In My Dreams

CHAPTER THREE

JACK WENT TO the front window to watch his brother and Sarah drive away. Even in the third grade, Ben had been a secure and confident kid. Jack had acted like one, but Ben had really been one. His parents were nice, normal people, and they’d loved him. Jack, on the other hand, had had a mother who was always in a twilight world, somewhere he couldn’t reach, and he’d been scared all the time because there was usually no one around to tell him what to do.

Sometimes a friend of his mother’s would take his sisters for a few days and he’d spend the time at Ben’s without even being missed. He’d dreamed of having the life Ben had.

One day he did, but getting what he’d wanted had taken a terrible toll on everyone else. Ben’s parents had taken him and his sisters in that night and he’d heard Ben campaigning to keep them. They hadn’t been able to, of course, because the girls still had fathers who wanted them, but Ben had been eloquent.

“It’s been just me all this time,” Ben had said vehemently. “Well, I could really use a brother. So, you know, I learn to share and stuff. So I don’t get spoiled. ’Cause I could use help with taking out the garbage and the errands.”

Jack had heard Gary reply, given with a trace of humor. “All right, then. We’ll make Jack your brother.”

There’d been a moment’s silence. Then he’d heard Ben’s voice, high with thrilled disbelief. “Really?”

“Really. But you have to be quiet about it until the girls are gone.”

Until the girls are gone. Jack had felt elated at the prospect of living with the Palmers, but the elation had drained from him at the knowledge that his sisters would have to go to their fathers.

He found it odd as an adult that children would be sent to live with a parent who’d abandoned them, but knew the Department of Human Services’ optimum solution with disrupted families was to put them back together. And both Miguel and Donald had wanted their daughters. In all fairness to them, his mother had had the DHS caseworker convinced she would do better—as she probably believed herself—so they’d probably believed a prolonged custody battle wouldn’t have been in anyone’s best interest. Which was why the girls had stayed with their mother.

Since his mother had been put in prison, however, that had all changed. Ben and Jack, living under the same roof, had loved each other, barely tolerated each other sometimes, wanted to beat each other to a pulp often and actually tried a few times, had each the other’s back against the Duffy boys, bullies in middle school, and as they’d matured and begun to appreciate the value of a brother who is chosen, supported each other in every way they could.

Jack went back into the kitchen. As he carried his dinner to the table and turned on the news, he remembered that for all he’d lost in his childhood, he’d gained so much.

* * *

BEN PARKED HIS classic red Mustang on a knoll overlooking the bay. A few lights picked out boats bobbing on the water; otherwise the night was dark and cold. Sarah hadn’t eaten very much, a little worried about what Ben had to say. He’d been the perfect companion all evening, bright and funny, all his attention focused on her. Now he was subdued.

He turned in his seat to smile at her and then reached across the gearshift to kiss her. His eyes were shadowed in the dark car and he pulled back to look into hers. He took her hand. “So, what are you doing for the next sixty years?” he asked. “Want to spend them with me?”

She’d always thought that proposing to someone took a lot of courage. You could presume you knew the answer, but it was impossible to be absolutely certain. It was brave to put your heart out there like that.

She’d worried about this moment all day and still hadn’t found a painless way to explain to Ben what she felt. She opened her mouth to try, but he pulled a small box out of his breast pocket. He opened it to reveal a round-cut diamond ring that sparkled brilliantly, even in the darkness. “My dream is to marry you and do my best to make all your dreams come true.”

She expelled a breath that sounded as anguished as she felt. She couldn’t imagine a more perfect proposal.

Ben was a good cop, commended on more than one occasion for defusing domestic disputes or calming an angry mob. He straightened, apparently reading her well, his expression a combination of hurt and confusion. “Why did that sigh sound distressed rather than happy?”

She was silent a long moment, struggling to find the right words to explain. Finally deciding there weren’t any, she just spoke directly.

“Ben, we’ve never talked about children.”

He waited a beat. “True. You’re not going to tell me you want a dozen, are you?” he joked, still looking worried.

“No,” she replied. “I’m telling you I don’t want any.”

