Page 68 of Beach Cottage Kisses
“I can’t tell you that, Iris. The mind isn’t that cut-and-dried. What you say is feasible. A valid possibility. One that I would not push aside.” Thank God.
She took a couple of more steps to the door, feeling her smile come back.
And Sandra said, “Just as I wouldn’t discount a resurgence of life.”
Reaching for the door handle, Iris saw both girls in the kitchen, lying by the stove, right where she’d left them. And her smile grew as she thanked Dr. Livingston, promised to keep in touch and hung up.
Surge. Resurgence. The psychologist would be remiss not to point out both sides of the equation. She was, after all, a scientist. One of the mind. It was her job to make sure everything was on the table.
Just as it was Iris’s task—the task of any healthy, one-time patient—to be able to discern which applied to her.
And she knew for certain, could feel in her core, that she was most definitely experiencing only a surge.
Resurgence hadn’t been an option on her table since the day she’d woken up in a hospital bed without her twin.
But having a friend, being a friend, was something she wanted with all that was left of her.
And that realization was new.
Chapter Sixteen
“Ehhhhh!”
Scott woke, his mind hearing the scream, not remembering a dream attached to it. Looked for the clock on his nightstand. Saw a smaller one, on a shorter night table, and realized where he was.
The spare bedroom. Two in the morning.
Leg throbbing. Still resting on the pillow he’d placed underneath it after an eleven p.m. icing and bandage change.
“Hehhhhh…aaahhh!” The sound ripped through the air, hitting him hard. Without thought he threw the sheet away from him and swung his leg toward the side of the bed. Remembering in that split second, that his second leg couldn’t follow. The problem didn’t slow him down.
Iris was in trouble.
Morgan stood at attention, watching him as, with both hands lifting and supporting his bad leg, Scott ignored the pull in his back and had himself in his chair in record time. Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, he ordered the girl to stay and wheeled himself through the spare room door, down the hall they were keeping lit at night, only pausing long enough to open his own door, before wheeling himself inside. Wide-awake,and with the help of the hall light and the moon’s brightness through the window, he swept the room with a quick gaze, ready to act…
He wasn’t sure if he noticed the body shape beneath his comforter first or heard the sound of weeping. Didn’t much matter. Angel lay on top of the covers, against Iris’s back, her head at attention, facing Iris, but otherwise not moving.
“Iris?” he spoke in a near whisper. No response. From either of the females in the room. Human or canine.
Angel knew he was there. Wasn’t even bothering to look at him, to ask him why. To see if he had food. Or be curious about what he was doing. Her attention was on her person.
The intensity in the dog’s response seemed to demand that Scott give the situation the same attention. It was as though she was expecting him to do what needed to be done.
“Aahmmm.” The almost nonhuman sound sent a sense of despair through Scott. “Garohohohn.” A strangely guttural lashing out.
Followed by more weeping. But in spurts. A dry sob. Then silence.
And still Angel lay, watching. Not moving. Pointing out the source of need to Scott? If she stared long enough, he’d get that he was supposed to take care of the situation?
Not sure why the dog didn’t wake Iris herself, Scott listened for nearly a minute, eavesdropping on a moment he hadn’t been invited to join. Not sure what to do. Iris was clearly in the throes of a nightmare. But not in immediate physical danger. She wouldn’t want him there.
But he couldn’t go. Couldn’t turn his back on her.
Her breathing slowed. Steadied. Hands poised on the wheels of his chair, Scott started to propel himself backward, until he heard the anguished moan come from deep inside his friend.Just a dream or not, no way was he leaving her inside that private hell.
Wheeling his chair right up to the bed, he pushed with both hands, standing on his good leg, and then, with a hand on the nightstand and one on the headboard, he hoisted himself, held his body weight enough to get his right hip up on the mattress, then, with a hand still on the stand, he pushed off to roll himself fully onto the king-size bed. Feet away from where she lay on the edge of the opposite side.
“It’s just me. Scott,” he said softly, sitting there, with his left leg propped fully on his right. And his back warning him to change positions.
