Epilogue #3
But he’d given up drinking eighteen months ago. The same night his aunt and uncle rescued him from the depths of his self-sabotage.
Only the nightmares resurrected the desire to hold the cold beverage in his hand, to feel the icy liquid slide down his throat. As he pounded back bottle after bottle, his troubles disappeared.
But only for a while.
Instead, he reached for his water bottle on the side table, then chugged until his parched throat was quenched.
He pressed his back against the windowsill and eyed the queen-size bed with its twisted sheets that spoke of his restlessness.
Instead of crawling back under the covers where sleep would elude him, he dropped in the dark brown leather chair in the corner that gave a perfect view of the TV sitting on the electric fireplace.
He set his water on the floor and reached for the remote.
Stretching his legs out on the matching ottoman, he stopped on a random channel and threw an arm over his eyes. Maybe he could fall back to sleep to the droning of some mindless show.
“In this episode of Where Are They Now? , what happened to the rock band Phoenix? After the fiery tour bus crash that claimed the lives of nearly everyone on board, including the band’s famed lyricist, fans are wondering where Eli Noble, the lead singer who was the only one to escape, has disappear?—”
Asher scrambled for the remote and shut off the TV. He tossed it on the ottoman, then strode across the room and grabbed his phone that was charging on the side table. As he sat on the edge of the bed, he thumbed through his contacts and tapped on a number.
“’Ello?” Corbin Gray’s gravelly voice sounded in his ear.
“Hey, man. Sorry to call so late, and it’s been a while, but you said…”
“Yeah, yeah, no worries. I’m here for you. What’s going on?” His counselor’s deep voice mellowed with sleep eased the band around Asher’s chest. “Another nightmare?”
“Yeah.” Asher dragged a hand over his face. “It’s storming tonight. Maybe the thunder triggered it. I dunno. Woke up to a tree falling. Literally. It’s too dark to find it right now.”
“What was the nightmare?”
“Same one—the crash. I can’t get anyone out. The screaming. The fire.” Chills skittered across Asher’s puckered skin. “I’m so tired of this.”
“I’m sorry you’re still experiencing them. What you’re feeling is valid. Anxiety manifests itself through our dreams. Anything else stressing you right now? Where are you, by the way?”
Asher waved a hand around the room. “I’m still living in paradise, man.
What do I have to stress about? My aunt and uncle’s place on Jonathon Island is as far out of the spotlight as I can get.
I’m managing their ranch while they’re on their year-long RV tour.
I’m caring for horses who are kinder than most people. So, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Right. Glad you’re still there. I went to Jonathon Island as a kid. Before the hotel burned. We had the best pastries at this family-owned bakery.”
“The Hudson Bakery. Hank and Henrietta Hudson ran it. Hank passed a few years ago. Hetty—Henrietta, I mean, retired after she lost her husband. Too hard to do on her own. She’s my neighbor.”
Asher thought back to Hetty’s granddaughter, who didn’t like her sleep disturbed by things like storms. Or fallen trees. Or concerned neighbors, apparently.
“The five-year anniversary is coming up.”
Asher didn’t need a calendar to remember the day burned into his memory. He grunted.
“Perhaps the approaching date is coming out through your dreams. How are you feeling about it?”
Asher dropped the phone on the table and stabbed the speaker button.
He jumped to his feet and paced in front of the rain-splattered window.
Lacing his fingers behind his neck, he wrestled with the words stuck in his throat.
“How do you think I’m feeling about it? They’re dead because of me. The choices I made.”
“Asher, they’re dead because of the accident. This isn’t your fault.”
“I should’ve said no when Chet and Dom pressured me to let them drive. They were over hours but insisted we drive through the night—and the storm—to get to the next venue on time. My bus, my fault. I couldn’t save them.”
“Have you read the police report your uncle gave you yet?”
“No.” His eyes slid to the wooden dresser where the sealed envelope lay untouched in the top drawer.
“Maybe it’s time. Then you can forgive yourself and begin healing.”
Asher ran a hand over his jaw, his fingers scraping over the rough skin on the left side of his neck. “My burns are healed. I have the scars to prove it.”
“I’m talking about spiritual healing.”
“Yeah, well, I’m the last person God wants to hear from.” An ache formed behind his burning eyes. “Listen, man. Thanks for picking up. I appreciate it. I’m going to try to see if I can crash for a little while before I need to feed the horses and muck out their stalls.”
“You know where to find me—day or night.”
