Chapter Eleven Where Dreams Go to Die #2
I take a deep breath to try and relax and remember that he and I are on the same team. We both love Amanda, and we want her to be safe. I explain everything she told me about what’s been going on, and I end with the phone call where Marissa used the words “cut you up.”
“My God!” Nate shouts. “What the hell? You did the right thing, going to the cops. Jesus! Is Amanda okay?”
Finally, a reaction out of him, and it’s genuine. A hopeful sign that he still cares about us.
“She’s not great,” I reply, “but she’s keeping it together. I’m relieved that she agreed to file the report, because she didn’t want to at first. She was worried about what Jeff might think, because she does like him. I had to talk her into it.”
“I’m glad you did.” He rubs his forehead. “Poor kid. She doesn’t deserve that. And I’m sorry I missed your call.” His eyes lift to meet mine. “I’m also sorry that you had to do that on your own. I wish I’d been here.”
“Thank you,” I reply with forbearance. “I appreciate that.”
He regards me intently. “But you’re still annoyed with me.”
My heart feels cold, and I turn my face away.
“Yes, because it’s the same old thing. I understand that you want the restaurant to be a success, but to put it bluntly .
. .” I meet his gaze. “You’ve become a workaholic, and you seem to have forgotten that you have a wife and two children at home who love you and miss you.
And they’re at an age where they need you. ”
He stares at me, speechless.
“When was the last time you came to the rink to see Connor play a game?” I ask.
He shakes his head because he has no answer.
“You have no idea how good he is. You’d be so proud.”
His brow furrows as if he’s in pain. “You and the kids are more important to me than anything. You know that.”
“No, actually, I don’t know that, because you’re never here. It makes us feel like we don’t matter to you.”
He looks seriously worried now. “Have the kids said that to you?”
“No, not in so many words, but I’m saying it.” I press my fist to my heart. “And this isn’t the first time. Don’t I deserve the same level of caring as they do?”
He rises from the stool and circles around the island toward me.
“Of course you do, honey . . .” He takes me into his arms. “You know I love you. And you’re right—I’ve been working too hard.
” He steps back and lays his hand on my cheek.
“But please believe that I don’t take you for granted, not ever.
I know how much you do for this family. You take care of everything, and I could never have made it this far without you. You’re my rock.”
As I stare at the man who, years ago, pulled me out of my shell when no one else could, I believe him.
Truly, I do. But I’ve also heard these words before, and nothing ever changes.
He can’t seem to leave the restaurant to anyone else to manage, not even for one night, and on the rare occasion when he’s at home spending time with us, he can’t purge the menu from his mind.
He’s on his phone, texting Graham about plate ideas or creeping the social media pages of his competitors.
If I were to tell Becky about this conversation, I know what she’d say. She’d tell me to give him an ultimatum: Spend more time at home, or you’ll lose me.
But I don’t want to say that because I still love my husband, and I don’t want to leave him. I wouldn’t have walked down the aisle and spoken vows before God if I’d considered this commitment to be optional.
“You’re tired,” he says, taking hold of my hand and kissing it. “Let’s go to bed. We can talk more about the bully situation, and I swear, I’ll do better and listen to your voicemails from now on. But if it’s something really urgent, call the restaurant and tell Martina to deliver a message to me.”
“Sure,” I reply cynically. “Because Martina always has direct access to you. I wish I could say the same for me and the kids.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever expressed contention about Martina, and I don’t regret it.
Nate absorbs my anger, but he brushes off my comment about Martina. “I promise I’ll do better.”
It amazes me that he can be so totally oblivious to the fact that Martina is beautiful and that his wife might find that threatening. But I’m tired of arguing, so I let it go. For now.
Later, after he showers and gets into bed and we switch off the lights, he faces me. “I’ll get up early tomorrow and give Amanda a hug before she leaves for school. I want her to know that I’m here for her.”
“That would mean a lot.”
He holds me close, and though I’m not entirely confident anything will change, I forgive him. Because I love him, still.
Strangely, that night, I dream of Scooter again.
While I’m sleeping, he pushes the bedroom door open, walks to my side of the bed, rises up on his hind legs, and rests his forelimbs on the edge of the mattress.
I wake and blink a few times because I can barely comprehend that he’s here.
My darling Scooter. We stare at each other intensely, but then he begins to bark.
It’s a distress bark, a yelp that hurls me back to that moment on the cliff, when he was scrambling to save himself, just before the ground collapsed under my feet.
My belly burns with terror, and I sit up in a panic—not because I’m afraid of falling down the mountainside.
I know where I am. I’m in my bedroom with Nate.
But I’m also in a lucid dream. I’m somewhere between nightmare and reality.
I don’t want Scooter to wake Nate. Something is terribly wrong.
It’s those demons again. Scooter leaps onto the bed and lies down beside me.
I hug him close, and he licks my face. I feel a tremendous sense of relief that we’re both okay.
The fear passes, and I fall back to sleep.
The next morning, I wake to a ray of sunshine piercing the crack between the drapes.
It’s blinding, so I squint and raise my hand to shade my eyes.
When I roll to my side, away from it, Nate is gone.
The bed is empty, and I wish my dream had been real, that Scooter was still lying here beside me.
He was such a big part of my life, a lightness during my darkest days.
Dolly was a great comfort after the loss of him, but sadly she passed away a year after Scooter. Both of them peacefully, at least.
All at once, I know what I need to do. Why didn’t I think of it before?
I toss the covers aside and leap out of bed.
Thank you, Scooter, for the visit.