The Way to Yesterday. Sharon Sala
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“It’s okay,” she said. “Really.”
Phyllis turned. “No, dear, it’s not okay. I’ve been horrible to you, but given time, I will make it right. I hope you forgive me?”
Mary’s eyes welled. “Oh, Phyllis, thank you,” she cried, and impulsively threw her arms around her mother-in-law’s neck.
Phyllis hesitated briefly, then returned the embrace.
“It’s me who should be thanking you,” she said softly. “You have a generous heart, my dear. Daniel and Hope are lucky to have you.”
Lucky to have you…lucky to have you…lucky…
A car horn blared, followed by a burst of angry curses and then the squealing of tires on pavement.
Mary jerked.
Reality and fantasy were beginning to separate within her mind and all she could think was not yet. Not yet. But no matter how desperately she tried, she couldn’t hold on to the dream. Her head was spinning, her legs weak at the knees.
“Daniel,” she moaned.
But there was no answer, only the smell of old wood and dust. In that instant, she knew it was gone. She opened her eyes.
The antique shop. She was still standing in the antique shop and Mike and Phyllis O’Rourke hadn’t spoken to her since the day of the funeral six years ago.
In that moment, what had been left of her spirit died, too. There was nothing in her life but an emptiness that all the jobs and all the busy work would never fill. The only people who’d ever loved her were dead and she wanted to be with them.
With a shuddering sob, she stared down at the ring on her finger. The engraving—I promise you forever—was a joke. Hating herself and life in general, she tore it off and flung it back into the case. There was no such thing as forever.
“No more,” she muttered. “I can’t do this…I don’t want to do this. Not anymore.”
She turned, only to find the old man staring at her from the end of the counter.
“I don’t want the ring. I put it back,” she muttered, and pointed in the general direction of the case. “I have to go.” But her feet wouldn’t move. She seemed helpless beneath the compassion of his gaze. Her eyes filled with tears. “You don’t understand. They’re dead, you know. They’re all dead but me.”
Then her composure broke and she started to cry.
Love doesn’t die.
Mary stared. Although she’d heard the words, his lips had not moved. When he started toward her, shuffling his tiny little feet on the dusty, planked floor, she wanted to run, but he was blocking her only exit.
“Don’t,” she muttered, although she didn’t quite know why she said it.
He’d made no move to harm her and had yet to say a word. When he reached in his pocket, she caught herself holding her breath. But when he pulled out a neatly ironed linen handkerchief and laid it in her hands, she felt shame that she’d feared him.
“Oh God,” she moaned, and bent her head.
At the same time, she felt a hand at the crown of her head and then the old man was stroking her hair, as he might have a child. Mary shuddered as she lifted the handkerchief to her face and wiped away tears. What had she been thinking, behaving this way in front of a stranger? When she looked up, he was gone. The only proof she had that he’d been there was the handkerchief she was holding.
“Lord,” she muttered. “I probably embarrassed him horribly.”
She laid the handkerchief aside and started to weave her way through the narrow aisle, anxious to be away from this place. She’d been crazy to come in here to begin with. All it had done was remind her of what she’d lost. She wouldn’t let herself think about why the dream had been different this time, because it didn’t really matter. Her reality was a living hell and it hadn’t changed.
The front door was open and she headed for it like a moth to a flame.
Out.
She needed out.
Away from the memories.
Away from the pain.
She fixed her gaze on the rug of sunlight spreading across the threshold and told herself that if she didn’t breathe until she passed it, all the pain would go away. It wasn’t the first time she’d played such a mind game with herself, but she was brought up short from escaping when a curly-haired little girl burst into the building.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
The brutality of the moment stopped Mary short. In her mind, it was but another bit of proof as to how perfectly cruel life could be. If Hope hadn’t died—
“Mommy! Where are you?” the little girl cried.
Mary swallowed past the knot of misery in her throat and stepped out of the shadows and into the light. No matter how much it would hurt her, the child was obviously lost and afraid. But the words never came out of her mouth. When the child saw her move, the frown on her face turned to joy.
“Mommy! Mommy! We’re ready to go! Daddy’s going to buy us all ice cream and I want banilla with starberry sprinkles.”
Shock spread across Mary’s face as she stared at the approaching child in disbelief. Then over the child’s shoulder, she saw the sunlight on the floor suddenly shrink as a man appeared in the doorway. At first, she saw nothing but a big, dark silhouette, but then he spoke and the sound of his voice grabbed her heart.
“There you are,” he chided, and took the little girl by the hand before she could go any farther.
Mary struggled to take a breath. Damn you, God…you took my reasons for living and left me behind. Now you want my sanity, too?
The man looked up at Mary and grinned.
“Hey, honey. Did you find anything you can’t live without?”
Mary moaned and took a short step backward. Why was this happening? That had always been a running joke between herself and Daniel when they used to go antiquing, but this wasn’t funny.
Then the man moved past the doorway and further into the store. When Mary saw his face she started to shake. Black hair, blue eyes and that square jaw with a slight dimple in his chin. Daniel? Oh God…Daniel.
“Mary…darling…are you all right? You look a little pale.”
He reached for her, steadying her with a hand to the shoulder, then he cupped her face.
She looked up in horror. She could feel his fingers on her skin. This wasn’t possible. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. PTSD. That’s what it was. Post-traumatic stress disorder, brought on by her foray into antiques. When she opened her eyes, he would be gone. All of this would be gone. But when she looked he was still there, leaning closer now, and she could feel his breath on her face.
“Daniel?”
He smiled. “Definitely not the Easter Bunny,” he teased.
She fainted in his arms.
“Mary…darling…can you hear me?”
Mary moaned. “Make it go away,” she muttered.
Daniel frowned. “Make what go away?”
“The dreams. Make them all go away.”
He shook his head slightly, ignoring her rambling remarks as he continued to dab her forehead and cheeks with a dampened handkerchief. Before he could answer her, Hope slid between them and put a hand on her father’s arm.
“Daddy, what’s the matter with Mommy?”
“I think maybe she just got too hot.”
His daughter’s