Unexpected Grace - Chapter 3

Andy woke with a gasp, half sitting up in bed, grabbing the edge of the mattress as she rose. Seconds later, a clap of thunder sounded outside, rattling the windows and setting her heart racing more than it already was. She hated thunder. It reminded her of all those storms that tore through the Ohio valley when she was a kid with an occasional tornado slipping through to terrorize the city.

She fell back with an exhausted sigh only to find her pillow drenched for the third time this week. Flipping the pillow over, nuzzling into the cool surface, she wiped the tears from her face in exasperation, saying to herself, What the hell? This dream is making me absolutely bonkers. She knew she had to deal with this damn dream. She'd been avoiding taking the time to sit down and write her way through it in her journal.

"Yeah, which is exactly why it keeps coming back. How thrilled am I to look this stuff in the eye?….not!" , she said aloud as she burrowed in to the warmth of the covers, pulling them over her head, not wanting to face another gray, rainy day in New York. Normally, she was one who, once awake, bounded out of bed, looking forward to the day. It used to drive Nate crazy. He had been a slow starter, wanting to take his time in moving into his daily routine.

Nate had moved out while she was in Paris, preparing for his move to Boston and a new position. She had visited him there only once. That part of her life was over. They had grown away from the college sweethearts they once were and the individuals they were becoming did not mesh. Different interests, different jobs, different expectations from life, all contributed to the demise of their relationship.

Andy was grateful for what they had had and how important they had been to each other. She knew that Nate had not been the great passion of her life. They had fallen deeply into like, called it love and had stayed together out of habit. She regretted that she could not have been clearer sooner and more honest with herself and with Nate.

She had become fed up with his constant snarky criticisms about her job and in particular, about Miranda. Andy had not understood his hatred of her boss. It seemed completely out of proportion to the reality of her job as Miranda's assistant. But the whole situation with Nate leaned on her guilt buttons and like so many other women; she had thought she could make it all balance. It was Nate who ended it finally, calling her to task for her inability to claim the choices she had made. She hoped that with time, they could be true friends again, after the last resentments faded.

Andy lifted a hand and gently stroked the pillow on the opposite side of the bed, a little wistfully. As much as she was glad of the change, she missed waking in the arms of a lover, coming into full consciousness surrounded by the warmth of another. She still slept on just one side of the bed, unable to claim the middle.

The bed was her pride and joy and her first major, new purchase. She and her friend, Lily had wrestled it up the stairs to its final resting place by themselves. Panting, they had fallen flat on their backs on the mattress after finally letting it drop into place.

Andy had laughingly teased Lily. "You're the first woman I've had in this bed."

Lily lifted an eyebrow and said with dead seriousness, "Dream on, baby! I'm no notch in your headboard. You'll have to wait until one of those lovelies you've been eyeing helps you break this in." Unable to keep a straight face, she poked Andy in the ribs and grinned, the years falling away like they were 13 again, sharing secrets at a sleep over.

Andy's jaw dropped as she realized her oldest friend knew what she had been struggling to tell her for quite a while. Tentatively, she asked, "Lil, how…..how did you know? Is it that obvious?"

Lily rolled to her side, laughing, and looked her in the eye with a gentle smile. "Andy-love, I've been watching your head whip around for the last few months whenever a pretty woman walks by. And when one of them smiles back? Well,….. I'm surprised you haven't run into a tree yet! And what's with that older woman thing you got going on there? It's like Earth to Andy time then."

Andy blushed and stared at the suddenly very interesting ceiling, wondering how the conversation had gotten to this point. Turning her head back to look at Lily, she said quietly, "I can't answer that. I don't know myself… it's just there."

Lily gently reached over and cupped Andy's cheek, saying, "I just want to see you happy, woman. I love you like a sister and that's what love is, wanting the best for those we care about. Whoever you find, just don't let her break that wonderful heart of yours."

Andy, overcome and almost wordless, simply threaded her fingers through Lily's and whispered, "Thank you."

Lily squeezed her fingers in return and then smirked."Ya might want to do something about that cougar hunting tattoo on your forehead though? Subtle much?"

"Huh?" Andy quickly let go and raised her fingers to stroke her forehead, before realizing she was being teased. Lily dissolved in laughter as Andy got it and gave her a quick, snappy little punch to her shoulder, exclaiming, " You!"

Now, the bed took up most of the room, clothed with the highest count linens she could afford, lush pillows and a cloud of a duvet. The mattress sat on a simple box frame close to the floor. It had been her haven until the dream started to destroy her nightly peace.

Throwing off the covers, Andy rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed. She grabbed the worn, long sleeved t-shirt and sweats lying where she had tossed them and pulled them on over her lanky, naked and suddenly goose-bumped self as the cool of the room hit bed-warmed skin. Grabbing the duvet, her feet searched for slippers hidden beneath the bed to no avail. She dropped to her knees blindly reaching for them. A few dust bunnies, who had taken up residence when Nate's compulsive obsessive cleaning became a thing of the past, skittered away from her groping fingers.

Giving up, she rose and blearily padded barefoot into the bathroom. She flushed the toilet, the old pipes knocking in the building as they fought with gravity. She glanced longingly at the long claw foot tub with its overhead shower. Clean could wait for now.

She eyed herself in the mirror. Disheveled, long, thick, dark brown hair hung down past her shoulder blades and framed a slightly elven face of balanced features with generous, full lips that smiled easily and pale flawless skin. Arched eyebrows framed her eyes, accented by thick dark lashes. Her most expressive feature, her eyes were a dark, honeyed brown with golden orange streaks that unveiled when the pupils dilated. The graceful nose wrinkled as she frowned, taking in the shadowy circles of fatigue under her eyes. A careful index finger traced those dark invaders with concern. She eyed her somewhat sparse collection of makeup, glad she still had enough concealer for a few more days.

