Lost Melody (22 page)

“I’m coming,” he hollered in the direction of the apartment door. “Hold your horses.”

He punched the power button on the remote control to turn off the boring conversation of a couple of sportscasters and tossed
the device on the couch on his way to the door. Jill’s image filled the peephole.

He swung it open. “Hey, beautiful. I didn’t expect to see you.”

In the next moment he was nearly knocked off his feet when she threw herself at him. Hysterical weeping made her words unintelligible, and sent a shaft of alarm through him.

“What’s wrong? Has something happened to your mother? Ruth?”

Hair whipped into his face as she shook her head. “N-no. It’s me.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I think maybe I really am crazy.”

“What?” He drew her into the apartment and led her to the couch. When they were seated side by side, his arm around her heaving shoulders, he said, “Tell me what happened.”

“I looked up Robert on the Internet. I can’t find him! Oh, Greg, he didn’t exist. And then there’s the other Robert, and he went insane. Just like me.”

Her words made no sense. “Hold on. Back up. There were two Roberts on the subway?”

She shook her head. “No, only one. Or maybe not. I can’t find him anywhere, not on the victim list or on the survivor list. I think I made him up. But while I was searching for him, I found a website about Robert Schumann, a famous composer. I knew about him before, but I forgot. He hurt his hand, and he went crazy, and he died in an institution more than a hundred years ago. Just like I’m going crazy.” Wild sobs made her next words unintelligible.

Greg held her close while she gave herself over to weeping. His mind worked to fit this information into the whole. There had to be a logical explanation. He refused to believe Jill was insane. Traumatized, yes, but not delusional.

Only when her sobs gave way to shuddering breaths did he venture an explanation. “Jill, listen to me. Let’s talk about the Robert on the subway. What if you didn’t make him up? What if you got his name wrong?”

She shook her head. “No. I remember. He said his name was Robert.”

“Did you study Robert Schumann in school?”

“Yes. He’s famous.” She brought her hands up to press against the sides of her skull. “I’ve played his pieces millions of times.”

He took her left hand in his and caressed the scar with his thumb. “Maybe the man on the subway had the same general features, the same coloring. He might have even had a similar name, like Richard or Roger. And then afterward, when your hand was hurt, your mind put the two together because deep inside you identified with Robert Schumann. You’d been traumatized, Jill. You were in shock. The doctors said it was pretty amazing that you remembered anything.”

Tear-filled eyes moved as she searched his face. “You think so?”

“It’s possible,” he said.

Her stiff posture became even more rigid. “Then that means I’ve fabricated part of my memories. This is more proof of what you already think about my dream, that I’ve pieced together this whole elaborate story from repressed childhood memories because I was traumatized during the accident.”

He couldn’t deny it. She would see the falsehood if he tried. But that was the only explanation that made sense, so he gave no answer.

Her shoulders slumped. “You believe I’m nuts.”

“Come here.” He pulled her to his side and leaned against the back of the couch. When she snuggled next to him, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re perfectly sane. I’m not an
expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I do know one thing. You’ve changed in the past week or two.”

“No kidding.” Her body heaved with a shudder.

“No, really. You have more energy, more drive than I’ve seen in a year. You’re not as depressed. You’ve got a goal, and you’re working hard to accomplish it.” He squeezed her tighter. “I’m not happy about the goal, but I like the new Jill.”

“You do?”

“No. I
love
her.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” She relaxed enough to settle deeper in his embrace. “I’m positive something horrible is going to happen on Tuesday, but at the same time I’ll be glad when it’s over with. I want to put this whole thing behind us.”

“You’re not the only one.” An uneasy feeling settled in his insides. How would Jill react when Tuesday came and went without the disaster she was so sure of? Would she be able to move on, or would her depression return and possibly worsen?

They’d find out in two more days.

He forced the note of uncertainty out of his voice. “The whole town will be glad when this ends.”

Monday, December 5

Jill and Nana arrived at Centerside Nursing just as Mom returned from breakfast in the dining room. They met an aide wheeling her down the hallway when they rounded the corner to her room. The girl looked uncertain when she caught sight of them. She picked up her pace and deposited Mom’s wheelchair in her room, then hurried out.

Nana stopped her. “Would you please tell the administrator we’d like to speak with him if he has a moment?”

The wide-eyed girl nodded and left. A twang of regret twisted in Jill. Before this dream business, the staff used to come and chat with her in Mom’s room.

“Good morning, Mom.” She stooped to kiss the slackened cheek, and received no response.

“Hello, Lorna.” Nana patted the frail hand laying on the chair’s armrest, her face bearing the pained expression she always wore at the sight of her once-vibrant only child. “How have you been, dear?”

Dull eyes stared with an unfocused gaze at the window.

“Sorry I didn’t come yesterday, Mom.” Jill lowered herself to the edge of the bed and gestured for Nana to take the visitor’s chair. “We had kind of an eventful day.”

Nana glanced at the dark television set on top of the dresser. “I wonder if they let her watch you on the news.”

