Sweet Dreams, Irene

night.

Jack stood up, gently putting Cody on the floor. “I’ll say good night, then. I’m glad we talked.”

“Stay if you want to,” I said. “I just don’t have any stamina. I wish—” I didn’t finish it.

“That you could go back to being your old self?” Jack asked.

“Yes.”

“Give up on that one, Irene. Just about everything changes.” And with that, he said good night again and left.

OVER THE NEXT WEEK or so, I tried to come to grips with the implications of just about everything changing. The first disappointment came with the unsettling realization that I was not going to heal overnight. I didn’t like being so dependent on others, but that was the simple fact of the matter. There was very little that I could do for myself, even when I started to be able to hobble around a little.

There was also the fact that I was still feeling scared. Afraid that if I was alone I would be kidnapped. What were the odds? A million to one still made me break out in a cold sweat.

Looking back on it, that week I did more feeling than thinking. It was as if everything I had tried to repress during my captivity came boiling up and over me. The terror of it demanded to be acknowledged.

Frank’s support was unwavering, but I doubt that we could have made it through that time alone. Fortunately, we didn’t have to try. Lydia, Guy, Rachel, and Pete came by and spent hours with me, talked to me, watched me sleep, woke me from nightmares. Took care of and cared about me.

When I protested to Rachel that she should find something more enjoyable to do with her vacation, she said, “What, I don’t look like I can make a decision? When I’m doing something I don’t want to be doing, you can put the story in that newspaper of yours. Basta.”

Okay, enough. I didn’t mention it again.

Two new friends were over fairly often: Jacob and Jack. Like my other friends, the first time Jacob came over, he was shaken by my appearance. But, like them, he recovered quickly. He was full of youthful energy and loaded with questions about working for newspapers. His father, I learned, had won the election. Julie’s parents had put her on restriction, so he hadn’t seen much of her. I imagined I would see less of him once she was paroled.

Jack seemed to need to be around us, and he came by several times each day. He brought groceries, helped Lydia and Rachel cook, talked hockey with Guy and Pete. He did errands that would have taken up Frank’s time, allowing Frank to spend it with me instead.

Jack was solicitous to me, and kept me company if none of my other baby-sitters could be there, but usually he allowed the others to pamper me.

I woke up and limped out of the bedroom on Tuesday morning, and found him sitting on the couch with Cody, reading a book.

“Rachel had to leave for a few minutes,” he said, looking up. “Need anything?”

I shook my head and slowly made my way over to a chair. “What are you reading?”

“Ovid,” he said, and laughed at my undisguised look of surprise.

“I never know what to make of you, Jack,” I said, then felt embarrassed at my own bluntness. As usual, he didn’t seem to mind.

“No, I guess not. And I suppose that extends beyond catching me reading the Metamorphoses.”

I nodded. Jack never ceased to puzzle me. Two days before, I had found him sitting on the couch, working with a notebook computer. When I asked why a biker needed a computer, he told me that the notebook had been his first indulgence after coming into his inheritance; he found he needed a computer to keep track of his mother’s complex estate. I noticed that he had yet to go on a big spending spree; like his mother, he seemed to prefer to live simply.

“Okay,” I said, “I give up. Why the Metamorphoses?”

“As for that, my mother read more Greek mythology than Mother Goose to me when I was a little sprout. So I guess I just wanted to remind myself of those days.”

“Oh.”

He closed the book and studied me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell the truth.”

“It’s just a mood, Jack. Give me five minutes — or maybe less — and it will change.”

“So talk to me before the five minutes are up. I’d hate to miss the full impact of this one.”

“Just feeling frustrated.”

“About your injuries?”

“Not this time — not any more than usual. It’s just that I know there’s a fourth person involved in all of this. The department won’t let Frank work on the case. I’m in a funk because Frank can’t seem to get anyone to even take the idea seriously.”

“I guess they consider it a closed case.”

“But it’s not. This fourth man is still out there.”

“How did you learn about him?”’

I swallowed hard, pushing the suddenly sharp memory of the cabin away. “The second day I was up there. I heard Devon and Raney talking about him.”