Overheard in a Dream. Torey Hayden

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      The deli was unexpectedly busy. James wasn’t focusing on anything other than getting through the mob of people to place his order, so he jumped at the tap on his shoulder and someone saying hello. He turned.

      There in the other queue stood Laura Deighton.

      “Mummy, look at this,” a small voice called. “Can we get some of these?”

      “Bring it here so I can see it, Morgana,” Laura said.

      James looked over. Morgana? Conor’s sister? He gaped in astonishment. She was everything Conor was not: a sturdy, athletic child with enormous brown eyes and a tangle of loose, dark curls bouncing down over her shoulders. When she caught James staring, she met him with a bold gaze and broke into a cherubic smile. Yin and yang. That was the first thought to cross James’s mind.

      “Is this your daughter?” Laura asked, looking down at Becky. “What a pretty little girl.”

      “Yes. Yes, this is Becky. My son’s out in the car. He’s not feeling very well.”

      “Sorry to hear that,” Laura said.

      “We’ve just popped in to get some decent food so he doesn’t have to smell us cooking,” James said wryly.

      “We’ve come in for goodies,” Laura replied. “Alan has Conor tonight, so we’re having a girls’ night out.”

      James looked down again at Morgana, who was clutching a bag of amaretti biscuits. She was an astonishingly beautiful child with her vibrant eyes, curly hair and little bow mouth, like one of those idealized children painted on heirloom plates to commemorate a golden era that had never really existed. Beside her, Conor would appear as pale and insubstantial as a ghost.

      Becky, ever the social butterfly, was delighted by this unexpected opportunity to make friends. With smiley openness she said hello to Morgana, asked how old she was and within moments the girls had wandered off together to look at displays of cookies on the adjacent shelves while James and Laura waited in the queues.

      “It’s great to see you. How are you doing?” Laura said brightly, as though they were old friends.

      This took James by surprise because over the weeks he had been seeing Conor, Laura had made herself remarkably scarce. So scarce, in fact, that James had had the distinct feeling she was avoiding him. And while she had agreed to the family therapy format which meant she would have at least three individual sessions herself with James as part of Conor’s treatment, Laura had made no arrangements to follow through on this. As a consequence, James built up an image of her as reclusive, anxious and, most likely, tongue-tied. Now, however, he found her quite the contrary: friendly, relaxed and genuinely interested in the children. She commiserated with James about Mikey’s sickness and his experiences at the walk-in clinic.

      James glanced around to see where the two girls had gone.

      “They seem to be enjoying each other,” Laura said.

      James smiled. “It’ll be the highlight of Becky’s day. She always misses her friends terribly when she’s here.” He craned to see over the low shelves. “Oh good heavens. Hold on a second. They’ve gone out to my car.”

      James started for the door but at just that moment the two girls burst back in. “Hey, Daddy!” Becky cried. “Guess what! Mikey’s thrown up everywhere!”

      “Shush, shush, not such a loud voice,” James said, catching her by the shoulder.

      “He missed the dishpan! It’s all over your car.”

      “Oh geez,” James said. “Listen, go tell the man at the counter we can’t wait for the lasagna. Tell him sorry.”

      Laura materialized beside him. “Let me help you.” She pulled napkins out of the holder on one of the small tables. “Morgana, you and Becky go in the restroom and bring us some paper towels.”

      Becky hadn’t been exaggerating. Mikey had vomited over his clothes, across the console, the gear shift and onto the adjacent seat.

      “Hey, fella, you okay?” James asked, reaching in to ruffle his son’s hair, which was just about the only part of him free from vomit.

      “Sorry, Daddy,” Mikey whimpered.

      “Accidents happen. As long as you’re okay.” Standing in the brisk October dusk, James felt bleak at the prospect of trying to clean up Mikey and the car with a handful of deli napkins.

      Laura put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t we just mop things up enough for you to take Mikey home? Becky can come in my car and I’ll follow you. That would be easiest.”

      James knew it was a bad idea. As he drove home, he tried to reassure himself that letting Laura do this was not breaking the rules. It was so important that he not make any mistakes this time around. Good boundaries with clients did not include any kind of personal relationships with them. But then he was in a genuinely bad situation. She was simply helping him, like any decent person would. Besides … if he was honest with himself, James had to admit she intrigued him. She wore her fame, her accomplishments so lightly they were almost illusory, as if they were nothing more than stories themselves, and yet there was something also illusory about Laura, the way she could be so friendly, so concerned and willing to help with Mikey and yet eluded James’s efforts to get her in to talk about her own son.

       Chapter Five

      When they arrived at the apartment, the two girls bounded off together, Becky chattering excitedly about a toy horse she wanted to show Morgana. Laura lifted Mikey out of the car and took him inside while James went in search of cleaning supplies and a rag out of the box at the back of the garage. By the time he came into the apartment, Laura had run a bath and was washing Mikey, as if it were the most natural thing to enter a strange house and bathe a child she’d never met before.

      James took over from there. With Mikey finally clean and tucked into bed, he came back into the living room to find Laura, hands sunk deep into the pockets of her jeans, scanning the bookshelves. Embarrassment shot through him. While he owned most of her books, they were all in his office, because the only point of buying them had been so people at work could see he owned them. The novels on these shelves were the sort he actually read – Terry Pratchett, Tom Clancy, Stephen King – relaxing, unpretentious storytelling that you could leave on the back of the toilet or risk dropping in the bath.

      “That’s my fun reading,” he said sheepishly.

      She smiled enigmatically.

      “I do have yours,” he added quickly. “But they’re at the office at the moment. I’m always switching back and forth.”

      Her smile eased into a grin and she glanced over. “So does that mean you’ve actually read any of them?”

      James felt his cheeks redden. There was an uncomfortable pause and then he admitted, “I wish I could say yes. I intend to. It’s just been very busy since moving out here.”

      “At least you’re honest.”

      Desperate to move the conversation away from his embarrassing lack of intellectual reading, СКАЧАТЬ