Andy washed her hands and finger combed her hair, attempting to restore some order to the unruly mass. Drops of water splashed on the thin t-shirt. She had an immediate flash back to the dream and that wet tunic clinging to cold skin as she stared at the silver-haired woman on the top of that cliff. Staring into her own eyes in the mirror, lost in that vision, her hands slowly drifted down her body, tracing her clavicles, palms smoothing down over her upper chest, fingers spreading over full breasts, nipples gathered into pebbled peaks with the press of soft cotton and down across a flat abdomen, tracing the center line of her torso. A wave of desire caught her unawares as her hips flexed toward the coolness of the sink involuntarily. A quick inhale yanked her back to the present and she muttered, "What the hell?" as she shook her head to clear it, letting her hands fall to her sides. She quickly turned and made her way through the door, entering the main room.

She shivered, pulling the duvet closer around her, tucking locks of hair behind her ears as stray strands kept falling in her eyes. She fervently wished the landlord would turn up the heat just a little bit more. As if in response, she heard the clunk of the old radiators as they came to life. Andy could hear the faint hiss of steam leaking from where they sat under one of the front windows and in the kitchen.

She let herself fall on the huge old leather couch that Lily had scrounged for her when the gallery she worked for redecorated. Tucking her feet beneath her, and wrapped in the duvet, she scanned the room. She had picked up pieces of furniture from thrift stores, replacing what Nate had taken, finding an eclectic blend of '50's style retro, antiques and a few modern pieces that she loved. The colors were earthy and peaceful, warming the small apartment. The walls were covered with old movie posters adding pops of color and cheery notes. Small pillows added additional bites of color in burgundy and an electric green.

Subtle lighting created focus in various areas, breaking up the uniformity of the wide open space. Natural light warmed the window seat that was her favorite reading and contemplation spot. Warm but scarred hardwoods gleamed in the light that poured in on a sunny day. For now, rain dripped down those same windows blurring the world outside. Muted city noise drifted up through the wavy glass panes.

Andy came home gratefully every day to this cozy nest she had created. At first, she had panicked when Nate deserted her, scared of how she would ever be able to cope on her own. But the financial security of a new job assuaged her fears. This was the very first place that was all her own. It was worth every penny she sacrificed to keep it.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, Andy stood and headed toward the kitchen. Nate had left with almost everything but at least she had a coffee maker, a toaster and a battered frig and stove that worked. She hit the switch on the coffee machine, already set up from the night before, and watched it drip, contemplating old sayings about watched pots.

Inhaling the rich aroma of espresso, she poured a mug full, added cream and grabbed the muffin she had bought from the little natural foods store on the corner. She picked up her journal and a favored pen and headed to the window sea, duvet in tow. As she passed her desk, she hit a button and a playlist of her favorite singer-songwriters came on at a low volume.

Curling into a corner of the window seat, she took a few tentative bites of the muffin and then put it aside, her appetite having disappeared. Holding the mug in her hands, she inhaled the steam, then sipped and swallowed with a little hum of pure pleasure. Setting the mug on the windowsill, she lifted the pen, bringing it to her lips, abstractedly chewing on the end. Opening the journal in her lap, she led her thoughts wander.

The dream had started about 6 months ago seemingly out of nowhere. At first, it came to her only once a month or so and she woke with just a vague sense of unease and faint remembrances of blurred images. Then it started to occur more often, coming once a week until now when it was becoming a daily occurrence. She felt stalked at this point and almost afraid to sleep as she remembered more and more of the details. It was so very vivid; it felt like she had lived it, more a memory than a dream. And that wisp of music teased her as she strained to remember it clearly.

Though the images, sounds and physical sensations haunted her, it was the emotional impact it evoked that was so crushing. The intensity of the dream was frightening and puzzling. She woke feeling she had suffered the most absolute loss, something that went so deep and was so impossible to reclaim. And with it, there was the heart wrenching desperate feeling of total rejection. Telling herself over and over again, It's just a dream, just a dream... did not help ease the pain, though she repeated it like a mantra. Waking up with Miranda's name on her lips felt like ripping a scab off a cut over and over again.

This had to stop. It was affecting her job. In the nine months she had been at the Mirror, she had proved her skills and dedication as a journalist. Her editor was moving her towards more interesting and independent stories. He had been particularly impressed by her ability to interview her subjects. Her warm, observant, listening presence opened up a level of comfort and trust in people that few reporters seemed to be able to accomplish. Her writing style was relational and invited the reader into her experience and vision of the information, the stories and the people she reported on. It was a rare talent that she had.

But falling asleep at her desk yesterday was just not the way to go. Her editor ordered her home out of concern for the fatigue and changes he was seeing over the last month. He instructed her to take a few days and get over this bug or whatever it was that she was struggling with. She had tried to convince him that she was fine. He adamantly refused her excuses and sent her home. It was why she was home this morning oversleeping on this rainy day.

Hammering things out on her computer keyboard might help but she preferred the tactile feel of ink on paper as much as the kinetic energy of physically writing. She paused and absently caressed the textured paper through her thumb and index finger. She stopped abruptly as she suddenly remember watching Miranda make that exact same motion as she unconsciously smoothed the clothes of the model during a run through.

Angrily, she started to write, the words scorching the page. The scratch of the pen on paper was loud in the room.

This is really starting to piss me off…