She needed to get back to the sanity of the school.
By the time she pulled into the teacher's lot, someone else had called to talk about their “flood dream.” She left the engine running and stared at the radio. They were calling from Carmel-by-the-Sea, seventy miles southwest of her. With some exceptions, the dream was the same. Delivered by an angel named “Shirley”. After substantially more abuse from the host for not coming up with a more divine name, the call was disconnected.
Commercials. Margaret turned off the engine. Her hands were shaking. In the silence that followed, she sobbed once but pushed it down. This wasn’t true. She was hearing it wrong. She sat in silence, not caring if Katie’s practice might be over. She stared at the dark radio, the shaking of her entire body which she’d only begun to notice finally slowing, calming.
It was only a dream. It was only a dream.
“Mrs. Carboneau?”
She shouted in surprise, twisted in her seat.
A tall, handsome boy stood outside the open driver's window. Jeans and a denim shirt with cut-off sleeves. Carl Jorgenson already sported the beginnings of his usual California surfer's tan and sun-bleached hair.
Margaret looked away and wiped her face.
“Oh, Carl. Sorry. You surprised me.”
“You looked kind of upset.” He turned away himself and shoved his hands into his back pockets. “You've been crying.” He was a smart kid, but his mannerisms always struck her as too simplistic, constantly teetering at the edge of adulthood.
She tried to smile. It didn’t work. “No, no. Allergies are starting up, that's all. What are you still doing here?”
Carl hesitated, looking around as if trying to remember something. “Oh, baseball practice. Mr. Z's been pushing the seniors pretty hard, thinks we’re slacking off, taking away....”
Margaret got out of the car before he could finish. Carl got the message and shut up. “You coming to get the girls?”
She began to walk. Carl followed a pace behind. “You want me to go with you? Are you sure you're okay?”
Margaret stopped, turned towards him. “I'm fine. Well, no, I'm not, but it's personal. I'd like to be alone.”
He looked relieved. Nodding and turning back towards the few cars remaining in the student lot he said, “No problem, Mrs. C. I hope everything gets better.”
Margaret continued alone towards the athletic fields, looking at the sky. No clouds. No sign of rain. Just a dream. I don’t need to build anything. Just a stupid dream.
56
“Marty! It’s great to see you --” she almost added again but caught herself. The first time hadn’t actually happened. “Come in; come in.” Margaret opened the front screen door for him. Marty Santos nodded a silent greeting and stepped in. The fire chief looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His clothes were wrinkled. He looked at her with red-rimmed eyes and smiled.
“Hey, Maggie,” he said. “How've you been? I'm not interrupting dinner, am I?”
“No, not at all. We just finished.” She motioned to the couch then sat herself in an adjacent chair. “Marty, if you don’t mind me saying, you look terrible.”
He laughed – a short, sad sound, then craned his neck to see into the family room. Katie lay on the floor next to her sister in front of the television. The two girls whispered to each other, now and then looking into the living room. Marty lowered his voice.
“Maggie, I hate to bother you, but something's been nagging at me and I need to ask you a question. Please understand....” He paused, one hand moving over the other in constant motion.
If Margaret didn't know him better, she’d think he was about to propose. It probably had something to do with Vince. He hadn’t been able to console her after the fire. He’d been such a mess himself, forced to take a leave of absence to recover from the loss of one of his men – and his best friend. She’d tried to keep a distant eye on him, asking others about him when she had the chance. He seemed to be doing well, except for a touch of insomnia. She leaned over, held his hand. “It's okay, Marty. Just say it.”
He squeezed her hand in return, then held on for a moment, cleared his throat and released her. He straightened the wrinkles on his pants.
“Marty. Out with it.”
He stared into her eyes. “I know this will sound kind of weird, but Sunday night, just before sunrise, I swear I saw you standing outside the fire house with someone.”
Slowly, very slowly, Margaret leaned back in her chair. Blood rushed from her face. He'd seen her. Just as she’d seen him. But none of it really happened.
Oh, God, please don’t do this to me .
She needed to stall. “You saw me where?”
Marty no longer looked tired. He leaned forward, scooting toward the edge of the cushion. He said, keeping his voice low, “The center of town, on the common. Early, before the sun even came up. I guess that’d be Monday morning, actually.”
He'd seen her. She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Bad. Very bad. He could confirm everything, including what the angel told her. Everyone on the planet was about to die. She’d have to build an ark, in the middle of the town square, find thirty people....
No , she thought. I won’t not accept that.
Unable to smooth the shaking in her voice she said, “Marty, you haven’t been sleeping, have you? You've lost weight, too.” She had to turn things around. She took the man's hand again. It felt limp. What Margaret said next she had to say, or everyone would die.... “Marty, I wasn't on the common, at least not Sunday night.” She looked away, hating herself, playing her part well. “I think the last time I was there was for the lighting of the trees before Christmas.”
Marty's expression fell to its original, weary look. She felt like an ass, wanted to scream, You were right! You weren't seeing things. I was there with an angel who’s been terrorizing me and saying horrible things!
The chief blushed, uncomfortable with the sudden silence between them. “Sounds dumb, doesn’t it? And you were - never mind... never mind.” He stood up and pulled his hand away from hers. “Sometimes I fall asleep and don’t realize it. Mostly I don't. Sleep I mean.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
He nodded. “Once a week, every Wednesday if I'm not needed at the station. Maybe I need a new one, though.”
“Why's that?”
Marty unconsciously rubbed his left arm. “No reason. Change of opinion, maybe. Do I look that bad?”
She laughed softly, felt dirty doing it. Faking it. “Yes. “
“Well, I'm glad you weren't there. It had to be a dream. How often does a giant boat spring up in the middle of town then just disappear?” He let his gaze linger a few seconds longer, then walked towards the door.
Margaret didn’t follow. The room was tilting too much.
“Good night, Margaret. It was nice to see you.”
She forced herself to look up and say, “You take care, Marty.”
The night was cool, flagstones slippery in the premature dew. Spring was here, no question. As long as Marty's back was to the house, he allowed himself a nervous smile. He might be losing his mind, but he couldn't miss her reaction. She was there the other night. Somehow, what he'd seen was real. Tonight's conversation wasn't complete proof, but coupled with other things he was starting to hear from people, it was enough for the moment. His chest tightened. He needed to see another doctor soon, but not for his insomnia. Sometime he wondered if he was deliberately letting himself fall apart, as if the world had already ended for him but he was too stubborn to realize it. Still, he needed to keep a closer watch on Margaret Carboneau. He didn't understand what was going on, but it was starting to feel very big.