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Tit for tat.
I was in business after all.
So, I offered, “I can’t sleep because of the nightmares.” My voice didn’t sound like my own; it was soft, distant, disconnected.
She peered up at me because I’d gotten her attention.
I hadn’t told anyone but my therapist that I still had nightmares of Natalie dying on the hospital bed. I still pictured her elated face as the nurse set a crying Mary in her arms, moments before she coded blue and they rushed me out of the room. Her blood pressure had skyrocketed. She’d had preeclampsia and …
Becky’s voice was careful, curious, just like I was. “Do these nightmares come every night?”
I let out one slow breath. I didn’t want to give too much, reveal too much truth, truth that I didn’t want others to see—that I really wasn’t okay.
My brothers continued to worry about me, and I didn’t need to add anything else to their plates. To everyone, to the world, my life, even after my deceased wife, was perfect. They just didn’t know that, every day, I walked through life, not seeing, only going through the motions. I wouldn’t consider this living, just being.
I stared at her for a few seconds before letting a little more out. “Not every night. But most nights.” I took a sip of water, waiting for her to give me something … anything. More …
Because I wanted to know her more. It had only been days since I’d met her, but the need to know her surpassed my need to keep my nightmares a secret. A truth that shocked the hell out of me.
After a deep breath, she whispered into the air, “I have nightmares too.”
We were both silent for a beat, knowing we were sharing intimate details now, breaking the seal of the nanny-employer relationship. She could probably guess what mine were about. I found it unfair that my life could be read in a newspaper or on the internet, being the CEO of a high-profile company, and I knew nothing about what kept her up at night.
I needed to know, so I kept going, giving snippets of what haunted me, snippets I never let anyone else see. “Sometimes, I get a break. The longest has been a week, and then I think the nightmares are over … but they come back clearer.” More frightening. So vivid that I wake up sometimes in a cold sweat, screaming out for Nat.
Becky held her glass tighter, her gaze dropping to the table.
“You’re lucky.” She stood. “My nightmares never give me a break.” She walked to the dishwasher and placed her glass in the top drawer, already done with the conversation. “Good night, Charles. Thank you.” She lifted her foot and wiggled her bandaged big toe.
“Good night.” I guessed that was all I was going to get, but if her nightmares never ceased, maybe she’d be down here tomorrow night.
My shoulders eased, and as pathetic as it seemed, I was relieved she had nightmares too. Because tonight was the first time since Natalie had died that I felt less alone.
Chapter 11
Becky
The next morning, I was up early before the girls to make breakfast and pack their lunch. Patty had given me a schedule of when the girls got up and what time they had to be out of the house, so they weren’t late for school. I’d functioned on schedules with Eleanor and her meds, so Patty’s detailed directions had put me at ease.
When I stepped downstairs, Charles was already there, standing by the coffee machine, dressed in a dark navy-blue suit, all ready for work.
I staggered to a stop and stole a moment to take him in, as his back was toward me, his head downturned, watching the coffee brew.
It seemed as though it had only been hours since I’d last seen him. I doubted he ever slept if he had frequent nightmares. I didn’t like that the similarity bonded us, but it did.
A deep cough escaped him, a very dry cough, and it startled me from my stalking-fest.
I approached slowly. “Are you getting sick?”
He turned to face me, his eyes widening. For once, I’d startled him. “No. There’s no time to get sick.” He poured himself a cup and reached for another mug. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Just black.” I leaned against the counter.
He stared at me for a second too long before pouring me a cup. “I’ve never met a woman who liked her coffee just black.”
“Black like my soul.” I smiled, reaching for my cup as he handed it to me.
He laughed. It was a quick chuckle, but I drank it all up because even after knowing him for only a week or so, I’d only heard it a couple of times.
