"Am I awful because I'm jealous?"
"No, baby. You're human." He patted her knee. "Come give them your blessing. They need it before they go see her parents." He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.
Giggling, Blythe followed him back to the dining room. Lori jumped up, hugging her so enthusiastically, Blythe gasped with pain. The next ten minutes, her friend apologized for nearly breaking her ribs. The room was filled with laughter and apologies. Finally, Jason and Lori went next door, leaving Blythe and her parents together.
"I don't know about the two of you," Charlotte said. "But I need a drink and a game of Triominoes. Who's with me?"
"Make mine scotch," her father said, walking to the bar in the dining room. He poured a measure for himself, then added more. He mixed a rum and Coke for Charlotte. "Little bit, name your poison."
"Better not have any, Dad. I'm on pain meds."
"You driving anywhere?"
"No," she replied, puzzled.
"And you haven't had a pill for hours. You're okay. What'll it be?"
"I'll have what Mom's having."
He mixed another rum and Coke for her. Carrying the drinks to the table on a tray, he set them down and got out the Triominoes box.
They played several games, until Blythe couldn't keep her eyes open. Since she was the definitive loser, they decided to stop for the night. She brushed her teeth and crawled into bed, falling asleep with the lamp on. Her mother came in later, turning it off. She stood in the dark for some time, watching her daughter sleep. Eventually, she went out, closing the door softly behind her.
Blythe slept heavily, her dreams wild and silly, not disturbing and full of death. Around three, she woke, needing a bathroom. Once she was back in bed, she couldn't sleep right away. Lying on her side, she stared out the window.
The guestroom had a view of the back garden. Her mother kept roses, and other beautiful flowering plants, carefully trimmed back and maintained. It was in this garden that she and Alec would have married. She could visualize the graceful arbor her father had lovingly constructed for their wedding. He had trained Don Juan roses up the lattice work for months. The day Alec died, he took it down and dug up the roses, planting one in their yard, beneath Blythe's window. The other, he planted in Alec's yard, under his.
Ghostly shapes moved about the yard, making her shiver. Blythe got up to close the drapes. It was probably just fog from the river, but it looked like specters dancing. She saw her face reflected in the glass window pane as she closed the drapes. Her eyes were wide with fear, dark circles around them. Shivering, she turned on the lamp and huddled under the covers until fatigue finally took her.
Blood. Everything was covered with it. Her soul seemed to hover over her body as she sat in the car. This time, she was the passenger, not the driver. There was a hole in the windshield as if something had crashed through from the inside. Where was the driver? Where, for that matter, was she?
"Hello?" Her voice sounded small and lost in the darkness. "Hello?"
No one answered. She heard the night sounds of crickets and cicadas in the trees. Somewhere nearby, frogs croaked. At a distance, she thought she heard the whoosh of cars passing.
What was that? The sound of car doors. Of someone calling. Lights flashed, like the beam of half a dozen flashlights.
"Hello?" she called again, but it was a faint sound. "Hello? Help! Help me!"
"Did you hear something?" A man's voice, deep and resonant. "Hello?"
"Help!" she put as much energy into as she could, bellowing with all her strength. Gasping, she waited.
"There!" The same voice said. "I knew I saw something." A face appeared at the window. "You're going to be all right," he assured her, smiling. "We're here. You're safe."
"My—husband...."
"We'll look when we get some more light down here. You stay still, ma'am. Help is on the way. Can we get some light over here?" he called over his shoulder.
Car headlights blazed. Her companion gasped, something making him go pale. The hand holding the flashlight shook and he stepped away from the car. She heard sounds of retching. He didn't come back for several minutes. When he did, he was pale and sad. She could smell vomit on his breath.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Your husband is dead. It looks like he was thrown from the car."
"Oh, my God! No! No!" She tried to get out of the car, but her body wouldn't move.
"Stay still, ma'am. Help is on the way."
"Brian? Brian? No, God no! Brian?"
Blythe woke up screaming a man's name. She felt her lips form it, though her mind couldn't remember putting the word there.
Who's Brian? Why was I calling for him? Did he say husband? I'm not married—though I was, to Alec.
"What's going on?" she asked herself. "What's up with these dreams?"
Trauma brought on by the car accident, she told herself. That was all. Nothing more. Maybe the strange dreams were brought on by the pain pills? They made some people hallucinate, right? Or maybe the doctor was wrong. Maybe she had hit her head. Something wasn't right. How could she keep dreaming about car accidents that weren't hers? Unable to sleep and feeling alone, she turned on the TV. An all night news channel had footage from a horrible accident on I-95 south, between Edgewater and Titusville.
©2022 Dellani Oakes
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