He stared at her, his confusion deepening. “You said you liked children,” he reminded her gently. “And I’ve witnessed it. When you helped with the department’s Christmas party, you seemed to enjoy watching and helping the kids.”

“I did.” She inhaled to steady herself. “I love kids. And I love them most when they belong to somebody else.” She was about to go on to explain when he turned on the car’s ceiling light.

“You’re saying...” He paused, as though not quite believing what he was about to say. “That...you don’t want your own? Ever?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking directly into his eyes so there’d be no misunderstanding her conviction.

He looked away, shook his head, then turned back to her. “Okay. You’re very serious. I see that. But...why?”

“Remember that I told you I used to be a pediatric nurse?”

“Yes.”

She reeled out the whole long story about Jerica. “The average person,” she said, her voice growing raspy, “has no idea how vulnerable children are to what appear to be the most innocuous things, or things that one child can survive, hardly noticing it, while it takes another child’s life. I dealt with it for years and accepted that working with children was just going to beat me up every day, but the successes made it worth it. Until Jerica died and then...well, it feels like nothing’s worth it.”

He listened quietly, clearly affected by her story. “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” he said, holding both her hands.

“I led her parents to believe that if anyone could save Jerri, we could. But we couldn’t. Anyway, in the end, I could no longer deal with the death of children day after day. I know someone has to, but it doesn’t have to be me.”

“I understand that. I wouldn’t want to work with dying children every day. It’s hard enough to see them at risk from abuse or neglect.” He put a gentle hand to the back of her head. “But, Sarah, all you saw was sick children. Most children’s lives are never threatened by serious disease or injury. I don’t know what the odds are, but I don’t imagine they’re that high. We could have perfectly healthy children who grow up to have perfectly healthy children of their own.”

“Or we could have one who has problems.” She caught his wrist and pulled his hand down to hold it in her own. “I do know the odds. Between fifteen and eighteen percent of children live with chronic disease. I can’t accept the ring, Ben. I’m too messed up about children.”

Ben squeezed her hand and looked out the windshield. “You’re not messed up. You’ve just been...hurt, wounded.”

She tugged at his hand so that he’d turn back to her. She asked into his eyes, “Can you live without having kids?”

He considered, and then shook his head regretfully. “I don’t think so. But I don’t like the thought of living without you, either.”

“I’m sorry, Ben.”

“Look, let’s not do anything hasty. Let’s just give it a little time. That’s what dating is for, isn’t it? To learn about each other and discover what you can deal with and what you can’t?”

That was a tolerant attitude, even enlightened, but she had to make her position clear. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything, Ben. But I’m not having children. Ever.”

He didn’t seem to want to believe her. “There might be some magical solution out there we’re just not thinking of.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the finger that he’d hoped would wear his ring. “I’ll take you home. I’m leaving early in the morning for the conference.”

“I picked up two night shifts over the weekend,” she said, “because I’ve arranged for lighter duty next week so I can work on the fund-raiser. But I’m still going to make dinner for you guys Monday.”

He looked sunken. She hated that. “Okay,” he said.

Ben kissed her good-night in front of the fourplex where she rented an apartment. His manner was warm and affectionate, as it always was, but she caught an undercurrent of sadness he did his best to hide.

She gave him an extra hug.

As he held her to him, he said, “It’s okay. I know you can’t help how you feel. See you Monday.” Pushing her gently away, he headed back to his car.

She’d left the drum-shaded lamp lit on her desk on the far side of her small living room. She checked for messages on her phone and heard her mother’s cheerful voice.

“Sarah!” she said excitedly. “I know you don’t need a formal invitation for Thanksgiving, but I thought I’d extend one anyway. It seems so long since we’ve seen you. It’ll just be us and Kate and Randy and the kids. Hope all’s well. Love from both of us.” Her mother said goodbye and her father chimed in, shouting, “Love ya, Sarah!” in the background.

She put the light on in her kitchen, filled the kettle and gave the new stove her landlord had provided an affectionate pat. Then she stopped and looked around her at the tiny pink-and-white room. She’d thought pink an unusual color for a kitchen, but she’d grown to like it. In the dark of the Oregon winter, it was warm and cheerful. A lace valance decorated the top of the window over the sink, and pink woven place mats were ready for guests—or, one guest—at the two-person round table in the corner.

