Only in My Dreams (9 page)

Tori pulled the raincoat from the back of her chair and drew it on over her light spring sweater. “I suppose. But I still think it sucks. Who was that on the phone, your assistant?”

Sara twirled her bracelets with one hand and fingered the edge of her sweater sleeve with the other. “Craig, yeah.”

“He doing okay?”

“Just managing a Bridezilla. I'm finding it kind of tough to be away, actually.”

Tori straightened her coat and belted the waist. She always looked tailored and fabulous, like she just walked out of Ann Taylor. “Tell me about it. I tried to offload all of my projects to do this—and my boss was really cool about it—but I keep having to go down there and do stuff. In fact, I need to be in San Francisco for a meeting next week.”

“Yeah, I should probably do more to help Craig, but it's hard to disengage from everything here.”

Tori came toward her and took her hand. “I know. You've been so good with Mom. I honestly don't know what she'd do without you right now. I try to be there, but, well, you're better at that stuff.” Mom got along great with all of her children, but the relationship she shared with Sara was extra special. By necessity, she'd spent more time with Alex, Sara, and Evan when they were younger, which had fostered a closeness that the other kids perhaps didn't share. Sara had only realized that in the last few years, since she'd left home, actually. But now she saw the flashes of bitterness and resentment from Tori and even Hayden.

“She loves all of us.” Sara gave Tori's hand a squeeze.

Tori let her go. “I know that. But I also know that you and Evan and Alex needed her in ways the rest of us didn't.” She shook her head. “She had her hands full, even with Birgit's help.” Their old housekeeper, who'd really been more of a nanny, had died over a decade ago, but she'd been an intrinsic part of their childhood.

Sara picked up her laptop bag and pulled it over her shoulder. “And after Birgit retired, Mom managed it all on her own. Now, with Alex gone, I think there's a void she's struggling to fill.”

Tori walked toward the door. “That makes sense. Does she talk to you about her therapy appointments?”

Sara followed. “Not really. It's frustrating. I know she's supposed to be taking an antidepressant, but sometimes I wonder if she's really following the prescription.”

Tori paused with her hand on the right hand door. “Should we talk to the therapist?”

“They can't share information with us.” Sara opened the door on the left and stepped out into the now-sunny late morning. “I'll try talking to Mom again.”

Tori slid on a pair of Kate Spade sunglasses. “Let me know if I can help.”

As they walked toward the car, Sara's mind was a tumult of too many things: Craig and Bridezilla. Mom. Dylan Westcott.

It certainly looked as though she'd be working with him on this project. It would be . . . odd, but she could do it. They'd agreed to Vegas Rules, and there was no reason they couldn't be professional. She'd just have to hope her reaction to seeing him today was simply a residual effect of their one-night stand. With everything going on in her life at present, she didn't have the capacity to deal with anything else.

Chapter Five

D
YLAN LISTENED TO
his mother chatter incessantly about work, his half-sister Brie's latest snowboarding feat, and the trip Bill was planning to the San Juans in their boat—the boat Bill had bought when Dylan was twelve and which Dylan had ridden in exactly twice.

“Dylan?” she said in the tone that indicated she knew he'd drifted off.

“Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”

“Is it work?” Her face crinkled with concern. “Sometimes I wonder why you don't go back to the army. Or why not work for the corps of engineers?”

“I like living here in Ribbon Ridge.” Although “here” was currently Newberg where the hospital was located and where Mom was a pediatric nurse manager. It was also where he'd spent half of his youth as a joint custody kid who went back and forth between parents. He didn't like to share too many details with her because she liked to gossip, so he only said, “I've bid on a new job. A big one. If I get it, things will really start to move.”

She picked at her salad, looking for the candied pecans. “Sounds great.” She found a nut and popped it into her mouth. Then she fixed him with her patented Mom stare. “I worry about you. Work isn't everything. You need to find time to have fun and relax.”

No one could say his mother and Bill didn't know how to do that. Their entire life revolved around hobbies and trips. And Brie.

