Melissa made a sound like she wasn’t at all surprised by that answer. “It’s definitely not unheard of for someone to develop insomnia while grieving. It sounds like you had them often?”
Licking my dry lips, I nodded, a knot forming in my throat.
“Maybe Raleigh was trying to support you the only way he could. From the way you’ve described him, he certainly sounded like a loving husband.”
My eyes darted up to hers. “Excuse me?”
Melissa shrugged a shoulder casually. “There’s a school of thought that dreams from past loved ones are them visiting you. Some people are comforted by the idea that their loved one is checking in or coming back to spend time with them, but it sounds like you were struggling with these dreams?”
Heart pounding in my chest, I croaked out a shaky, “Yeah.”
“Does it make you feel better to think of them as Raleigh visiting you all this time?”
“I don’t know…” I managed to say around the burning in my throat, thinking back on all the visuals Nighttime had supplied me with. The happy memories I wished I’d still lived in and the future I’d never get because I knew Raleigh was dead. “Not all of them were good dreams.”
“Ah.” Melissa pressed her lips into a flat line. “Well, there are some people who believe that even though they’re visiting us, they have no control over how our dreams go. Like an actor who plays the part in the movie had no control over how the script was written.”
It felt like my world was tilting on its axis the more Melissa spoke, and maybe she saw it written on my face because she gave my arm a reassuring pat. “Of course, this is only helpful if you believe it to be helpful. If the idea causes more distress, then forget I said anything. No one knows for sure why we dream of our late loved ones, so take it all with a grain of salt.”
“Let’s just say I do believe it,” I started after taking a shaky breath. “What would it mean if I wasn’t having those dreams anymore?”
Her eyes got soft around the edges again as she tilted her head to the side slightly, a sad smile on her face. “I’d say Raleigh knows you’re in good hands now.”
On the drive back to the farm, my mind felt like it was racing a mile a minute as I tried to sort through what this new information might mean. Of course, Melissa had said it was just a theory—no one knew for sure why we dreamed of our past loved ones.
But it felt right. Like something deep down inside me knew there had always been more to the torture sessions Nighttime inflicted on me. But then, if it had been Raleigh coming to visit me… Who was Nighttime?
You’ve held onto me so tightly that it’s twisted and distorted our time together. You have to let me go.
Was Raleigh actually… Nighttime? Had all those dreams been Raleigh’s attempt to comfort and support me through his death? Had they been him wanting to be with me and not some twisted figment of my imagination sent to bury the knife deeper?
My chest ached as I thought about every heartbroken expression I’d seen on Raleigh’s face—ones I’d brushed aside as Nighttime’s desire to draw as much blood as possible from me. Maybe the dreams were still just a fantasy created by my subconscious as a way to force me to process my grief, but it didn’t feel like that.
Letting out the choked sob I’d been holding back, I pulled over to the side of the road, the tears blurring my vision too much for me to safely drive any further. Fumbling around in my pocket, I managed topull out my phone after I got my truck parked and called the one person I knew would get me through this.
“Hey, baby. How’d your session go?” Jackson’s drawl came after a few rings and it was a balm to my sore soul.
“I need you,” I murmured, knowing the tremble in my voice would make him worry but unable to hold it back.
“Where are you?” Like I knew it would, Jackson’s voice took on a serious note that made everything in me sing. He didn’t need to know why, only that he was needed, and he would drop anything to be there.
“Parked on the side of highway 90. Just past the city limits.”
“I’ll come get you. Let me go find Granger and he can drive?—”
“No, no,” I interjected, closing my eyes to take in the reassurance that flooded through me at his words. “I just… needed to hear your voice. I’ll be okay to drive in a minute. Will you meet me at my house?”
There was a long pause on the other line where I wondered if Jackson had already hung up to round up the cavalry, but then he spoke. “Yeah, baby. I can meet you at the cabin. What else do you need?”
“Just talk to me.”
So he did. He told me about his day starting from when he fed in the main barn—letting me know how particularly ungrateful Poe had been to be given just his usual grain instead of a strip of alfalfa—all the way till he’d picked up my call. I’d pulled back out onto the highway with his slow cadence filtering through the cab and feeling strung together by the echoes of his voice, but strong enough to make my way to where he was. Because I knew he was waiting for me. Every bit of his story was full of so much detail I felt like I’d been right there with him the whole day, and by the end of it I was almost back to farm.
“How much longer do you have?” he asked.
“I’m pulling up to the driveway now.”
“Hurry up.”