Was this all she would ever have? she wondered. It wasn’t that she wanted things, but she longed for room to have friends over, a large dining table that could accommodate ten, a hall tree for hanging hats and coats, room to line up boots and umbrellas. She felt a stab of pain when she realized what she wanted was...a family.

She just didn’t have the courage to have one. She’d seen what families of sick children went through and she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to do it.

She folded her arms and turned to look out at her nine-by-twelve living room decorated in pale blue with burgundy accents. The place was perfectly adequate for her needs. Maybe there was no point in wanting a bigger apartment if she was never going to have a husband and children. She couldn’t imagine there were a lot of men out there willing to give up fatherhood for a woman. Despite Ben’s insistence that they not do anything hasty, she feared for the future of their relationship.

The kettle boiled. She turned off the burner and made a cup of Yorkshire Gold tea. Above her stove was a plaque that read, “A woman is like a tea bag. You never know how strong she is until she’s in hot water.”

So here she was. In hot water. Her relationship with Ben probably suspended, her hard-earned skills as a pediatric nurse abandoned in favor of cooking and housekeeping duties because she wanted to be safe.

Was anyone ever safe from the vagaries of life? she wondered. She didn’t know, but if she could be the first, she’d like to try.

* * *

JACK HAD SET up his computer in the kitchen because the light was better than in his bedroom. He’d put Corie’s and Cassie’s names in Facebook to see if finding them could possibly be that simple. He’d had to start somewhere. And, of course, it had not been that simple; he’d got nothing. He’d put in their fathers’ names. Nothing. He refused to be discouraged. He’d try other social media and follow the first lead. If the girls were in touch with each other, finding one could bring him both.

The kitchen door opened and Ben walked in. Jack glanced at the clock, noting the early hour, then back at Ben’s grim expression. He concluded that something had gone wrong with his evening. The confident lift of his shoulders he’d left with was now a slouch. Ben poured himself a cup of coffee and turned to Jack. “Want one?”

Jack held up the mug he was already working on. “Everything okay?”

Coming to sit at a right angle to him, Ben pulled off his jacket and yanked at his tie. “No. You working on something important?”

“Some preliminary research looking for Corie and Cassidy. But I’m finished for now. What happened?”

Ben put down his mug and said, “This’ll probably seem like nothing to you because you’ve been dealing with life and death.”

“You deal with life and death every day,” Jack said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, fairground parking and animal relocation, but still.” He sobered when Ben didn’t smile. “If it’s important to you, I’m happy to listen. Something with Sarah?”

Ben turned in his chair to pull a ring box out of his coat pocket and place it in the middle of the table.

“Oh, man.” Jack looked into Ben’s face and figured it out. “You proposed and she said no.”

After staring moodily into his coffee, Ben finally looked up. “She said, ‘I don’t want to have children.’”

Whoa. “Really. Why not?”

“She was a pediatric nurse before she went to work for Coast Care. Watching children die was hard...understandably. But then she lost a child she’d grown attached to, and that did it for her.”

“Grief’s a bugger.” Sarah had explained some of that to him just today, though she hadn’t told him the loss had led her to make such a decision. Poor Ben. “Takes a while to get your brain back in working order.”

Ben nodded. His voice seemed to come from far away. “I understand. Who wouldn’t? But that means I have to either live without children or live without Sarah.”

Jack said, “You know, it’s entirely possible she could change her mind a couple of years down the road.”

“I don’t know. And what if she doesn’t?”

“I guess if you can’t live with that possibility, then make sure you think it through before you go any further.”

Ben shrugged. “I’m thinking...you know...maybe it’ll somehow resolve itself.” He ran a hand over his face and groaned. “Yeah. Like that’ll happen.”

“Having kids is a tough choice for some people. If you think disease is hard on children, you should see what war does to them.”

Jack understood Sarah, he just didn’t agree with her. He wanted children—an SUV full. Yeah, kids were very vulnerable to all of life’s evils, but he’d survived a childhood at least as toxic as a horrible disease.