“I do, Mom, just not in the same ways as you. I enjoy fixing up my house or just watching a game with the guys.”

She paused, her fork poised over her salad. “You're alone, Dylan—a loner. When are you going to date someone? It's been three years since the divorce.”

Dylan endured this line of interrogation every time he saw her, and he always said the same thing in response.

“I see people, Mom. I just haven't found anyone I wanted to date. Ribbon Ridge isn't exactly hopping.” An image of Sara Archer rose fast and clear into his mind.

“That's ridiculous. There are plenty of young, single women in Ribbon Ridge and here in Newberg. You should try one of those online dating sites. My friend Deanna, you remember her? She met a really nice man that way. We're taking a trip together later in the summer—a long weekend at the Shakespeare Festival.”

While Mom went on about how much she loved Ashland, Oregon's festival, Dylan pushed away thoughts of Sara. Dating her was out of the question. Dating anyone was out of the question because he wouldn't have time when he got this project. And he was
going
to get this project.

Mom crunched another bite of salad and studied him a moment. “Don't let one failed marriage discourage you, Dylan. Your
father
,” she always reserved a special intonation for when she mentioned her first husband, “and I didn't get it right. I found Bill, and your
father
found what's-her-name, and everyone lived happily ever after.”

Everyone except Dylan.

“What do you think?” Mom persisted. “Will you try online dating?”

“No.” He pushed his unfinished sandwich away. “I need to go.” He stood and bent to brush a kiss against her cheek. “Say hi to Bill.”

“Will do. And don't forget to put Sabrina's graduation on your calendar!”

“I did it right in front of you.” Dylan had typed it into his phone as soon as they'd sat down.

She waved her fork. “I guess. You know I don't get how all those gadgets work. Too much effort. Besides, I remember everything.”

Dylan smiled at her, knowing her memory wasn't what it used to be but appreciating that she still thought it was. She wasn't the easiest person, but she loved him and he loved her. “See you, Mom.”

He headed out of the hospital cafeteria and made his way to the parking lot. Outside, the skies were bright gray. No rain, but no sunshine either.

He slowed as he walked toward his truck. A petite, middle-aged woman stood next to his driver door. She was very still, like a statute, and her stony gaze was locked on some distant spot.

Dylan approached her cautiously. “Hello?”

She didn't immediately register his presence until after he said hello a second time. Finally, she blinked and turned her head. “Yes?”

“Are you lost or something?” Maybe she was a young Alzheimer's patient.

“No.” She blinked again several times and then looked around the parking lot. “That is, I might be. I can't seem to remember where I parked my car.”

“What do you drive?” Given the woman's disorientation, Dylan wondered if she actually drove a car at all.

“A blue Prius.”

He scanned the parking lot for a Prius, but didn't see one. Maybe she was completely out of it and there was no Prius. He studied her for a moment. She seemed vaguely familiar. “Should we go look for it?” He offered her his arm.

She looked up at him, her blue gaze seeming a bit more coherent. She didn't hesitate to put her hand over his forearm. “Thank you. I don't know what's wrong with me. I just had an appointment and it was . . . ” Her voice trailed off, and she pressed a finger to the corner her eye.

Had she gotten some bad news? He steered her toward an area he couldn't see very well due to the trees and finally saw a blue Prius. “That yours?”

“Oh, yes, thank goodness. I'm such a dunderhead.”

“I doubt that.” They walked toward the car, and the license plate nearly made Dylan trip.

Archer 1
.

Now he knew why she seemed familiar. She looked a bit like Sara, which meant she was probably her mother. Yeah, that was it. Dylan had met her a few times back in high school. “I hope everything's all right.”

“It's not,” she said, her tone frank. “But it will be. Or so my therapist says.”

Her honesty gave him a jolt. He'd been making small talk—what did one say to someone who looked like an extra from the set of
The Walking Dead
minus the blood and gore?

