Beside a Dreamswept Sea (3 page)

Caline stared off into the branches of the winter-barren oaks, the twisted pines that were a familiar sight in hurricane country. “I just don’t get it. I knew what I wanted the first time I saw your headstone. I wanted to be the sunshine of my own home. And I thought I’d have that with Gregory, eventually, but . . . ”

An empty ache seized her chest and a lump swelled and blocked her throat. He’d made promises to her. Sacred vows. And he’d broken them all.

Why had he done that?
Why?

Tears gathered on Caline’s lashes and the oak limbs distorted and blurred. “I loved him, Mary Beth. I might have been a terrible wife—God knows he told me I was often enough that I have no choice but to believe him—but I did love him with all my heart. My love just wasn’t . . . enough.”

A squirrel scampered up the trunk of the oak then leapt from one barren branch to another. The time had come for her to leap, too.

“I came to tell you I’m going away for a while,” she said, rummaging through her purse for a tissue. “The divorce is final now and I need to decide what to do with my life.”

Pulling a crumpled tissue free from the clasp on her wallet, she stiffened her shoulders then swiped at her eyes. “I’m going to drive up to a friend’s cabin in Nova Scotia and stay there for a few months. My parents think the change of scenery might do some good. I’m hoping they’re right. I’m about as scared as scared can get, Mary Beth. I never thought I’d be starting over at thirty-two with nothing I ever wanted.”

Gregory had given her no choice. He’d given her even less. Sometimes she hated him for that. Sometimes she hated herself for it.

A streak of hopelessness snaked through her stomach. Fighting it, Caline stood up, then brushed angrily at the blades of dead grass clinging to her skirt. “Dad will bring your carnation on Sunday when he visits Grandma Freemont’s grave. I didn’t have to ask him. He knows it’s important to me that you know you’re not forgotten.” Tears again welled, and Caline traced the edge of the worn stone with her fingertips. “You’ll never be forgotten.”

She shouldn’t say it. Shouldn’t even think it. But she couldn’t hold back from Mary Beth. Caline never had. “This trip is kind of a pilgrimage. The truth is, I’m sorely lacking courage and a whole lot more right now. With the divorce final and Gregory already remarried to that woman, I’m thinking that for fourteen years I let him rob me of the things that make me who I am. All except one. I don’t want to lose it, too. It’s weak. Just a flicker of a spark. But it’s still there. And I’m not sure if I’ve got the guts to nurture it. I can’t hurt like this again, Mary Beth. I just can’t.”

Caline drew in a deep, steadying breath. “That’s why I need the courage. Because that tiny spark inside me still craves being what you were—the sunshine of my home.” The tears shimmering in her eyes splashed onto her cheeks. “And I don’t know if I’m strong enough anymore to go after it.”

She dabbed at her eyes and sniffed, irritated with herself for soggying up yet again. “I know I have to try. If I don’t, I’ll hate myself. I really don’t want to hate myself, Mary Beth. So if you’ve got any pull up there, I’d really appreciate some help.”

What he wouldn’t do for a little help here.

Leaning against a small desk, Tony raked a hand through his hair, took one last look through the window at the gardens outside the inn and the forest beyond them, then glanced back over his shoulder across the Shell Room to Suzie. Sitting Indian-style on the spool bed and surrounded by plump, ruffled pillows, she brushed at her hair in long, smooth strokes. Nearly dry, it gleamed glossy brown. She’d refused to lie down until it had—she’d catch pneumonia, she’d said—but she had compromised and tucked to the knees beneath Hattie’s colorful patchwork quilt.

Suzie liked the Shell Room. The hodgepodge decor appealed to Tony, too. Old and new blended with the painted white antique dresser, chest, and desk that somewhere along the way had been stenciled around the edges in blue. Suzie liked blue best.

Tony didn’t like much of anything right now. Hattie would give him hell for his attitude, but he was in the same royal snit he got into every year as Thanksgiving inched closer. And this year, considering Suzie’s situation, his snit could be even worse because, no matter how much he’d prefer to think it, Suzie’s
couldn’t
be an ordinary dream.

Wet hair from a dream? Him feeling lifelike sensations? Her drowning, and him powerless? It
had
to be a premonition.

He glanced at her reflection in the window to the left of the bed. Through a copse of wind-blown trees, lights from Sea Haven Village winked in the distance. Could he countermand a premonition? Were his special skills and talents enough? His physical gifts didn’t exist in dreams, yet that’s where her troubles resided. How could he help her without his special gifts?

