Cheryl Wolverton - Home To You

What was she going to do?

The scene changed and pictures started moving faster and faster through her mind.

She was at work, but only for a month.

She was trying to type, but crying instead.

She heard the whispers, saw the looks. It wasn’t good for business for her to be seen like that.

Just a drink to help get her through the stares, to help her forget what the doctor had told her.

She saw herself hitting the answering machine over and over, erasing messages from the doctor’s office.

Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?

She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t work.

And then Rob had let her go.

Oh, he’d been nice about it. He’d told her if she got her act together, to give him a call. She saw the smile on his face, that fake smile, painted on much like a clown’s face.

And she realized she was already changing. She wasn’t like she was before. Nice, carefree, fun-loving. No, she was changing into the monster of her past—her grandmother.

She couldn’t think about it.

She wouldn’t think about it.

Driving home she’d nearly hit a man crossing the street.

That had been the final straw.

With her last paycheck, she walked into a liquor store and bought enough liquor to help her forget.

The mists swirled in and she relaxed, until she heard the pounding and realized the dream wasn’t over.

Oh, no, she saw the car being towed and an eviction notice nailed to her door. The scenes swirled madly.

She was on the street.

She tried a homeless shelter, but was almost raped that night and fled.

She’d demanded more liquor, anything to help her not remember, not know where she was.

She didn’t want to remember what had been said.

Life wasn’t fair.

She’d lost her mom and now this.

She wanted hope again.

But there was no hope here, no life, nothing for her.

In the deepest despair she’d ever been in, she remembered another time of deep despair, of a time she had been forced to lose her best friend.

Yet, in that despair, a line floated into her remembrance.

If you ever need me, I’ll be here.

If only that were true, she thought.

She tipped the bottle and drank.

And walked. She watched herself head off down the street, the empty, black, lonely street, the mist parting as she walked.

She didn’t go to pay the creditors or to the homeless shelter. She headed toward the one ray of hope in a life suddenly filled with desperation and emptiness.

And then the dream ended and she opened her eyes in a strange house.

And she realized, suddenly, that somehow she’d made her wish come true. At least she was certain she’d somehow found her way back to the past, back to Dakota Ryder’s house, and she was lying there now being tucked in to bed by a man with a stethoscope.

His eyes met hers and she stiffened, waiting for the worst. The man smiled gently and whispered, “Go back to sleep.”

And that’s exactly what Meghan O’Halleran did. She closed her eyes and tried to get back into the dream of the little girl in a soft bed—because she knew what she’d just seen couldn’t be reality. Not for her. Not for an O’Halleran.

Safety and love could only come true in her dreams.

He had thought about her all night. After his mom had arrived home. And the explanations for her presence had been few. She must have missed the bus and someone had sent her his way.

“Good morning, Dakota.”

Cody stopped at the sideboard in the dining room to pour himself a cup of coffee. Though his diminutive mother was now gray-haired and her hands had begun to show signs of age, those blue eyes of hers missed nothing. And though she didn’t demand questions, that wasn’t her style, he knew she was there, waiting to listen. When had she stopped being just a mom and become a friend? Nodding to his mom, he started around the table, pausing to kiss her cheek. So who was the woman who had said she was his “sister”? Cody thought once again as he had a dozen times last night.

“Is our guest up?” he asked as he took his seat across from his mom and picked up the morning paper.

He liked to go through the hospital and death section to keep up on the residents and what someone might be going through in town. Perhaps there was a hint of the woman upstairs, if someone was missing or such.

“Not yet,” his mother murmured. “Are you ready to talk?”

“About what?” he asked, though he knew exactly what his mother wanted to say. He was too busy to encourage her. He had to get to work, see about meeting Chandler’s concerning the new wing on the church. The reports he’d brought home still needed to be gone over, among a dozen other things. Of course, he’d known his mom would want to discuss the woman since she hadn’t said a word about it yesterday. The problem was, he didn’t know anything.

“Your guest.”

“My…” He paused and glanced up over the paper then shook his head. “She’s not my guest, Mother. She is someone who needed a place to stay and since we don’t have a shelter in town, I put her up.” Her face, slightly rounded though elegant and graceful, wore a soft smile as she waited—and that was more convincing than anything else. “Besides,” he added, returning to scanning the paper before taking a sip of the hot black coffee he’d poured himself, “she was unconscious. What was I supposed to do?”

Okay, he felt a bit odd having a drunk in his house—his mother’s house. A drunk woman, actually. This was a first. He’d had many men come to his door drunk, he usually just let them sleep in the small apartment over the garage out back, and then in the morning, he showed up with coffee and an ear to listen.

Never had a woman shown up on his doorstep and embraced him as she had—and then promptly passed out.

