“Okay, fine. Maybe I did want to talk to you about something, but I also came to see you and ride in your boat.”
“Spit it out, Mom.”
“Well, son, it’s just that I’m worried about you… and Janine.”
He looked at her, confusion on his face. “What about me and Janine? Things are going great with us.”
“Are you sure, honey? I mean, are you certain that Janine feels that way?”
He put his food on the seat beside him and leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s just that women… well, some women… especially of a certain age… well, they want things… and men don’t always see it for what it is…”
“Have you taken your medication today?”
“What?”
“You’re stammering like you can’t get your words out.”
She sighed and threw her hands in the air. “Janine wants to get married! Okay? I said it. And it wasn’t my place to say it!”
“Then why are you saying it?”
“Because you weren’t getting any of my hints!”
They both stopped and took a deep breath. “Who told you that? Janine?”
“Of course not!”
“Then who?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters. I need to know if it was a reputable source.”
Dixie nodded her head. “Oh, honey, it was a very reputable source.”
“Mom, tell me.”
She hung her head. “It was Julie.”
“Julie told you that Janine wants to get married?”
“No. She told Dawson. I just overheard the conversation. She thought I’d left the shop, and she was chatting with Dawson on the phone.”
“So you were eavesdropping.”
“Not on purpose.”
“Did you tell her you overheard the conversation?”
Dixie shook her head. “Didn’t seem necessary. Look, I’m not SuAnn. I don’t go around gossiping, but this seemed important enough to tell you.”
He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I mean, we’ve talked about marriage a few times, but things have just been going so well that it didn’t occur to me that there was a rush or anything.”
“Sweetie, what’re you waiting for? I mean, far be it for me to say, but y’all aren’t getting any younger.”
“Thanks a lot, Mom,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“William, I just want to see you happy. Life is a lot shorter than you think.” Her life with Johnny, her late husband, had been so much shorter than either of them ever thought it would be.
“I love Janine. I guess I was just trying to make something of myself again before I asked her. I want to feel worthy of being her husband.” Dixie’s heart melted when she heard her son say that.
She leaned over and touched his arm, being careful not to stand up in the unstable boat. Parkinson’s didn’t exactly give her wonderful balance. The last thing she needed was to fall head first into the marsh and get eaten by some creature lurking below.
“Now, listen to your old momma,” she said, putting her hand on his cheek. “You’re worthy of any woman. Janine would be blessed to have you as a husband, and you would be blessed to have her as a wife. Stop overthinking things, my handsome son. Love isn’t something to be thought about; it’s something to be felt and cherished.”
William smiled. “You should write greeting cards, Mom.”
“Maybe in my next lifetime,” she joked as she eased herself back down onto the small seat. “So, what’re you going to do?”
He looked at her and then out over the water. “I don’t know. I need some time to think, I suppose.”
“Just don’t think too long, William. Life just keeps moving on.”
The darkness was overwhelming. She walked along the edge of the wall, her back brushing against it as she tried to look around the corner. But it was so dark. So devastatingly dark. She couldn't hear anything over the wild beating of her heart. It wasn't like she hadn't been in situations like this a million times before, but this one was different. She could feel it in her bones, like a dark foreboding that she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried.
Her palms were sweating. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention like diligent soldiers waiting on their next orders. Why did she have to be alone? She tried to quiet her breath, but it felt like her throat was constricting. What if she stopped breathing? Her heart was beating so hard and fast that she wondered if a heart could actually explode. She didn't want to find out.
She inched closer and closer to the corner. Why was her hand shaking? She gripped the gun as tightly as possible, and she turned that corner, her arm straight up in front of her steadied by her left hand, ready to shoot. And then just as the monster lunged at her, she sat upright in her bed in a pool of sweat, her breath coming out in choked pants.
This was the third time this week that Emma had woken up having a nightmare. She couldn't always remember much of it, but she definitely knew what it was about. PTSD was a real thing, but no matter how many times her friend, Caroline, tried to encourage her to seek counseling for it, she just couldn't. She couldn’t relive the story over and over sitting on some couch in some nondescript office. It was bad enough that it had taken up residence in her head, but uttering the words that were bathed in darkness and fear was just too much for her.
The reality of what had happened just a few months ago was still so shocking to her that she couldn't think about it much during the day. She was able to push the feelings and memories aside during her waking hours, but in her dreams they took center stage. She relived the scenario over and over and over again. She often became trapped in her dream, and she was so thankful when her brain would wake her up in a panic because it