She sighed, and he sensed more than heard the weak rattle in her chest. Hopefully by morning the pneumonia scare would pass. Not that he could do anything more about it. He couldn’t.

Powerless.

Shivering, he let his gaze slide back out the window into the night.

Tony?

Recognizing Sunshine’s voice, he again wondered who she was and why she was here. He could ask, but she’d already said her identity didn’t matter and innately he knew she wouldn’t answer. She might even take off again.
Yes?

Hasn’t it occurred to you yet that I’m here because this challenge isn’t just about these special guests?

The thought has crossed my mind.
His feeling physical sensations proved something was different. The question was, What?
So why are you here?

To bring you a message.

A message?
That too was odd. Not unprecedented, but unusual enough to give him the willies.
Okay. I’m all ears.

Actually, you’re about eighty percent attitude. I’m just hoping I can lasso the other twenty percent long enough to do my job here so I can go home.

I didn’t ask for your help.

No, Tony. You didn’t. But you need it. Is that what’s grating at you? That you need my help?

It was, but he wouldn’t admit it. He could blame it on the Thanksgiving thing, but the truth was it was a matter of pride. Seascape Inn was his domain, his and Hattie’s, and Sunshine was an interloping trespasser. He didn’t like it, would be lying if he said he did, so he said nothing.

The message is that your challenge in this case isn’t only with the emotional demon haunting Suzie’s sleep and with Bryce’s trials, though you must assist with both of those, of course. Your challenge is with you.

Thanksgiving is always a challenging time for me.
Tony looked down to the floor where it met the white baseboard, fearing this had nothing to do with Thanksgiving but figuring it was worth a shot to not have to admit that, either.

True, but I’m afraid that isn’t the challenge.

He’d known, and yet he’d foolishly hoped she’d let him slide by with it. He stuffed a hand into his pocket.
It’s about me fearing and doubting my ability to help Suzie alter her personal history—if in fact her nightmare is a premonition of her personal history.

In a sense, yes, it is about fear and doubt. But you’ll have to dig deeper, Tony. Otherwise, you’re in major trouble here.

Why am I getting the feeling that if I fail myself, I’ll also fail Suzie and Bryce?

I can’t answer that.

Can’t, or won’t?
He asked, but wasn’t at all sure he really wanted the answer.

Can’t.

Suzie’s dream has to be a premonition, doesn’t it?

That, too, you must determine. This is your turf. I’m just a . . . temporary guest.

She knew his feelings about her being here. And, while she might prove persistent and/or contrary, she’d been gracious; he had to give her credit for that. Though he’d be wasting his time asking, he had to do it anyway.
What exactly is your mission?

You’d best focus on your own challenges, hmm?

Whatever her mission was, it couldn’t be as vital as Suzie and Bryce, and Tony did have troubles enough of his own to resolve without worrying about Sunshine’s, too.
Okay, consider your message delivered.

Very well, Tony. Good-bye.

Thoughtful, he rubbed at his lip with his forefinger and thumb. If Suzie’s nightmare wasn’t a premonition, he didn’t have a clue what it was, or what it’d take to help her. And that sorry truth would scare the socks off a saint, much less him, a mere ghost.

He should be asking Suzie questions, gaining her insight on the background material he already had about her family, but he couldn’t make himself do it. Not yet. Though children readily accept oddities—and as much as Tony hated to admit it, he was an oddity—in Suzie’s current state, he just couldn’t take the risk she’d wonder how he’d gotten into her dream, and then wonder who he was, which inevitably would lead to that godawful question he most hated:
What
are you?

“You didn’t lie.” Suzie looked up at him, her eyes wide and curious but no longer riddled with the fear they’d held in the dream.

He paused pacing near the foot of her bed. “I won’t ever lie to you, Suzie.”

She wanted to believe him; it radiated from her. But she couldn’t let herself. Not yet. She reached over to the nightstand beside the bed and set down her hairbrush. “What’s your name?”

Resilient. A damn shame she’d had to be resilient to survive this long. Feeling tender, he smiled down at her. “Tony.”

“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” She looked at his Army uniform, at his jacket’s shiny brass buttons, then focused on the carnation at his lapel. “You were the man at Uncle T.J. and Aunt Maggie’s art gallery. I saw you when I looked at the picture of that house.”