Page 105 of Inferno
Chapter 27
Evangeline Wolf was a spry-looking woman in her sixties with cocoa brown skin and a short natural that had turned completely white over the years. Her dark eyes were keenly intuitive, and her soft face was etched with strength and character.
Although she was a Wolf by marriage, not birth, she was the relative that everyone flocked to at family reunions, weddings and funerals. She was the benevolent matriarch that everyone sought out for recipes, or a remedy for various ailments, or advice on everything from disciplining children to forgiving wayward husbands. She was the keeper of the family’s history and genealogy. If anyone wanted to trace the large clan’s ancestral origins back to West Africa, Evangeline was the one to consult.
She’d survived the death of her husband, and then the tragic death of her only son Michael Josiah, for whom Michael and Manning had been christened—Michael claiming their grandfather’s first name, Manning his middle name.
After Sterling and Stan lost their parents, Evangeline had locked up her Savannah home and moved to Atlanta to take care of her orphaned grandchildren until they both graduated from high school. They owed her their lives, though she wouldn’t hear of such a thing, insisting that she’d only done “what needed to be done.”
But her protestations fell on deaf ears, because they all knew that Evangeline was the cornerstone of the Wolf Pack, adored and revered by everyone from the eldest to the youngest member of the family.
Before Stan and Prissy left for the airport on Tuesday morning, the boys had begged to accompany them to pick up Mama Wolf. But Stan and Prissy had made them stay behind and clean up their rooms to make their great-grandmother proud. Subconsciously, Stan had wanted an opportunity to speak privately to Mama Wolf before they returned home. Because he’d known, even before she stepped off theplane, thathe’d end up baring his soul to her, as he’d done last night with Prissy.
Sure enough, Evangeline had taken one look into his eyes, cupped his face between her hands and gently clucked her tongue. “Something’s troubling your soul, precious. What is it?”
So on the way home from the airport, Stan told her about the nightmares he’d been having, and the devastating toll they’d taken on his psyche and his marriage. Mama Wolf listened quietly and compassionately, interrupting once or twice to ask for clarification, sometimes patting his cheek consolingly or reaching into the backseat to squeeze Prissy’s hand when Stan grimly described the fiasco with Dr. Gilliard.
When they arrived home, Mama Wolf received nothing short of a hero’s welcome from her great-grandsons, who erupted from the house and had her surrounded before she’d even stepped one foot out of the truck. Michael and Marcus, who saw her more frequently—especially since the divorce—greeted her just as ecstatically as the others. Stan and Prissy could only laugh and shake their heads as the boys ushered their beaming great-grandmother into the house, chattering excitedly at her the whole time.
After Mama Wolf generously doled out gifts—she always brought them gifts—and visited with them for a while, she told them that she needed to have grownup time with Stan and Prissy. After the boys dutifully made themselves scarce, Evangeline summoned the adults into the living room, where she awaited them on the silk-upholstered armchair with a small box resting on her lap.
As Stan and Prissy sat together on the sofa and joined hands, he had a pleasant flashback to the premarital counseling sessions Mama Wolf had given them, which had always been filled with an abundance of warm laughter.
“Precious heart,” Evangeline addressed Stan now, “thank you for telling me what you’ve been going through these past several months. I wish you’d confided in me when the nightmares first began so we could have had this talk much sooner, but I know you and your brother have always needed to work things out in your own time.”
Stan nodded, pushing out a long, deep breath. “Believe me, Mama, I regret keeping this bottled up inside me for so long, but I honestly didn’t want to worry any of you, especially Prissy and the kids.”
When his wife gently squeezed his fingers, he paused and brought her hand to his mouth, tenderly kissing her knuckles as he gazed into her misty eyes. “I’ve been so terrified that these nightmares were a bad omen about the future. I just couldn’t bear the thought of not being in your lives anymore.” He looked at his grandmother. “Allof you.”
Evangeline’s expression gentled with compassion. “I truly wish I had a simple explanation for you, baby. Only God knows why some folks are more susceptible to having dreams than others. Howis itthat two people can experience the same traumatic event, but only one ends up suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder? No one knows the answer to that question. But what Iwilltell you is that those nightmares arenotprophetic, so you can just lay those fears to rest right now.”
Easier said than done, Stan thought grimly.
As if she’d read his mind, Evangeline said, “I know that the dreams are terrifying, and they seem so realistic that it’s easy to believe you’re witnessing the future. But I don’t believe it works that way, Stanton.” She paused, pursing her lips for a moment. “You say that the nightmares began about five months ago. I think we can all make the connection to Manning’s birthday.”
Stan and Prissy nodded, staring at each other. “We talked about that last night,” Prissy said quietly.
Evangeline nodded. “The nightmares were likely triggered by your son turning fourteen, which is the same age Stanton was when his beloved parents died.”
“That’s right,” Stan murmured, wondering why he and Dr. Gilliard had never explored this line of reasoning, which now seemed so obvious to him. “Ever since Manny turned fourteen, I’vebeen subconsciously fearingthat history will repeat itself. I know it seems irrational….”
“Not for someone who’s suffering from PTSD,” Prissy gently interjected. “I’m no psychologist, but I’m sure we can all agree that when it comes to trigger mechanisms, we can pretty much throw out our definitions of rational versus irrational.”
“That’s very true,” Evangeline concurred. “And speaking of trigger mechanisms,Stanton, thatreminds me of something else I’ve been thinking.The frequency of your nightmares, and where you are when you have them.Do you remember whether you were at home or at the fire station the first time you had one of the dreams?”
Stan didn’t have to think long. “I was at the firehouse,” he said grimly. “I remember, because I woke up my crew when I called out in my sleep.”
“Had you had an eventful night?” Evangeline probed.
“Not that particular shift,” Stan answered. “But some other nights when we’d put down fires or responded to other stressful emergencies, I’d have nightmares afterward.” He frowned, beginning to understand where this line of questioning was headed. “Are you suggesting that my job is not only physically dangerous, but it’s also hazardous to my psyche?”
When Evangeline and Prissy shared an uneasy glance, his frown deepened.
“When was the last time you had one of the nightmares at home?” Evangeline gently prodded.
“About three weeks ago.” Struck by a sudden realization, Stan stared at Prissy.“When you were out of town.”
She squeezed his hand,thenlooked askance at Evangeline, who nodded as if she’d just had her theory confirmed.
