Page 95 of Dreams of Falling
He held her gaze, and she knew she hadn’t fooled him just as surely as she knew she hadn’t wanted to. “You look tired. Are you sleeping?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “Maybe if you tell me why, I might be able to help you.”
“You can’t help me, Boyd. No one can.”
His voice held a hint of desperation. “Won’t you let me try? I know I’ve caused you so much unhappiness. Please, let me try to help you.”
Through her pain and exhaustion, she wanted to strike out at him, to make him feel just one fraction of the pain she felt every day. She held his gaze. “I keep hearing a baby crying at all hours of the night. And I’ve been having the same recurring dream. A nightmare. I can’t go back to sleep afterward.”
His eyes remained steady, but his jaw throbbed. “What’s the dream about?”
“You. And Margaret.” She closed her eyes, recalling the stream of images. “We’re at Carrowmore in the white room. The room is filled with candles—candles everywhere. On the furniture, in the windows. On the floor. We’re all in the room together, but we can’t reach each other because of the candles. That’s when I realize that it’s not candles. The room is on fire. The heat is insufferable, and my skin is blistering with it, and I can’t breathe. And somewhere, the baby is crying. That’s when I wake up.”
He watched her for a long moment. “I don’t know what to say. I could refer you to another kind of doctor, someone who might be able to help you figure out what your dream means.”
“I don’t need another doctor,” Ceecee said, not bothering to hide her anger. “I know what I need to make me better, and I can’t have it. No doctor can fix that.”
He looked stricken, and Ceecee felt a dull satisfaction. Her words had hit their mark.
It wasn’t that she blamed him fully for what had happened. They were all willing contributors to the train wreck they found themselves in. Margaret had been the conductor, and Boyd and Ceecee passengers with no idea how to jump the tracks. Not one of them had any idea how to extricate themselves from the wreckage. But Ceecee couldn’t direct the anger she felt toward her friend, because Margaret was suffering, too, unwilling to see the joy her child could offer, or the wonderful life she’d been given a second chance to live.
Boyd cleared his throat. “I don’t sleep well, either. I volunteer for a lot of the on-call shifts since I know I won’t be sleeping anyway.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to know that Margaret and I have separate bedrooms.”
Ceecee shook her head. “Please don’t say anything more. Your life with Margaret has nothing to do with me.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Ceecee blinked, feeling tears prick at her eyes. “Of course not. How could it? She’s your wife, and I am her friend.” She closed her eyes and took two calming breaths. “Could you please give me something for my throat? And my head? I’m in so much pain right now.”
Placing his elbows on his legs, Boyd leaned closer. “Of course. I think the headache could be due to your lack of sleep. I can give you something to help, if you like. You might find yourself feeling much better in the morning if you could get a decent night’s sleep.”
Even though Ceecee was confident that no pill could make her feel better, she was desperate enough to nod. “Yes. I could try it.”
Boyd stepped behind the desk, pulled out a prescription pad, and began to write. “You have to make sure you follow the dosage exactly.Take one, and wait half an hour. If you’re still awake, take one more, but no more than that. These are strong, and you could find yourself in trouble if you take more than your prescribed dose. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said. Her smile failed, ending in what probably looked more like a smirk.
He returned to her side of the desk and handed her the prescription. “Let me look at your throat.” He pulled a small instrument from his pocket and asked her to open her mouth. She tried to pretend he was Dr. Griffith, so that the nearness of him or the touch of his fingers on her face didn’t erase all the resolve she’d built up over the last two years. But it did, and she pulled away as soon as he finished his examination.
“It’s very red, but most likely due to drainage from your cold. Throat lozenges should help, but I’d also recommend taking two aspirin if those don’t work.”
Ceecee stood, eager to leave, to resume the life she was trying so desperately to live without him in it. “Thank you, Boyd. For seeing me without an appointment.”
He stood, too, and stepped closer to her. She could smell his aftershave, and she suddenly wanted to close the distance between them and press her nose into his neck, to ask him if he remembered what it was like to kiss her.
“You still wear the red lipstick you wore when we first met,” he said quietly.
It was her only nod to the girl she’d been for those short months when Boyd was hers. The girl who let the wind blow through her hair and wore a two-piece bathing suit. The kind of girl who wore bright red lipstick. Without flinching, she met his gaze. “Do I? I don’t recall.”
“That’s too bad. Because I do.” His voice carried with it defeat, and before she could stop herself, Ceecee lifted her hand to touch his cheek.
There was a knock on the door, and she dropped her hand, her eyes meeting Boyd’s.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor,” the nurse said, opening the door.“But your wife just called. She didn’t want to wait, but she asked that I pass on a message.” Her gaze shifted to Ceecee, then returned to Boyd. “She and Ivy are leaving now for Augusta. She’s closed up the house and let the nanny and maids go home to their families to prepare for the storm. There’s no need for you to go home first before heading to the hospital.” She clasped her hands primly in front of her. “I thought you should know, just in case you wanted to catch her before she left.”
“Thank you. I’ll call her from this phone.”
