Sweet Dreams, Irene

I smiled, remembering my first byline – on a story about a game our high school girl’s volleyball team had won. “It’s quite a thrill, isn’t it? When the paper comes out, save a copy for me. And don’t forget to start a string book.”

“A what?”

“A collection of all your published stories. Later on, you use it to show someone samples of your writing – an editor, or someone hiring you for another publication.”

“Okay, I’ll do it. Maybe I’ll be showing it to you someday.”

I laughed. “For my interest – don’t ever look for me to be an editor. I wouldn’t want the headache. I like what I’m doing now.”

We talked for a few minutes more, and when I hung up, I felt good. There was something contagious in his enthusiasm. Given the way the rest of the day had gone, it’s a wonder I didn’t see the rollercoaster heading down.

I pressed the button on the answering machine to hear the message. It was Sammy, her voice sounding small and scared in the warmth of my kitchen. She had called while I was in the shower.

“Miss Kelly? Are you there? It’s Sammy. I’m leaving Las Piernas. Tell Jacob for me, okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t help him. I can’t stay here. I’ve got to go. Bye.”

Frustrated that I had missed a second call from her, I pushed the play button and listened to the message again. I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Something in her voice said the words not spoken: Help me. I’m in danger.

I paced around, unable to think of what I could do to help her. I would just have to pray that I was near a phone the next time she tried to call. It was useless to try to find her.

Her parents didn’t seem to care what became of her, and I thought of how she must be aware of that. The people most children would turn to first had rejected her, thrown her out of the house. Sammy might have been a very difficult child to deal with, but could she have been that hard to live with? I thought of her out on the streets somewhere, possibly turning to the wrong people for comfort and aid.

It was only seven o’clock, but I was beat. John’s suggestion about catching up on my sleep was looking better and better. I crawled into my bed, which seemed far too empty, even with Cody beside me. I both missed Frank and worried about him, but didn’t know what I could do to remedy either feeling. When I wasn’t thinking about him, I was feeling uneasy about being in the house alone or anxious about Sammy. I fell asleep despite my apprehensions.

I dreamt that Sammy was standing on the edge of a ravine. I was on the opposite side, telling her to stay there, that someone would be there soon to rescue her. It wasn’t clear in the dream what she needed rescuing from. But instead of waiting, she reached out to me, and fell. The ravine turned into a bottomless version of the Grand Canyon, and suddenly I was falling down with her, a few feet away from her. As could only happen in a dream, she was talking to me as we fell. “You didn’t catch me,” she said.

I woke up, scared half out of my wits. It took me a moment to realize the phone was ringing. I reached for it clumsily and answered, hoping it was Sammy.

“I woke you up.” It was Frank.

“Thank God you did. I was having a nightmare.”

Silence. I felt a little irritation. Nothing like calling someone up at – I looked at the clock – eleven o’clock at night and then not saying a word. This passed quickly, though. I was remembering what it felt like to hear those gunshots down at the harbor.

“Do you want me to come over?” he finally asked.

“Yes, but only if you want to.”

“I’ll be there in a little while.”

I know, I know, a stronger person would have told him where to get off. Somehow, when it came to Frank, I wasn’t sure I was above begging.

TRUE TO HIS WORD, he arrived on my doorstep not long after. I opened the door to his soft knocking. He looked miserable. He stepped inside, and we held one another in a long hug. I didn’t mind that his hands and clothes were cold with the chill of the night air, that his shoulder holster was jabbing me from under his suit, that he was silent. I was too damn glad he had decided to be with me, too worried over what I had seen in his eyes.

He kissed me.

Cody made his presence felt: he greeted Frank by biting him on the ankle. I wanted to reach down and rid him of his pelt, but Frank picked the rascal up and held him in his arms. “Hello, Cody.”

Cody purred loudly. My sentiments exactly.

“Hungry?” I asked.

Frank shook his head. “Tired.”

He put Cody back down in ankle range and took my hand. I led him back to the bedroom, turning out lights on the way. I took off my robe and got back under the covers. I watched him undress. An incredible sight. If he had known what I was thinking, it might have made him blush.

He stood looking at me for a moment, then crawled in next to me. I could tell he was still feeling – what was it? Hurt? Sad? I didn’t know. But he seemed a little less miserable than he had earlier. He kissed me again. I pulled him close, savoring his touch.

“Frank.”

“Hmmm.”

“I missed you.”

His answer wasn’t verbal, but I didn’t mind. Not at all.

HE FELL ASLEEP holding me. I stayed awake for a while, listening to him breathe, and wondering how I had come to feel such a need for the man. I had been so fiercely independent for so long, it was frightening to realize what a hold he had on me. Not that I was a simpering wimp or anything – I smiled thinking of some of the tests of wills Frank and I had experienced in the last few months. And I knew that if it didn’t work out, I would go on with my life. But I didn’t want to think of what life without Frank would be like.

Still, his behavior since Mrs. Fremont’s death had been odd; I hadn’t seen this side of Frank before now. I knew he could brood at times, but there was an intensity in his current mood that was unsettling. He had come back across some of the distance he had put between us last night, but something in his ma

We still had a lot to learn about each other, Frank and I.

Cody jumped up on the bed and situated himself in the curve behind Frank’s knees. I laced my fingers into Frank’s hand, and fell asleep.

12

I WAS ALONE in bed when I woke up the next morning. Frank had awakened a couple of times during the night; his sleep had been troubled. I supposed that at some point he had given up on it. I stretched and got out of bed. Maybe he had already left for work. I looked at the clock and realized that I had almost slept until noon. I didn’t feel as if it were a case of sloth, though. Just catching up on my sleep.

I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, finding evidence that Frank had not only been up before me but had also been to the store and back. I was quite pleased that I would not have to test the “seven-day freshness” guarantee on the older milk carton.

There was some fresh bread as well, so I made a grilled cheese sandwich for myself. When I got to the table with my plate and milk, I saw the note he had left for me.

“Irene – Thanks. Please be patient. Frank.”

Please be patient. Translation: Please don’t ask me what’s wrong, please be ready for me at the drop of a hat, please put up with my moodiness. The damnable thing was, I would try to do just that.

He had also brought the paper in, and I was fortunate he didn’t leave it in the kitchen, or I probably would have lost my appetite. The front page was splashed with the Fremont murder story, and the headline made my stomach tighten. “Shelter Founder Murdered by Satanists?” A question mark to cover a multitude of reporting sins. The byline was given to Dorothy Bliss. In the newsroom, our private saying was, “Bliss is ignorance.”