsha’s chest ached holding back her tears. She opened her arms to Bonnie and embraced her. “I would never lose you, sweetheart.” Marilou filled her mind. Bonnie had lost her mother only two years ago. What could she say to her that would make any sense? “I thought you wanted to be alone a minute.”

The girl tightened her grip. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Marsha held her tightly, but couldn’t speak from her sadness.

Jeff heard the door bang, and he finished the slender bead of caulking before straightening his back. He could hear Bonnie jabbering to Barb about what they’d bought as she flew past the bathroom doorway, and he relaxed his shoulders. Apparently, Marsha had survived the event.

Straddling the tub as he faced the doorway, he spotted Marsha sailing past with two grocery bags. She wasn’t smiling, but that didn’t mean anything. After Don’s death, Marsha had been more serious and, when they’d met at Daddy Frank’s, she’d acted far more uptight than after they’d spent time together this past week. Since then, she’d often mentioned he brought her smiles out of hiding. He found it hard to believe. A smile looked so natural on her.

After a moment, he swung his other leg over the tub edge and strolled into the kitchen. Marsha’s head was blocked behind the refrigerator door and, when she pulled back and closed it, she jumped in surprise. “You scared me.”

Marsha looked edgy, and her eyes told him something he didn’t want to hear, but he asked, anyway. “How did it go?”

She pressed her hand against her heart and shook her head. “Not now.”

A frown tugged at his mouth, and he took a step forward. “What?”

She stepped closer and leaned toward his ear. “A problem. Resolved, but I learned so much.” She stepped back and reached for a bag of potato chips, then slipped them on top of the refrigerator. “Later, okay?”

His curiosity niggled at him, but he respected her wish.

Bonnie’s voice came from the front deck, and he slid open the door and stepped outside, his nostrils assailed by the odor of bug spray. He looked down at Barb on a foldout recliner. “Attacking the enemy?”

“It’s the only way I can be out here.” She picked up the aerosol can from the planking and waved it in the air. “Want some?”

“No. I think you’ve covered the area.”

Barb chuckled as Bonnie pinched her nose and backed away. “Is that why you stink?”

“Bonnie!” Jeff said, trying to hold back his laugh. “You’re not supposed to tell people they smell.”

She looked at him wide-eyed. “But she does.”

“I do,” Barb said, returning the can to the floor. “I’ll shower later. Okay?”

Bonnie unplugged her nose. “Okay.”

Jeff drew Bonnie to his side and settled down on the plank bench of the picnic table. “Did you have fun?”

She nodded. “Look what Aunt Marsha bought me.” She pointed toward Barb’s recliner. He noticed a package resting on the foot. Bonnie darted across the deck and picked it up, then hurried back as she waved the carton toward him. “Markers.”

“Markers.” He gazed at the line of colorful tubes and managed not to cringe. Did Marsha realize the problems with markers?

Bonnie settled beside him. “She has paper I can use, and I can make pictures.”

Jeff reached over her shoulder and patted the picnic table. “And this is the perfect place for you to draw.”

She gazed at the table, then back at him. “Why?”

To keep you out of trouble, he wanted to say. “You can see the water and flowers and sky from here.” He pointed to the landscape, praying she would accept the suggestion.

“Okay.” She looked at the markers. “I have blue.”

“Every color you’ll need,” Jeff said. “Blue, green, brown, yellow.”

“Every color.” She leaped from the bench and slipped inside while booming a request for paper.

Having enough of the bug spray, Jeff pulled himself from the bench and passed Bonnie in the doorway as Marsha was handing her sheets of white paper. “Draw me a picture,” he said, hoping she’d be encouraged to play by herself for a while.

She gave him a quick okay and settled at the table as he turned away.

Jeff could see over the counter dividing the living room from the kitchen, and he hurried over to Marsha. “What happened at the store?”

She gazed past him toward the sliding door, then flagged him down the hall and into the back of the cottage that faced the road. A cedar bench swing sat beneath a tree, and she led him there, then patted the seat beside her.

Even more curious, Jeff studied her face, afraid of what she might say. “It was that bad?”

“Jeff, first I need to apologize to you. It’s so easy to be critical until you’re in the other person’s shoes. It turned out okay, but I can see now what you go through every day. Every hour.” She raised a tender gaze to his. “I can see how difficult it is.”

“What did she do?” He shook his head. “I’m sure it was embarrassing. I know. I’ve had to deal with it. People either give you dirty looks or make comments. ‘Don’t you know how to control your kid?’ ‘Why don’t you take parenting classes?’ It’s that or worse. I’ve been called every name in the book.” His fingers locked around his knee.

Marsha slid her hand over his and rubbed his taut fingers. “It wasn’t that bad.”

She told him the story, and he listened, envisioning the many tantrums he’d lived through. She paused and brushed tears from her eyes.

He realized she was upset, but the tears surprised him until she continued describing her feelings and admitting what she’d learned. “I’ve bugged you about explaining to Bonnie about becoming a young woman, but now I see how difficult that would be. She won’t want to hear it, and it will frighten her.”

He nodded, reliving the agony that he’d gone through so often as he faced Bonnie’s disability. “She can grow out of some of this, they say. She’ll never be normal, but she can be trained to do everyday things. After her hormones settle down.” He didn’t believe it himself. “Maybe.”

Marsha used her index finger to draw a slow line down his arm and up again. “We can hope. If the doctors and educators said it, then let’s believe it’s true.”

He could only nod. He’d had hope and faith once, and he’d been let down too hard. How could he have hope now?

“But that’s not all,” Marsha said.

Her comment snapped his attention. “What else?”

This time tears pooled in her eyes and escaped. “When she came back to my aisle, she told me I’d lost her.”

“You’d lost
her?
” He shook his head, trying to make sense out of that statement.

“I hadn’t run after her. I’d stood in the aisle like a statue, having no idea whether to chase her, to give in and buy the stupid cookies or to sit on the floor and cry, myself.”

“And she came back and said you lost her?”

Marsha gave a slow nod. “It scared her that I didn’t go after her. She lost her mother once, Jeff. Or, as she sees it, her mother lost her. She didn’t come back to find her.” She turned in the seat and grasped his arms. “She’s afraid of losing people. It’s hard enough for a fully-abled child to understand the death of a parent. Can you imagine how frightening it still is for Bonnie? You should have seen her face.”

She choked back a sob, and Jeff slipped his arm around her and rested her head on his shoulder. Her body trembled beneath his hand until she stilled, her voice murmuring against his shoulder.