First Love Only Love (The Life 2)

“What dream? What are you talking about?”

“When I was little, right after mom passed away, she came to me in a dream. It’s as if she was trying to warn me about Becky. I don’t remember it all, and if not for her scent.” She lifted her wrist to her nose. “I probably wouldn’t have thought of it now either.”

Something in her words, her tone maybe, struck a chord. “Tell me what you remember.”

“Not much, just that she was calling out to me, trying to tell me something, which I could never seem to hear or understand, but I think we always got interrupted somehow. It felt so real, though, that I remember, and it scared me for a long time. I think I had the same dream more than once too.”

As someone who’s studied the classics from every civilization that kept records, I know some societies placed great store in repetitious dreams. Are you in the habit of having dreams like that?”

“Not for a while, and the only one I remember is this one time we were supposed to go somewhere, but the night before, I had this awful dream and tried talking mom out of going.”

“As the story goes, I kicked up a fuss and hid in the closet, delaying the time we were supposed to leave, which she was not pleased about at the time. There was an accident on the highway we would’ve taken at the time we would’ve been there, a lot of people died. Mom bought me my favorite ice cream that day and let me do whatever I want.” She got a wan smile on her face.

“Maybe your mom came to know the real Becky before she died and knew she wasn’t a true friend; that’s why she came to warn you in the dream.” She looked pensive as if giving my words some thought.

“Maybe, but when I think of it now, I think there was more to it. I can still remember the urgency I felt coming from mom. That part has stuck with me. I just don’t recall much of anything about the dream now.”

She had no idea that while she talked, my mind was compartmentalizing her words, moving things around to form the picture that made the most sense. I listened to her try to make sense of her fucked up childhood without much luck, each word adding another stab of the knife I have aimed at the heart of Rebecca Fontane.

“Maybe it’s because of that dream that I’ve never been able to open up to Becky, never been able to trust her or accept her, let her in. And I guess it put a damper on whatever relationship we might’ve had going forward, and it showed. Though I learned to keep my true feelings hidden over time, she just never forgave me for the way I acted in the beginning, I guess.”

“You were a child; she’s an adult. Don’t start making excuses for her.” It’ll only piss me off.

“Do you remember anyone else that was close to your mom?”

“Most of the women in the neighborhood were. We used to have playdates at least twice a week. It’s just that after mom passed and dad married Becky, they didn’t come around as much, and then after a while, not at all.”

“How did their daughters suddenly become Victoria’s friends and not yours?”

“I’ve never been quite sure of that. I just know she made up some lie, and things went downhill from there. She started doing all the things with them I used to, like dance and gymnastics, but somehow, she and Becky would always make it to where I no longer felt welcome. When she started making everything into a competition between us, I chose to back off; it was easier that way.” She shrugged unconcernedly, but I knew she was anything but.

She lifted a brush I hadn’t noticed to her hair and started brushing. I followed the movement of her hand for a while, almost mesmerized. I wasn’t aware of moving until I found myself standing behind the chair, taking the brush from her hand. She purred like a kitten by the tenth brushstroke, and the sound stopped me in my tracks.

I carried on playing in her hair more than actually brushing it, fascinated by the feel and touch of it as it played across the backs of my hands and slid through my fingers. The room was still except for the sound of brush bristles gliding through silk.

I don’t know how much time had passed before my arm grew tired, and a look at the clock showed that it was well past midnight; I’d been at it for hours. What’s more, she was fast asleep in the chair, a pleasurable half-smile on her lips.

I didn’t think twice before lifting her and taking her to my bed, making sure she was settled beneath the covers before going to take my midnight shower. She was still snuggled in neatly when I climbed into bed beside her, properly decent in a pair of hated pajama bottoms.