A man and woman entered the room, the nurse and Mr. Eldredge, the facility’s administrator. Jill’s heart sank at the nurse’s carefully blank expression. Mr. Eldredge, who didn’t smile all that often anyway, looked as mournful as a funeral director. He jerked his head in an unfriendly way toward her, then focused his attention on Nana.

“I understand you’d like a word with me.”

“Thank you for giving us a moment of your time.” How Nana managed to smile into that solemn face, Jill couldn’t imagine. “I expect you’ve seen my granddaughter on the news.”

He inclined his head, but did not glance in Jill’s direction. “And read several newspaper accounts.”

“Then I won’t need to explain. We’ve arranged for a charter bus to arrive tomorrow morning at seven thirty. I’m afraid there will only be forty-eight seats available, but I assume you can make other arrangements for the rest of the residents.”

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible.”

Nana glanced at Jill and then addressed Mr. Eldredge. “I could probably manage two buses, if that will be helpful.”

A chilly smile lifted the edges of the man’s mouth. “You misunderstand. We don’t need any buses. The residents of Centerside Nursing will not be going anywhere tomorrow. We will not condone this insanity.” He glanced meaningfully at Jill as he uttered the last word.

Inside Jill’s ribcage her heart thudded heavily at the insult. She rose from the bed and stepped closer to Mom’s side.

Nana seemed to gain three inches when she stiffened. “You would risk the death of the people in your care? Most of them are helpless. They rely on you for safety.”

“Our residents are perfectly safe.” The nurse couldn’t quite filter a touch of disdain from her voice. “We won’t have them upset with all this nonsense.”

In the hallway, an ancient woman inched past the door, propelling her wheelchair with slow, labored movements. No way that woman could get away on her own. She could barely get herself down the hallway.

“Please.” Jill addressed Mr. Eldredge. “It could be like an outing. They won’t be upset. If nothing happens, they’ll return in the afternoon after a nice, scenic drive in the city.”

“Young lady,” he said to her, “you are clearly disturbed. I urge you to seek psychiatric help as soon as possible.”

Jill reeled back against the bed as if slapped.

Nana stepped forward to form a short, redheaded barrier between them, her shoulders stiff with outrage.

“You can’t talk to my granddaughter that way.” Her voice rang in the room and echoed down the hallway.

“Madam, lower your voice or I will be forced to have you removed from the premises.”

Nana’s indignant breath hissed inward. “When disaster strikes, don’t say you weren’t warned. The deaths of these people will be on your hands.” She picked up their coats and handed Jill’s to her. “Have my daughter ready to leave in the morning. We’ll be by to pick her up at seven.”

The nurse protested. “You can’t take Lorna.”

Jill paused in the act of slipping her arm in her coat sleeve to imitate her grandmother’s unyielding air. “Yes, we can, and we are.”

“But she’ll catch her death.” The woman cast a desperate look
at the administrator. “This is not in her best interest. She’s had a cough.”

They all looked at Mom, who neither coughed nor displayed any sign she was aware of the argument taking place in her room.

“You told me several days ago the doctor said she was completely healthy.” Jill buttoned her coat and stooped to press her cheek to her mother’s. “We’re not leaving without her.”

Nana lifted her nose into the air. “Lorna is my daughter, and I am within my rights to take her for an outing if I want.”

The nurse turned an appeal toward the administrator, who stood indecisive for a moment. Then he gave a slight nod. Jill’s breath left her lungs in a rush.

“Seven o’clock,” Ruth repeated to the nurse. “Let’s go, Jill. We have a busy day planned. We have some new signs to paint.”

Jill pressed her lips to Mom’s scalp. “We’ll be back for you in the morning, Mom.”

Together they marched past the outraged nurse, and startled a cluster of aides listening in the hallway just outside the door.

Greg pushed through the door of The Wharf Café at a quarter past ten for his meeting to discuss Rowena’s campaign ideas. The bell jangled its announcement of his arrival.

“Sorry I’m late, Rowe. I got held up on a phone call.”

The restaurant wasn’t empty. Four people were seated at a table on one side of the dining room. Mitch Landry and Carl Allen occupied two chairs, their expressions serious. Seated across from Bob, Rowena turned toward him but didn’t meet his eye. The identity of the fourth person didn’t at first register, because he didn’t fit in this setting.

What was his father doing here?

He came to a halt halfway into the room. The door whooshed closed behind him.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

Silence.

“I’ll get you some coffee, Greg.” Rowe rose from her chair and hurried to the counter.

Dad pointed to the chair at the end of the table. “Have a seat, son. We want to talk to you.”

A list of possible reasons these three Cove residents had gathered together and then contacted his father formed in his mind. It probably had something to do with the election, since Carl, Mitch, and Rowe were his biggest supporters. Maybe they wanted to brainstorm campaign ideas.

Their serious expressions denied that possibility. There could be only one topic of conversation today.

Jill.

