Maui Time by Rohn Alice Federbush

Author:Rohn Alice Federbush [Federbush, Rohn Alice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Arson; mysterious deaths; a ban of bastard brothers; romance
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Published: 2022-08-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Two hours later, I woke Clay with my screams for help.

He rushed into my room.

I was sitting straight up in the bed with my own hands around my throat. I couldn’t stop screaming.

“A nightmare,” Clay repeated again and again as he gently removed my hands from my throat. “You’re having a nightmare.”

I clung to him. “Don’t leave me.”

“Let me at least bring you a bottle of water.” He made a swift trip to the hotel’s mini bar.

I drank half the bottle with one hand, holding onto his T-shirt with my other hand. The cool water put out the raspy fire in my throat.

Clay reached to turn on the bedside table lamp.

“No,” I said, feeling too embarrassed by my childish terrors to be seen.

He tried to cover me, but I hung onto him.

“Please. I’ll be good,” I pleaded.

I meant I knew we were both in the same bed. “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.”

Clay laid down beside me and I nestled into his strong arms.

“Just talk to me,” I said, still holding onto his thumb. I feared the memory of whatever caused those non-stop screams might return.

“Whatever makes you happy,” he said. “Did you want to talk about your dream?”

“No.” I could feel the panic returning.

In order to resume some semblance of mature sanity, I confessed, “When I get angry,” I said, “I withdraw into a shell. My soul assumes a fetal position.”

He held me closer. “Angry in the dream?”

“My dad over-indulged me,” I said, cuddling closer, hoping he would stop asking about the damn nightmare.

“I would give anything to make you proud of me,” Clay said.

“I love you,” I said, exhaling a deep sigh, admitting my feelings.

Proud? I was not proud of Clay. Not that I was not thankful he was in my life. I did not feel personal pride in the fact that he was next to me in bed, or helping solve the case. I was paying him wages for that.

But I listened. He wanted me to be proud of him, besides loving him.

“The emotion of pride does not register in my relationship with my father.” I tried to explain that pride was not an element of love. Was it?

Clay’s muscles holding onto me relaxed.

“Mother says my best quality is integrity and compassion for others.”

“I wish I could remember any of my mother’s words,” I said sadly. “I think one of the reasons I can’t leave a store without buying too much is that I’m trying to fill the hole my mother left by dying, abandoning me on earth.”

“Can I tell you my worst nightmare?” Clay asked.

“You may,” I said, remembering Marcus Aurelius’ instructions for correcting grammar.

“I’m ten and I awake at a noise, not the sea.” Clay quickly launched into his dream. “They say I was big for my age.” He changed position, rolling on his back and letting go of poor me.

“Mother’s bedroom door is locked,”—his voice regressed to a much younger tone—“but I can hear subtle noises, whispers, hushes.”

My own nightmare left the room like dust in the wind.

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