Yes, this was definitely a first. The reason why she was upstairs and not out back like a guy. He shook his head again.

“I suppose you should have done whatever you felt you should have done with the guest.” His mother went back to sipping her coffee.

He didn’t know what to do with the woman, and frankly, he was still a bit uncomfortable over yesterday.

Wearily he set aside the paper. “I really need to get to work.”

His mother didn’t comment.

Uncomfortable, he asked, “Do you think you can stay here until she wakes up?” He glanced at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet about the construction on the church in an hour.”

When his mom didn’t answer immediately, he sighed. “I can call an officer to come over. Jerry would be glad to be here with you when she wakes up.”

Dakota could tell his mom was disappointed. Frustrated, he wanted to tell her he was busy, so busy that he was meeting himself coming and going. He didn’t need one more unexpected thing added to his list—like this woman.

Immediately his spirit stabbed at his conscience. That was his job. Of course, it should be added to his list.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I suppose I can call and reschedule.”

Instead of rebuking him, his mom set aside her coffee cup and folded her hands. With understanding, she studied him. “I’ll be fine, Dakota. If you have to go, then you have to go. I’ll be glad to be here when the woman wakes up.” She paused and then added, “Can you tell me her name before you go?”

Her name. If only he knew her name. Of course, if he stayed around, he would get a chance to talk to her and find out. And really, this wasn’t his mom’s job, but his job. Guiltily, he shook his head. “Like I said last night. She passed out right after I arrived.”

His mother’s lips twitched slightly. “Mary and Margaret have a different take on it, I’m afraid.”

Dakota grimaced. He’d heard the phone ring earlier this morning and had just been certain it was his neighbors. They’d actually left him and his mom in peace last night. He’d expected Mary or Margaret to launch into a lengthy explanation as soon as his mom had arrived home.

Instead, they’d patted her hand and told her that all would be well now that she was there and tottered off home—after they had stayed to finish the puzzle, and regale him with tales of every puzzle they had ever put together. Boy, had last night been a night.

“I can only imagine what they said,” Dakota muttered, figuring they would get to it eventually. He’d seen that look the sisters had shared when his mom had sat down to help with the puzzle.

“Dakota!” his mother admonished, even though she was forcing her smile away as she spoke.

“Okay, out with it.” Dakota glanced at his watch and decided he had enough time to hear this before he left. If he left. He felt himself wavering as God spoke to his heart.

His mother shook her head. “That she dressed scandalously and embraced you were a couple of their comments.”

Dakota groaned. This was going to take more than a few minutes. It always did when it involved those two ladies.

“Just as I thought.” His mother chuckled. “Why don’t you tell me the entire story?”

“She wasn’t dressed scandalously, Mom.” He sat back and prepared to tell his side of the story. Lifting his cup to his lips, he took a sip of his coffee while his mom waited. Setting it aside, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and began, hesitantly, being careful to be honest but not gossipy. “She looked as if she hadn’t bathed in a month and her makeup was smeared.” He remembered how shocked he’d been at her appearance, how he’d ached wondering what this poor woman had been through. “Her top was askew and one heel on a boot was broken.” He forced his inward gaze back to his mom. “I’ve seen people in similar situations, Mom. Mary and Margaret were simply exaggerating. It was the attack as I came up the porch that threw me, however, and probably what fueled the sisters’ imaginations. The woman told me she wanted to be my sister and then she lunged out at me.”

He shifted uncomfortably. He loved his mom and cared what she thought, but it was embarrassing to tell her about that bit.

His mom didn’t laugh, however. Instead, she frowned. “Your sister?”

He nodded. “We’re not Catholic and she’s not a nun. I would swear her showing up here was simply an accident, but if it is…” He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair in frustration. “What could she have meant?”

His mother rested one hand on top of the other, her brow furrowing as she contemplated what Cody had said.

“Maybe your reasoning is where the problem is.”

“What?” He resisted the urge to glance at his watch. “How do you mean?”

“Well, she hugs you, calls herself a sister…so perhaps you do know her.”

Dakota shook his head. “I haven’t met her before, Mom. I would remember her.”

His mom lifted an eyebrow in a way only a mother can and he squirmed in response. “I meant that she’s a grown woman and in my line of work—”

“Maybe she wasn’t an adult when you met her. Tell me exactly what she said yesterday.”

Dakota felt time slipping away and knew he was going to be late. But, to solve this dilemma he needed to recount the story, find an answer and then see to helping this woman. Chandler’s would just have to wait.

Quickly and concisely, he related all she had said.

Slowly, his mom nodded. “Think back to your teenage years. You were always so generous. Is it possible you told someone they could move in with us and she could be your sister?”

Dakota shook his head, then paused. “I wouldn’t have told any girl she could be my sister, but…”