be able to bless others with her gift. At least all those years of study wouldn’t go completely to waste.
She ignored the tightness in her chest as she readied herself for bed and slid beneath the heavy quilt. When she turned off the light, strains of music flowed through her head, as they had done since she was a girl. Waltzes, concertos, sonatas. But tonightshe refused to let the music she’d worked so hard to learn lull her to sleep. That kind of music was forever denied to her. With his final breaths, Robert had whispered that God would not take her music away from her, but that was only the wish of a dying man. One God hadn’t seen fit to grant.
Why, God? Why did you let this happen to me?
A heavy silence met her unspoken question.
Fumbling blindly in the dark, Jill opened the drawer on her nightstand and felt inside for the bottle of sleeping pills. She hadn’t taken one in months, but the doctor had prescribed them for nights like this, when her thoughts refused to be tamed.
A weight pressed on her chest …
Jill sat straight up in bed, heart thundering in her throat. She struggled to draw breath into uncooperative lungs. The sound of her gasping attempts filled the dark bedroom, like someone choking on a sip of water that had gone down the wrong way.
I’m having a panic attack. Can’t breathe. I’ve got to relax.
She forced herself to focus on tactile details of her immediate surroundings — the soft mattress beneath her, the chill of the air in the room, the warmth of the quilt, the comforting scent of the salty Atlantic that permeated every room in the house. Before long her lungs relaxed and she was able to inhale deep, wonderful breaths of oxygen.
When her breathing returned to something that resembled normal, she slipped out of bed and stumbled through the dark apartment to the kitchen. A drink of water, that’s what she needed. Something to soothe her raw, burning throat.
Green numbers glowed from the clock on the microwave.Four twenty-three. She filled a glass with tap water and gulped it down, not even caring that it was lukewarm.
Was it normal to have a panic attack while sleeping? It had never happened before. What set it off?
She set her glass in the dish drainer and leaned against the counter. A dream. Yes, she remembered now. She’d had a dream, something about …
A disaster. Large-scale and devastating. A disaster in Seaside Cove. Her pulse picked up speed again.
It was just a dream. Forget it. No need to panic.
But she couldn’t forget it. What kind of disaster? An earthquake, maybe? Or a fire? She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to recall the details. Tried, and failed. All that remained was a sense of urgency that suddenly gripped her like a fist, and a crazy idea that became more insistent with every passing moment. This was more than just a dream. She knew it.
She dreaded the thought, but she had to warn the people of Seaside Cove.
Chapter 5
Friday, November 25
“I don’t know, Greg.” Bob Carmichael stirred slow circles in his coffee, his free arm draped across the empty straight-backed chair beside him. “I hate to say it, but Samuels has a point. The Cove can’t afford all these expensive renovations you’re talking about.”
Greg sopped up the last bite of egg with a corner of wheat toast and bit into it to give himself time to formulate his response. He and Bob had attended the same church since Greg first moved to town, and Greg had handled some minor legal affairs for him over the years. The news that Bob was leaning toward supporting Samuels’s reelection bid had come as a surprise. He’d been counting on Bob’s support.
The small dining room of The Wharf Café was almost deserted this morning. The owner and cook, Rowena Mitchell, worked the grill behind the counter by herself. The sizzle of bacon frying vied with a fifties’ tune coming from a boom box tucked up on a high shelf beside an old-fashioned metal canister set. Rowena’s off-key hum
She ignored the tightness in her chest as she readied herself for bed and slid beneath the heavy quilt. When she turned off the light, strains of music flowed through her head, as they had done since she was a girl. Waltzes, concertos, sonatas. But tonightshe refused to let the music she’d worked so hard to learn lull her to sleep. That kind of music was forever denied to her. With his final breaths, Robert had whispered that God would not take her music away from her, but that was only the wish of a dying man. One God hadn’t seen fit to grant.
Why, God? Why did you let this happen to me?
A heavy silence met her unspoken question.
Fumbling blindly in the dark, Jill opened the drawer on her nightstand and felt inside for the bottle of sleeping pills. She hadn’t taken one in months, but the doctor had prescribed them for nights like this, when her thoughts refused to be tamed.
A weight pressed on her chest …
Jill sat straight up in bed, heart thundering in her throat. She struggled to draw breath into uncooperative lungs. The sound of her gasping attempts filled the dark bedroom, like someone choking on a sip of water that had gone down the wrong way.
I’m having a panic attack. Can’t breathe. I’ve got to relax.
She forced herself to focus on tactile details of her immediate surroundings — the soft mattress beneath her, the chill of the air in the room, the warmth of the quilt, the comforting scent of the salty Atlantic that permeated every room in the house. Before long her lungs relaxed and she was able to inhale deep, wonderful breaths of oxygen.
When her breathing returned to something that resembled normal, she slipped out of bed and stumbled through the dark apartment to the kitchen. A drink of water, that’s what she needed. Something to soothe her raw, burning throat.
Green numbers glowed from the clock on the microwave.Four twenty-three. She filled a glass with tap water and gulped it down, not even caring that it was lukewarm.
Was it normal to have a panic attack while sleeping? It had never happened before. What set it off?
She set her glass in the dish drainer and leaned against the counter. A dream. Yes, she remembered now. She’d had a dream, something about …
A disaster. Large-scale and devastating. A disaster in Seaside Cove. Her pulse picked up speed again.
It was just a dream. Forget it. No need to panic.
But she couldn’t forget it. What kind of disaster? An earthquake, maybe? Or a fire? She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to recall the details. Tried, and failed. All that remained was a sense of urgency that suddenly gripped her like a fist, and a crazy idea that became more insistent with every passing moment. This was more than just a dream. She knew it.
She dreaded the thought, but she had to warn the people of Seaside Cove.
Chapter 5
Friday, November 25
“I don’t know, Greg.” Bob Carmichael stirred slow circles in his coffee, his free arm draped across the empty straight-backed chair beside him. “I hate to say it, but Samuels has a point. The Cove can’t afford all these expensive renovations you’re talking about.”
Greg sopped up the last bite of egg with a corner of wheat toast and bit into it to give himself time to formulate his response. He and Bob had attended the same church since Greg first moved to town, and Greg had handled some minor legal affairs for him over the years. The news that Bob was leaning toward supporting Samuels’s reelection bid had come as a surprise. He’d been counting on Bob’s support.
The small dining room of The Wharf Café was almost deserted this morning. The owner and cook, Rowena Mitchell, worked the grill behind the counter by herself. The sizzle of bacon frying vied with a fifties’ tune coming from a boom box tucked up on a high shelf beside an old-fashioned metal canister set. Rowena’s off-key hum
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