Tell Me Your Dreams. Sidney Sheldon

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      “I’ll go,” Ashley said.

      Dr. Ben Speakman was in his fifties, a patriarch at the fountain of youth. His office was a quiet oasis at the far end of the building, relaxed and comfortable.

      “I had a terrible dream last night,” Ashley said. She closed her eyes, reliving it. “I was running. I was in a huge garden filled with flowers … They had weird, ugly faces … They were screaming at me … I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I just kept running toward something … I don’t know what …” She stopped and opened her eyes.

      “Could you have been running away from something? Was something chasing you?”

      “I don’t know. I—I think I’m being followed, Dr. Speakman. It sounds crazy, but—I think someone wants to kill me.”

      He studied her a moment. “Who would want to kill you?”

      “I—I have no idea.”

      “Have you seen anyone following you?”

      “No.”

      “You live alone, don’t you?”

      “Yes.”

      “Are you seeing anyone? I mean romantically?”

      “No. Not right now.”

      “So it’s been a while since you—I mean sometimes when a woman doesn’t have a man in her life—well, a kind of physical tension can build up …”

      What he’s trying to tell me is that I need a good— She could not bring herself to say the word. She could hear her father yelling at her, “Don’t ever say that word again. People will think you’re a little slut. Nice people don’t say fuck. Where do you pick up that kind of language?”

      “I think you’ve just been working too hard, Ashley. I don’t believe you have anything to worry about. It’s probably just tension. Take it a little easier for a while. Get more rest.”

      “I’ll try.”

      Shane Miller was waiting for her. “What did Dr. Speakman say?”

      Ashley managed a smile. “He says I’m fine. I’ve just been working too hard.”

      “Well, we’ll have to do something about that,” Shane said. “For openers, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” His voice was filled with concern.

      “Thanks.” She looked at him and smiled. He was a dear man. A good friend.

       He can’t be the one, Ashley thought. He can’t.

      During the following week, Ashley could think of nothing but the reunion. I wonder if my going is a mistake? What if Jim Cleary does show up? Does he have any idea how much he hurt me? Does he care? Will he even remember me?

      The night before Ashley was to leave for Bedford, she was unable to sleep. She was tempted to cancel her flight. I’m being silly, she thought. The past is the past.

      When Ashley picked up her ticket at the airport, she examined it and said, “I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. I’m flying tourist. This is a first-class ticket.”

      “Yes. You changed it.”

      She stared at the clerk. “I what?”

      “You telephoned and said to change it to a first-class ticket.” He showed Ashley a slip of paper. “Is this your credit card number?”

      She looked at it and said slowly, “Yes …”

      She had not made that phone call.

      Ashley arrived in Bedford early and checked in at the Bedford Springs Resort. The reunion festivities did not start until six o’clock that evening, so she decided to explore the town. She hailed a taxi in front of the hotel.

      “Where to, miss?”

      “Let’s just drive around.”

      Hometowns were supposed to look smaller when a native returned years later, but to Ashley, Bedford looked larger than she had remembered. The taxi drove up and down familiar streets, passing the offices of the Bedford Gazette and television station WKYE and a dozen familiar restaurants and art galleries. The Baker’s Loaf of Bedford was still there and Clara’s Place, the Fort Bedford Museum and Old Bedford Village. They passed the Memorial Hospital, a graceful three-story brick building with a portico. It was there that her father had become famous.

      She recalled again the terrible, screaming fights between her mother and father. They had always been about the same thing. About what? She could not remember.

      At five o’clock, Ashley returned to her hotel room. She changed clothes three times before finally deciding on what she was going to wear. She settled on a simple, flattering black dress.

      When Ashley entered the festively decorated gymnasium of Bedford Area High School, she found herself surrounded by 120 vaguely familiar-looking strangers. Some of her former classmates were completely unrecognizable, others had changed little. Ashley was looking for one person: Jim Cleary. Would he have changed much? Would he have his wife with him? People were approaching Ashley.

      “Ashley, it’s Trent Waterson. You look great!”

      “Thanks. So do you, Trent.”

      “I want you to meet my wife …”

      “Ashley, it is you, isn’t it?”

      “Yes. Er—”

      “Art. Art Davies. Remember me?”

      “Of course.” He was badly dressed and looked ill at ease. “How is everything going, Art?”

      “Well, you know I wanted to become an engineer, but it didn’t work out.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Yeah. Anyway, I became a mechanic.”

      “Ashley! It’s Lenny Holland. For God’s sake, you look beautiful!”

      “Thank you, Lenny.” He had gained weight and was wearing a large diamond ring on his little finger.

      “I’m in real estate now, doing great. Did you ever get married?”

      Ashley hesitated. “No.”

      “Remember Nicki Brandt? We got married. We have twins.”

      “Congratulations.”

      It was amazing how much people could change in ten years. They were fatter and thinner … prosperous and downtrodden. They were married and divorced … parents and parentless …

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