Honor jerked awake, gasping. The room was dark, and when she turned her head, she saw that there were still fifteen minutes until her alarm was due to go off. Heart pounding, she lay in the damp sheets, waiting for the faint nausea to pass.
God, I haven't dreamt of that in so long.
For the first year after Terry's death, she had revisited the scene countless times, in her dreams and in her waking moments. Sometimes it had been with the absolute clarity of perfect recall, as this dream had been, other times merely a jumble of distorted images as she searched frantically through dark mists and frightening shadows, knowing that Terry was waiting for her just at the edge of awakening. But each time she awakened, she had been alone.
As the years had passed, the dreams had become less frequent and eventually had stopped.
Six years, and I still miss you so much.
With a sigh, Honor rolled over and turned off the alarm. She slipped from bed and reached for the robe thrown over the nearby ancient upholstered reading chair. Pulling it on as she walked, she padded quietly down the hall to Arly's room. She peeked inside and saw with relief that her daughter was sleeping soundly. There had been a time when Honor's nightmares had been accompanied by screams. Thankfully, that had stopped.
Arly had been just over a year old when Terry had died and had no memory of her. Honor had never been sure whether that was a good or bad thing. She was happy that their daughter had not consciously suffered the loss of a mother, but she would be eternally saddened that Arly would never know Terry, who had dreamed along with Honor of conceiving her and raising her together as a family.
Sighing, pushing thememories aside,Honor headed downstairs to start the coffee. Phyllis would arrive soon to get Arly off to day camp after Honor left for work. She had just finished pouring her first cup when Phyllis came in through the back door.
"Rough night?" Phyllis asked as she helped herself to coffee.
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?" Phyllis brushed the tousled bangs off Honor's forehead.
"Always know."
Phyllis shrugged. "You have incredibly expressive eyes. And this morning, they're sad."
"Just bad dreams." Honor smiled wanly, knowing she didn't have to explain. Phyllis had moved in with Honor and Arly after Terry's death and had stayed for six months before "moving" back to the other half of the twin. She'd been there for the nightmares and the screams and the agony of loss, bearing up under her own pain to help her daughter's lover cope.
"Something happen to get you stirred up?"
"No, why?" Honor knew she sounded defensive and had no idea why. Thankfully, Phyllis didn't seem offended.
"It's been a long time since you've been bothered. When things come up again like that, it's usually because something has changed."
"Nothing has changed." Abruptly, Honor took her coffee cup and headed toward the winding rear stairs that led from the kitchen to the floor above. "I've got to get moving or else I'll be late."
Wordlessly, Phyllis watched her go. She loved Honor every bit as much as she had loved Terry, and watching Honor's devastation had pained her almost as much as the agony of losing her child. The sadness of that loss was eternal, and she would always miss Terry, but with time, she had let go of the pain. She had always hoped that someday Honor would as well.
Everyone comes to their own truth in their own time,
she reminded herself.
Honor will do the same.
* * * * *
Quinn rolled over in her sleeping bag with a groan and grabbed her right shoulder. A cramp so severe she wanted to scream out loud gripped her trapezius muscle, and it took her a full thirty seconds of massaging it before the charley horse eased. She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
"That's it. Tomorrow I'm getting the bedroom together."
The next day she was off. She could spend the entire morning getting her apartment organized. Then she remembered Linda's barbecue
God, I haven't dreamt of that in so long.
For the first year after Terry's death, she had revisited the scene countless times, in her dreams and in her waking moments. Sometimes it had been with the absolute clarity of perfect recall, as this dream had been, other times merely a jumble of distorted images as she searched frantically through dark mists and frightening shadows, knowing that Terry was waiting for her just at the edge of awakening. But each time she awakened, she had been alone.
As the years had passed, the dreams had become less frequent and eventually had stopped.
Six years, and I still miss you so much.
With a sigh, Honor rolled over and turned off the alarm. She slipped from bed and reached for the robe thrown over the nearby ancient upholstered reading chair. Pulling it on as she walked, she padded quietly down the hall to Arly's room. She peeked inside and saw with relief that her daughter was sleeping soundly. There had been a time when Honor's nightmares had been accompanied by screams. Thankfully, that had stopped.
Arly had been just over a year old when Terry had died and had no memory of her. Honor had never been sure whether that was a good or bad thing. She was happy that their daughter had not consciously suffered the loss of a mother, but she would be eternally saddened that Arly would never know Terry, who had dreamed along with Honor of conceiving her and raising her together as a family.
Sighing, pushing thememories aside,Honor headed downstairs to start the coffee. Phyllis would arrive soon to get Arly off to day camp after Honor left for work. She had just finished pouring her first cup when Phyllis came in through the back door.
"Rough night?" Phyllis asked as she helped herself to coffee.
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?" Phyllis brushed the tousled bangs off Honor's forehead.
"Always know."
Phyllis shrugged. "You have incredibly expressive eyes. And this morning, they're sad."
"Just bad dreams." Honor smiled wanly, knowing she didn't have to explain. Phyllis had moved in with Honor and Arly after Terry's death and had stayed for six months before "moving" back to the other half of the twin. She'd been there for the nightmares and the screams and the agony of loss, bearing up under her own pain to help her daughter's lover cope.
"Something happen to get you stirred up?"
"No, why?" Honor knew she sounded defensive and had no idea why. Thankfully, Phyllis didn't seem offended.
"It's been a long time since you've been bothered. When things come up again like that, it's usually because something has changed."
"Nothing has changed." Abruptly, Honor took her coffee cup and headed toward the winding rear stairs that led from the kitchen to the floor above. "I've got to get moving or else I'll be late."
Wordlessly, Phyllis watched her go. She loved Honor every bit as much as she had loved Terry, and watching Honor's devastation had pained her almost as much as the agony of losing her child. The sadness of that loss was eternal, and she would always miss Terry, but with time, she had let go of the pain. She had always hoped that someday Honor would as well.
Everyone comes to their own truth in their own time,
she reminded herself.
Honor will do the same.
* * * * *
Quinn rolled over in her sleeping bag with a groan and grabbed her right shoulder. A cramp so severe she wanted to scream out loud gripped her trapezius muscle, and it took her a full thirty seconds of massaging it before the charley horse eased. She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
"That's it. Tomorrow I'm getting the bedroom together."
The next day she was off. She could spend the entire morning getting her apartment organized. Then she remembered Linda's barbecue
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