Lingering
The days had turned sweltering and the heavy air laid low the inhabitants of Poplar. Things seemed to move more slowly than usual and not even the breeze from the river brought relief. Timothy had taken to camping out on the living room floor and the inhabitants of the Turner household tossed and turned at bedtime even though every window remained open. Once asleep, Patrick seemed to be able to snore his way through just about anything, a habit picked up during his days as a medical student and Timothy, having inherited his father's luck also stayed asleep. The Turner girls did not fare quite so well, Angela fretted through much of the night and Shelagh found that she could only stay asleep for short periods before the sound of Angela mewling or the heat woke her up again.
It was after midnight when Angela finally quieted down and Shelagh heaved a heavy sigh and turned over again. The prickly heat and thick air mixed with her lack of sleep made her irritated and as the house settled down, she found she could focus on nothing but the sickening pounding in her temples. She shifted again and tried to calm her tired mind. A measured breath in, one of the same length out, she willed the wrinkle between her eyebrows to relax, tried to calm the angry rumbling of the muscles in her neck and her forehead. In, out, in...out...in...out...in...and she knew immediately where she was. Their front hall and she was wearing a coat but it was also so hot. So hot. She couldn't take it off, the coat, something about the buttons just wouldn't work right and when she turned to the hall mirror she wasn't wearing her coat at all but her habit. She could feel the heavy fabric covering her head, her neck, the scratchy stockings on her legs. She looked down and now she was in her wedding dress but this wasn't her dress, this dress felt so heavy and wet and the long skirt tangled around her legs as she tried to wrench her arms out of the sleeves or twist herself so that she could unbutton the delicate buttons that she knew ran down the back. It was so hot. Her heart started to pound, sluggish and heavy, something was happening. She tried frantically to gather the yards of material in her hands but she couldn't free her legs and feet to move. Something was happening that she had to stop, had to fix. She just knew it. She struggled to get out of the hallway. She heard a noise, a thump? The hall floor seemed to be made of tar or deep sand and she felt a scream rise in her throat as she struggled to lift her feet. Gasping, heart still pounding, she dragged her way to the doorway into the living room. Her arms, hands clinging to the door frame, started to shake as she began to lift her head, terrified of what she might see yet always knowing what lay ahead of her. Now she was in her grey cardigan and blue and green flowered dress. Her stomach lurched, she had been here before. No, no, no. She didn't want to look but there was a flash and he was in front of her, deathly pale with a slight tinge of green. Another flash and she was back out in the hall, far away and unable to reach him. Flash. Her boy, whimpering with his listless brown eyes. Flash. Back to the hallway and try as she might her legs wouldn't move. She felt it again, the scream rising in her throat but no sound came out. The word, so clear in her brain, wouldn't form on her tongue. She tried to mold her mouth into each of the letters, each separate syllable. Tim-o-thy. T-t-t-t-t. Nothing. Another thud. Impossibly, her heart pounded harder and faster as she fought to move and tried to make the word. It was so important that she call him, that she reach him. In her head, she bellowed his name. her throat ached with not saying it. Timothy, Timothy. Then a loud, sharp crack and she shot up in bed, shaking and gasping in air.
Lightning blazed across the sky, illuminating the bedroom in terrifying clarity and the thunder cracked overhead as a blessed cool breeze swept through the room. Angela started to wail and without comment, Patrick blinked himself out of sleep, got up, and reached into her cot. "Shhhh now, angel girl. It's just a storm. You're alright, everything's alright." He gently paced back and forth as her wails turned to sniffles and it was then he turned and saw Shelagh, still sitting stock still with her hand covering her pounding heart. "Shelagh?" Lighting arched across the sky and thunder crackled again. "I-I'm fine. I just had a nightmare." She shook her head, "I'm fine, really."
Another flash and loud clap of thunder and the bedroom door burst open, causing both Turner parents to jump. In one swift movement, Timothy jumped over Angela's cot and dove onto the bed, covering his head with his hands. He said something, muffled by the duvet. Shelagh patted his shoulder and he shifted to look up at her from under his arms. "The noise really scared me, Mum." She could see how he tensed as the room lit up again, this time though, the thunder rumbled as the storm moved away. Angela had quieted and Patrick settled her back into her cot before climbing back into bed. The night had cooled and Shelagh continued to rub slow circles across Timothy's back as he calmed and started to drift off to sleep. "It's alright dearest, that was a fierce one, wasn't it? It's alright now. We're all just fine." She looked up to see Patrick watching her. He leaned over their sleeping boy and kissed her on her forehead, which had miraculously stopped pounding. He leaned back, took in the sight of their two children, and looked back at her. "You're right," he said, his gaze shaking off the remnants of her nightmare, "we're all just fine."