A Sip of You(35)
“I can’t say, Miss Kelly. You’ll hear from him soon.”
The answer didn’t placate me, but clearly Darius wasn’t going to tell me anything. And I couldn’t help but feel William was in some sort of danger. Why else would he leave without telling me?
I spent the remainder of the afternoon back on my chaise by the pool, my stomach knotted with worry. I heard nothing from William. No texts, no phone calls, nothing. The staff was as cheery as ever, acting as though the communication blackout was the most normal thing in the world.
Around six o’clock, I walked into the kitchen to demand some answers from Sam and Nancy. I wanted to know what the hell was going on, but I was met with tight lips and the unmistakable scent of pasta sauce. They were cooking, probably for me, but I didn’t want to eat another dinner alone. Both Sam and Nancy remained pretty much unresponsive to me, but I saw them exchange a few nervous glances. Then Darius appeared and escorted me out of the kitchen, saying, “Relax and enjoy your stay, Miss Kelly. Mr. Lambourne will be in touch very soon.”
Why wouldn’t he stop saying that? It was a lie. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t relaxed and I wasn’t enjoying my stay. Food was the last thing on my mind, so I escaped to the master suite. An hour or so later, Nancy timidly knocked on my door and brought in a dish of pasta and a carafe of wine, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. I picked at the food, but I drank all the wine and flipped channels on TV for a while. Finally, I fell asleep, alone, my heart breaking as my eyes fluttered closed.
So much for Napa. And so much for my boyfriend.
***
I woke up Tuesday morning sweaty and agitated, with my throat sore and my pulse raging. My cheeks were still wet with tears. There were no telltale signs that William had ever made it to bed and I was kind of glad I was by myself: I’d had the dream. I hadn’t had it in a long time, but it was a familiar one. And a bad one. William didn’t need to see me like this.
In my dream, Jace and I were out on our boards beyond the break at Pleasure Point, the spot we always surfed in Santa Cruz, and we were waiting for the next set to roll in. It was early, just before sunrise, and overcast, so the cliffs had an eerie dark cast in the distance. We were silently bobbing up and down on our boards, our wetsuits black and glistening in the grey Pacific, and Jace kept turning his head over his shoulder to watch the water. “The next one’s yours, Cat. Get ready.”
I maneuvered my board and laid down in position. My arms started to move furiously as I propelled myself forward. I could feel the water rising beneath me as the wave started to crest. “Go, Cat! Go!” I could hear Jace yelling in the background.
Just as I popped up and got my footing, ready to ride the wave into shore, I was hit hard in the back and knocked off my board. It knocked the wind out of me and I couldn’t breathe. I was pulled down, down into the frigid dark water, deeper and deeper. It was a dream, so I could still scream even though I was submerged and my throat and lungs burned as I struggled for air.
“Jace, Jace, help me! Help me! Pull me up!” But I couldn’t lift my arms. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t lift them up. I struggled, I twisted, but it was like they were tied to my side. “Jace, I can’t move! Help me!” I continued to sink down, down, down. I kept twisting and turning, trying to break free of whatever was holding my arms and start swimming toward the surface. But I just kept sinking deeper into the cold darkness and all I could hear was Jace, his voice getting fainter and fainter, saying “Go, Cat! Go!” And then I woke up.
The location changed sometimes, and sometimes it was daytime and sunny. But there was always the weird grey cast to everything and the same events occurred: my catching the wave, being knocked off my board, not being able to breathe, and then sinking like a rock with my arms unable to move, and Jace in the background saying, “Go Cat! Go!” I’d talked to Beckett about the dream lots of times over the past three years. Ever since Jace died. Sigmund Freud Beckett thought it meant I was afraid of being swallowed by forces hidden in the depths of my unconscious. Like the guilt I felt about the accident. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it scared me and stirred up too many painful and upsetting memories, that I always felt unsettled and on edge after I had it.
I took my bad dream as a sign that I need a change of scenery. I got up, showered, and dressed, then I marched into the kitchen and demanded, “Is there a car I can use? I want to go into town.” St. Helena was nearby, and when William and I had driven through it Saturday night, it looked like it had some cute shops and historic charm.