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I watched her walk past the trees, past more headstones, and get into her car. Then, I dropped to my knees again, and I touched the words on Natalie’s headstone.
Beloved mother, wife, and friend.
“Baby, please … send us an angel too. Because I need help with myself, with these girls, with big decisions that I’m not sure how to make.” I paused, feeling deep emotions hit me directly in the chest. “Nat … can you do that for me, please?” My vision blurred, and the heaviness in my chest spread everywhere. I missed her so much that it hurt every part of me. I went on my knees, leaning closer to the headstone. “I know you’re looking out for us. You always do.” I pressed two fingers to my lips and then to the carved wordwife. “I love you, baby. Forever and ever. Until we meet again.”
* * *
I sat at the kitchen table in the pitch-dark. Who knew what time it was? Three in the morning maybe. We’d been in our regular schedule for the past few weeks, and the girls had adjusted fully to Patty being gone and Becky being in charge.
Earlier, I swore I’d heard Becky scream, which was why I’d gone down to the kitchen, waiting and hoping she’d get a glass of water but she hadn’t.
It was cruel in a way—that people had to handle their nightmares alone in their heads.
Meeting her down here, in the dark, that night she’d cut her toe had made me feel better. For the first time in a long time, I hadn’t felt alone—as though she understood me as we bonded from the nightmares of our past.
The house was fully asleep, and you’d only realize it was a scream if you were awake at such a god-awful time, which I was.
Yesterday, I’d heard her. I swore it hadn’t been my imagination. I’d stood by her door, all of me wanting to go in and hold her, which was absurd and obviously could never happen.
I wanted to hold her because I understood about nightmares, how real they were, how when you were stuck in one, it felt as though you were never, ever going to get out. It was like reliving the worst moment of your life over and over again, and that was why, at times, I was afraid to close my eyes.
Only when I was bone tired did I reluctantly fall asleep, against my will, only to wonder if this was going to be another night that I was going to wake up in a cold sweat.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps padding down the stairs, and I sat straighter in my chair. When she flipped on the lights, her eyes eventually spotted me at the table.
“I … I don’t want to be scared again.” Her voice shook, and her arms were wrapped around her waist, as though she were holding herself together.
I didn’t know if she meant me scaring her or the nightmare.
Her hair was in a sexy bun on the top of her head, and she wore a gray sweatshirt that was way too big for her frame and plaid pajama pants.
“Another nightmare,” I guessed, not really asking because I already knew.
She nodded.
Immediately, I stood, walking to the fridge. “Sit. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
I sat opposite her at the table, passing the glass to her.
When she placed the glass against her lips, I noticed her fingers were trembling.
There was an innate need in me to comfort her. Maybe it was because that was what I was used to doing—comforting people, tending to people, making sure everyone was okay.
But this need was stronger … and it took all the energy in me to keep steady and not reach for her, so I gripped my own glass, my fingers threatening to break it.
Her eyes were glued to the table. “It’s the same dream every night.”
My fingers tapped against the glass as I held my breath, waiting. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to push her, but needing to know what haunted her every night.
Her eyebrows pulled together, and her stare turned distant, empty even. It was as though she was reliving a memory, the same way I did in my nightmares.
“I’m drowning. I can’t breathe.” A shudder escaped her as she continued, “And the thing is …”
Her expression turned slack, and the hollowness in her tone ate at my insides. Whatever was going through her head in that moment was unbearable; I could tell because I’d lived through the same pain. Maybe the cause of that pain wasn’t the same, but the end result was the same—heartache, anguish, despair.
“And it’s only a nightmare ’cause I can’t die. As hard as I try to give in to the darkness … it won’t take me.”
Her words haunted me and the whoosh of air from my lungs was audible. This time, I couldn’t help it, as my will wasn’t strong enough, and I reached over and placed a hand on hers.