Greg made his way to the chair on Dad’s left with a halting step. As he seated himself, Rowe placed a fragrant mug of coffee in front of him and returned to her chair. He downed a swallow of the scalding liquid to buy himself time to gather his composure.

Mitch cupped his hands around his own mug. “Greg, the four of us want you to know that we’re behind you all the way.”

Dad and Carl nodded, though Rowe still hadn’t looked directly at him.

“I’m excited about this plan of yours,” Carl said. “It’s the right thing to do in Seaside Cove.”

“I appreciate your support.” Thankfully, his voice betrayed no hint of his whirling thoughts.

Mitch went on. “We think you have a good chance of taking Samuels’s seat on the council. But this dream of Jill’s is doing some
damage.” He raised a hand to prevent any interruption, though Greg hadn’t opened his mouth to speak. “Now, you know I think a lot of Jill. I’ve known her from church longer than I’ve known you. But she’s not thinking right just now.”

“She’s acting crazy, son,” Dad said.

Greg jumped to Jill’s defense. “She’s not crazy. If you’d been in that subway accident and had the only career you’d ever dreamed of ripped away, you might experience some stress yourself.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” Dad held his gaze. “But you’re about to have your career ripped away from you, too, and it’s going to be her fault.”

“Come on, it’s not as bad as all that.” He looked toward Carl, hoping to find someone to agree with him.

Carl looked uncomfortable. “I think it is, Bradford.”

“Especially after Saturday’s news conference.” Rowe finally spoke. “And Samuels sure made the most of you showing up there. Did you hear him?”

Greg dropped his head forward. “Yeah.” He’d watched the interview again on the late news, and noted how Samuels had managed to mention “Bradford,” “Ms. King,” and “getting on those buses” all in the same sentence. A politically savvy move that had left him cringing.

“The whole town’s gone crazy over this thing,” Dad said. “When I drove here this morning, I passed a store advertising a fifty-percent-off disaster sale. People with signs were marching up and down Harbor Street, shouting at each other. The police arrived when I went by.”

Mitch cleared his throat. “That’s why we wanted to talk to you. We think you need to distance yourself from Jill and her dream.”

“Publicly,” Carl added. “Call a news conference like she did.”

Greg shook his head. What would happen to Jill and him if he did that? The memory of her weeping last night still wrenched his heart. He couldn’t be the reason for more tears.

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

“No, we don’t,” Dad said. “You’ve got to let the people know you don’t buy into the lunacy.”

“The lunacy isn’t Jill’s fault. She’s horrified by all these signs proclaiming the end of the world. Those are the crazy people, not her. This will all blow over tomorrow. When no disaster happens, Jill plans to make a public statement saying she’s glad she was wrong and she only did what she felt was right. It’ll be fine.”

A flash of color drew their attention to the sidewalk outside the café. A short line of people carrying signs paraded past, four gray heads and one bright red. Ruth’s sign read, “Evacuation Buses Boarding at 7:30 a.m. Be There or Suffer the Consequences.”

An awkward silence descended around the table. Greg closed his eyes and massaged his throbbing temples.

“It’s not going to blow over, son,” Dad said. “Samuels is going to throw that video in your face every chance he gets between now and the election.”

“That’s why it’s important for you to make a statement today,” Rowe said. “Otherwise, he’s going to point out that you didn’t deny anything until it was all over. He’ll use it to make you look indecisive.”

Mitch leaned toward him over the table. “If you do it today, then you’ll render that weapon ineffective.”

Greg rubbed a hand across his mouth, his thoughts jumbled. Their reasoning made sense.

“Son, remember what’s at stake here. We’ve planned this for a long time. If Jill loves you, she’ll understand that.”

Would she? He’d made no secret of the fact that he didn’t believe her dream. Though disappointed, she seemed to deal with that okay. But a public statement?

Suddenly, he needed to get out of there. These four people wanted the best for him, of that he was certain, but their words bored into his brain like a drill. He needed to be alone, to lay out his thoughts and come to his own decision. The chair legs scraped across the floor when he stood.

“Thank you for your advice.” The words sounded stilted, tight. He forced a smile and tried again. “Really. I appreciate you wanting to help me. You’ve given me a lot to think about. But I, uh, need to go.”

Nobody said a word when he headed for the door and stepped into the freezing cold outdoors.

Rowe caught up with him halfway across the small parking lot. “Greg, wait a minute.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stopped.

“I’m sorry I called your father. I thought he’d be able to convince you better than the three of us.” The anxious look on her face begged him to understand.

He had to admit, he would have preferred that she talked to him privately before arranging what amounted to an intervention. But what was done was done. He couldn’t be mad at her for trying to help.

“You were just looking out for my best interests,” he told her. “Don’t worry. We’re fine.”

A cloud of breath blew out of her mouth. “I hope so.” With a small wave, she retreated to the warmth of the café.

Greg walked to his car. Thankfully, his schedule was pretty light this afternoon. He had a lot of thinking and praying to do.