They reached the car, and she dug her keys out of her purse. He noticed her hands were shaking, and she was still quite pale.

The keys slipped from her fingers, and Dylan bent to pick them up. “Are you sure you're all right?”

She put her hand to her forehead. “I don't know. Maybe I should call one of my children to pick me up.”

Ribbon Ridge was a good twenty or thirty minutes away. She'd be waiting out here alone. He supposed he could wait with her. Or, he could just drive her home and have Cameron bring him back to his car. “I'm Dylan Westcott, Cameron's brother. I'd be happy to drive you home,” he offered. “If that's all right with you.”

Her blue eyes flickered with recognition. “How silly of me not to recognize Hayden's best friend's brother. I remember you now. But I don't want to be a bother.”

“It's no trouble, really.”

“What about your own car?” She glanced around. “I know, I'll ask one of my kids to drive you back.”

Hell no
. Dylan couldn't think of anything more awkward given that he was waiting to hear about the job. Even worse, what if one of the kids ended up being Sara? Double awkward.

“Cameron can take me. Come on, let's get you home.” He escorted her to the passenger side and opened the door. When she was settled, he circled back to his side, texting Cameron as he went:
Pick me up at the Archers' in 30
.

As he climbed into the driver's seat, Emily Archer gave him an assessing perusal. “I should've recognized you right away. You and Cameron have the same eyes.”

They didn't really, but he didn't correct her. His eyes were an odd color that no one else in his family shared—just another way he didn't really fit in.

He stared at the console. “I've never driven a hybrid before.”

“It's not difficult; just don't be alarmed when it sounds like the engine isn't running.”

“Will do.” He started the car and got them on the road to Ribbon Ridge. He wondered if she was as disoriented as she'd been today when she left her other appointments.

Grief inhabited the lines around her eyes and the creases framing her mouth. She looked tired, and though he hadn't seen her in years and hadn't known her well, he thought she was probably a little too thin. “Thank you for doing this—you're a welcome distraction. Today was a little tougher than usual. I'm used to coming to the hospital on a weekly basis, but always with Alex. To see his lung doctor. Now that he's gone, I'm still going, but to see a therapist. For me. I don't like coming alone.”

Why wasn't one of her kids going with her? Or her husband? Their family was huge. Surely someone could take time out of his or her busy schedule to go with her. Annoyance crept up his spine, surprising him. She wasn't
his
mother, after all. And he was supposed to be distracting her. Best get back to that. “I was here having lunch with my mom.”

“That's nice of you. Are you close?”

Not particularly
. “Close enough to have lunch on a somewhat regular basis.” And pretty much nothing else, which was fine by him. “She lives in Newberg.”

“I remember now. Didn't you move to your dad's in Ribbon Ridge specifically so you could go to West Valley High School?”

“Yeah, for the football program.” It had been one of the best in the state at the time. In fact, they'd won the state championship in Dylan's senior year. “I'm surprised you remember that.”

“We were big in the booster club. Rob was president during the sextuplets' senior year.” She turned her head and looked out the window, hiding her expression from him. He'd heard the downward lilt of her voice as she'd mentioned her husband.

Dylan pressed his lips together. So far, he wasn't being a very good distraction. “I remember the cookies you used to make—maybe you still do.”

She turned her head back, and her voice perked up. “Which ones?”

“Snickerdoodles. My favorite.”

“Those were Alex's favorite too.” Her tone was quiet, reflective.

Dylan gripped the steering wheel. “I am completely striking out in the distraction department.”

“No, you're fine. It's nearly impossible to breathe without thinking of him or the . . . loss that I live with now.”

“Is the therapy helping?” He probably shouldn't ask, but so far his distraction tactics were a complete fail.

“I don't really know. How can you tell?” She laughed, a rusty sound, like she didn't do it often.

“I don't know either. I had to talk to a therapist a few times when I was in the army. It was required after we went overseas.”

She shifted in her seat, turning toward him. “Goodness, did you see combat?”