This particular dream always began with a nighttime walk. He sensed that a building was behind him, but he never looked back. His focus was on the letter in his hand, a letter he’d written and was now going to deliver. He walked over dirt and patches of grass, heading straight to his destination. A house was nearby, but it was dark, every light long having been extinguished, every occupant sound asleep in their beds. No one would know what he’d done, and this idea pleased him. The letter was trifolded, light in his hand but heavy with meaning. He was eager for her to read it.
He found the tree, a mature hardwood with a trunk so thick he couldn’t have wrapped his arms around it. A small hollow slightly larger than a basketball had naturally formed in the trunk, and this was where his journey had led. He reached up and placed the letter inside the hollow, anchoring it with something metal already inside.
Dr. Jensen had asked him, “Who is the letter for?”
“It’s for her.” There was no need to explain. His dreams always centered on this woman, the one this man loved but whose face Joe himself never saw.
“What was in the letter?”
Joe had shaken his head. “I don’t know for sure, but I have the idea it’s important. He’s revealing something he would never tell anyone else.”
Dr. Jensen had tapped on the arm of his chair. “The man in the dream is you, Joe, your subconscious self. Next time you have the dream, tell yourself to read the letter, and maybe when you wake up, you’ll know what secret you’re holding back.”
Joe was skeptical but took his advice anyway. It didn’t help. The dreams were constant, the images and feelings always occurring in the same order, like rewinding a VHS tape and watching the same segment of a movie over and over again. He had no power over the dreams. If anything, it was the other way around.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
1983
The next morning, Kathleen decided her reaction to the nighttime whistling had been overly dramatic. The idea that Ricky could have tracked her down, traveled to Pullman, and then lurked near her house just waiting for her to come out was ludicrous. Add that to the middle-of-the-night timing, and it became even more far-fetched. Who would go to all that trouble and then hide in the bushes for hours just to whistle? The light of day put that silly idea to rest. Being able to attribute it to her own paranoia was a relief. In all honesty, she wasn’t sure what she’d heard. It could easily have been a bird. She didn’t know of one that made that particular sound, but that didn’t mean anything. Pullman was proving to be full of surprises.
Marcia had taken the morning off to go to the dentist, so when Joe arrived with another load from Pearl’s house, Kathleen was alone in the store. She put a sign on the front counter near the bell, asking customers to ring if they needed help, then went to help unload.
When he jumped out of the truck, his appearance rendered her speechless—jeans, a button-up shirt, suspenders, and a newsboy cap. Like he’d traveled to 1983 from some bygone era. “Good morning,” he called out, grinning. “I brought you some treasures.”
She stared, knowing she should answer but unable to form words. Good-looking men were considered handsome, and Joe was good-looking, but there was more to it than that. Without Marcia there to make her feel self-conscious, she was able to give him a more thorough once-over, now taking note of his tall, athletic build, friendly steel-gray eyes, and brilliant smile. He was unshaven, which only accentuated his strong jaw, and his hair, though not as long as that of many guys his age, covered his collar, waving slightly at the ends.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
His question brought her back to the moment. “What? I’m sorry. I’m just preoccupied.” She gestured. “Is this a new look for you?”
“Why, yes, it is.” He plucked the cap off his head and held it to his chest. “You were my inspiration, if you want to know the truth.”
She tried not to blush but felt the color rise to her cheeks anyway. “How so?”
“Your vintage clothing. I needed a hat to keep the sun off my face, and instead of buying one, I found this in one of the dressers in the house.” He thumbed the suspenders. “These were in there as well. The shirt, however, is mine. I never cared for it much before, but it seems to fit with the suspenders.”
“The whole thing suits you.”
“Thanks. It feels right,” he said, donning the cap once again.
“That’s how dressing this way makes me feel too,” she confided, smoothing down the front of her full skirt. “Like I stepped out of my old life and became someone else. Though still me, underneath it all, if that makes any sense.”