He’d decided in Afghanistan that the best way to save the warring world was to populate it with peaceful people who were loving and tolerant. They would become that way by being loved and tolerated themselves. He imagined all the things he’d longed for as a child... Someone to smile at him, not just once in a great while but every day. Someone to put a loving hand on him, to offer him security and comfort and love him just because he existed. He’d decided to give all that to his own children so they wouldn’t be haunted by bad memories and old fears. So that, one day, they could change the world.

All he had to do was find a woman who agreed with him.

He understood Sarah, but she was wrong.

* * *

SARAH PULLED UP in front of the Cooper Building on Saturday afternoon. The string of sunny days continued, and shoppers were wandering around downtown, determined to enjoy the weather before it turned to the usual Oregon coastal wind and rain of mid-fall and winter.

Jack stepped out of the passenger side and looked up at the two-story Italianate structure built of brick and stone. Arched windows on the second floor softened the line and empty window boxes on the first floor begged for a gardener’s touch.

He stood for a long time. Sarah looked up at his pleated brow. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do.” He came out of his thoughts to catch her arm and lead her toward the door. “It’s just that I know this place.”

She redirected him toward the rear door. “I don’t have a key,” she said. “But the cleaning crew usually leaves it open. If you’ve lived here all your life, I’m not surprised you know it. It started out as a bank at the turn of the twentieth century, but it’s had all kinds of incarnations since then.”

“When I was a kid,” he said, opening the door for her, “it was a nightclub called Cubby’s. My mother sang here.”

Sarah stopped just inside, the large main room to their right dim and quiet. “You were allowed in?” she asked in surprise.

“Only in the back.” He turned left instead of right into a smaller, windowless room, twelve by twelve, according to the building specs she’d printed out for herself. He shone the flashlight he’d brought around the room. A built-in bookcase stood against the opposite wall. “In those days,” he said, walking in, “I used to play in this room while my mother worked. Somebody from the kitchen would bring us something to eat. I remember liking the crème brûlée.”

Sarah smiled in the dark, happy he had some good memories of that time. “Pretty sophisticated palate for a little kid.”

“No. It’s just really good custard.” He walked up to the bookcase and put a hand on it. “This was a storeroom then, but the guy who owned the place used to keep games and books in here for us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. Corie was just a toddler, but she came when Donald wasn’t home to watch her, and there was another kid. Can’t remember his name right now. His mother played guitar. He had red hair and freckles and his front teeth were missing. I used to feel sorry for him, but he was always cheerful. He liked to play with a red Tonka dump truck Mrs. Brogan—I think she’s one of your clients—had given me. She’d filled it with cookies—I ate all of them—but he filled it with gum balls. There was a machine by the back door and for twenty-five cents in pennies, he could almost fill it.”

Sarah laughed at that picture. “Good times, huh?”

“Yeah.” He turned off the flashlight. “I’d forgotten there’d been any.”

Together, they walked through the main room. Tall windows let in the bright afternoon. Two Ionic columns flanked an arch at the back of the room that had once separated teller windows from the vault when it had been a bank, the sales floor from the cash registers when it was a clothing store and the dining area from the kitchen when it was a nightclub. The restaurant that had most recently occupied the building had put in a large kitchen at the back, on the right.

Jack looked up at the stains on the ceiling.

Sarah looked up with him. “The city assures us the roof was fixed when the restaurant was here,” she said. “They also rewired, but there’s still a problem in the room where you played. They’re not sure what happened, but the power was fried in there and still doesn’t work. Plumbing’s a little old, but functional.”

Jack glanced around at the walls that had once been a soft gold but were now dull with age. “No cracks,” he said. “That’s good.” He turned his gaze down to the pockmarked fir floor. “This flooring will be beautiful once it’s sanded and restained.”

“That’s what I thought.” She was happy with his observations so far. “Come see the kitchen.”

The walls were white and the floor and backsplash were black-and-white tiles. “It’s institutional looking,” she said, “but the appliances are big because of the restaurant, and the specs say they work.” The window looked out onto the green wall of the fabric store next door.