“Thanks, man. Appreciate you.” Asher ended the call and dropped back on the chair, face in his hands. He picked up the remote and found a decades-old comedy playing. He stretched out. The laugh track echoed in his head as he closed his eyes.
Now that the storm had lessened to a soft rain, maybe it would lull him to sleep.
If the nightmare didn’t come back.
He needed to find a way to reconcile the past, to be redeemed from his mistakes.
Then he’d find healing.
Maybe.
Someday.
* * *
Sadie Hudson had one month to put her life back together.
If only the mistakes of the last year could’ve been washed away by last night’s storm. Returning to Jonathon Island was supposed to give her the peace she’d been craving, but the consistent turmoil in her chest made her restless.
After her mother had come down with the flu and wasn’t able to care for Gran as planned, Sadie sought refuge at her grandmother’s cottage nearly a week ago to help care for her while she recovered from her recent hip surgery.
And caring for her meant giving her breakfast at a timely hour.
Smothering a yawn, Sadie dipped the remaining slice of homemade bread into the egg and milk mixture and then placed it on the heated cast-iron griddle on the middle burner of the stove.
Bubbles snapped and sizzled as the French toast cooked. She lifted a skillet off the adjacent burner and rolled the sausage links. While those finished cooking, she poured a small glass of orange juice and set it on the towel-lined tray next to Gran’s steaming cup of English Breakfast tea.
Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” came on the oldies station through Gran’s Alexa that sat on the kitchen counter.
Sadie sang along with the eighties song as she moved through the cottage kitchen with white cabinets, gray countertops, and original hardwood floor.
She turned off the heat and plated the French toast and sausage. She added the food to the tray, then carried it out of the kitchen and down the small hall to Gran’s first floor bedroom, humming the lyrics to the song now playing in her head.
Palming the tray, she tapped quietly, then opened the door. “Gran, you up?”
“Come in, honey. I was just spending some time with the Lord.”
Sadie pushed the door open with her foot and headed into the room. Georgie, Gran’s seven-year-old brown and white Lhasa apso, raced between her legs and bounded onto the bed.
“Georgie, get down. You’re hurting Gran.”
“Oh, he’s fine.” Gran wrapped her thin arms around the fluffy nuisance and gave him a hug.
Then she moved her red leather Bible and matching journal off her lap and set them on her nightstand.
She smiled at Sadie, her blue eyes reflecting the serenity Sadie always found comforting.
She finger-combed her silver bangs away from her forehead. “What’s all this?”
Sadie placed the tray on the bed in front of her. “I made French toast and sausage. I wasn’t sure what kind of tea you wanted, but I found some English Breakfast in the cabinet next to the stove.”
Gran pressed a hand against Sadie’s cheek. “Thank you, love. It’s perfect, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”
Sadie laughed. “You’re the one of the few people in the world that I’ll do anything for.”
“Same here, honey.” Gran lifted her cup. “Did it rain last night, or was I imagining it? Thought I heard pounding, then Georgie barking.”
“Yes, a pretty intense one. In fact, your neighbor came over and checked on you.”
“Asher?” Gran smiled. “He’s such a nice guy. Sorry the storm woke you.”
Sadie waved away her words. “I couldn’t sleep once the storm settled down, so I did some work until my alarm went off at six.”
Gran exchanged her teacup for her fork and cut one of the sausage links in half. “Why are you setting an alarm? We’re on island time, love.”
“Island time or not, I need to stay on routine. I can’t afford to become lazy. I have four weeks to figure out my future. I picked up remote copywriting work to pad my bank account until I can decide what I want to be when I grow up.”
“Trust the Lord, love. He has a plan for you.” Gran held out a hand and wiggled her fingers.
Easy for her to say. Gran’s faith was rock solid.
Sadie reached for Gran’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, then sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to upset Gran’s tray. “To be honest, Gran, the thought of dealing with SEO, keywords, meta data, and content creation for the rest of my life digs a pit in my stomach.”
“You used to love being a copywriter. You have such a lovely way with words.”
Sadie released her grandmother’s hand and dropped her chin to her chest. “Yeah, well, that was before the fiasco at Sternwood.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry you got caught up in that mess. Garrett was a cheating snake who had no business getting involved with you. He had all of us fooled.”
“Especially his wife. When she stormed into the office and, in front of everyone, accused me of sleeping with her husband…well, I just wanted to die.” Sadie’s face heated as the memory from six months ago surfaced.