Chapter Two
THE HEELS OF HER BUTTONED boots caught in the crevices between cobblestones as she click-clacked her way down an unnamed street. Her corset felt like a vice and although she increased her pace, she felt as if she were walking through water, her feet clawing the rocky bottom of a clear lake. She reached up to check her hat and adjust the pin, the feather damp and limp now as the fine mist slowly turned to a full deluge, the incongruity of bright sunshine and sheets of rain giving the stone-lined street with its row houses and gas lamps the feel of an impressionist painting.
Spine stiff and straight, she walked faster, cursing herself for failing to bring an umbrella but tucking the thought away in the back of her mind. A slight smile played on her lips as she thought of him and she willed her tiny feet to walk faster, each step closing the gap of thousands of miles, a journey she'd begun weeks before. The long buildings sectioned into row houses with differing facades, some a pale stone with black iron detailing and others with painted wood exteriors, offered no asylum from nature's wrath.
She would appear before him with the countenance of a drenched match girl. He would have to help her out of her wet clothes to prevent a case of the chills. The thought aroused her, but she kept her face set like a stone statue, neutral and unyielding.
Beggars reached toward her and asked for money in a foreign language she didn't know, yet somehow spoke fluently. At one point she stopped a man in uniform and asked for directions to a building. The police officer replied and she thanked him, changing direction and seeing the church steeple, knowing her destination was just around the corner. Soon she spotted the gray stone building, the thick wooden door, and she walked into the lobby, a feeling of relief and excitement blending at once in her chest.
She asked at the reception desk for his room. Without warning, as if time fast-forwarded, she was in front of a door, knocking. The door slowly inched backward and a gorgeous Latina woman with long, black, wavy hair answered, her skin the color of fine, pale silk, her red lips lush with smudged makeup and chafed from activity.
Next she saw her own reflection in an enormous mirror edged with color, her eyes wild and mouth twisted in a tortured expression, a chandelier glittering in the backdrop. But the face wasn't hers; it was a small-boned blond woman, with red-rimmed China-blue eyes and a sharp jaw, her wet hat hanging on an unkempt hairdo by a loose pin. Her heart slammed in her chest and she clawed at her collarbone, digging through the fabric of her bodice to find air.
Suddenly she was running back down the street, holding up skirts with her tiny hands and thin wrists, struggling on the cobblestones, running and not caring that she made a scene as onlookers stared. Tears streaked her face and she found a small park bench many blocks away and sat and cried until a small child with a crossed eye placed his filthy hand on her gloved arm, offering her a sweet in his other hand.
A ragged sob filled her lungs, choking her into consciousness. That was the point in the dream when Jill woke up every night. This night was no different, and she found herself awake in mid-cry, her pillow soaked with drool and tears, her heart racing. The room was still and the air choked her, stifling and warm. Red electronic numbers blinked 12:00 and she heard sirens in the distance, closer to the city center. The electricity must have gone out again; she reached for the nightstand lamp, pulled the chain, and was relieved when the light came on.
A deep breath, measured and careful, in and out, helped restore some calm. That damn dream had been plaguing her since the spring of her senior year of college. The day after she received her acceptance letter to grad school it started, and not a night had gone by without Jill's waking in a panic, crying, the scent of wet stone and smoke filling her nostrils, the sob so mournful it felt like someone dear to her had just died.
It seemed to have deepened in the past month, as she'd ramped up her presentations at school and her research came together nicely, tying up loose ends. And the dream had changed, the man morphing into someone new sometimes.
Seth.
Figuring out why her brain inserted Seth into her dreams wasn't rocket science. Understanding why he was the man in the hotel room was a puzzle, though. She'd spent the past month trying not to turn into a puddle of goo around him. He was just a friend. A colleague. She didn't want to be one of those grad students, who turned doctoral studies into a sexual merry-go-round.
A familiar warmth started to build in her. No! Go away. Snuffing out desire was becoming a full-time job.
With no benefits.
She got up and checked her phone. It wasn't midnight, but closer to 5 a.m., as she'd suspected from the muted light creeping across the city skyline outside her window. Sighing, she walked into the kitchen and made herself a coffee. As the machine gurgled and bubbled she looked around the tiny room, noting the low counters and fake brick linoleum. So boring.
Stifling a yawn, she added creamer to her mug and logged in to email. It was going to be a long day.
Then she remembered the department meeting and smiled.