This morning, she’d awakened to her own scream. It stirred the bedroom shadows and the dead men’s whispers, as the faraway cry of a newborn threaded through her heart.
At forty-two, the onset of menopause should be expected, Nora decided harshly, as she’d fought to escape her nightmares. But did it have to be so damned tiring and upsetting?
As she prepared a tray of tea, milk and cookies for the young woman and child, Nora shook her head. She tried to erase the childhood habit of cursing. She’d tried to erase those bad years that crept back to slide beneath her protective emotional doors.READ MORE
Why did the soft hours have to tangle around her and bring so much pain? She would have been just fine, if she hadn’t awakened to her own terrified scream. With effort, she’d pushed back the lurking nightmare, the dead men reaching for her, and settled in to think about the here-and-now.
Jessie thought a good cup of tea solved most problems, and Nora took down the big teapot. As usual, she filled it with hot water to warm the brown glazed pottery, and then she filled the tea strainer with dried peppermint leaves.
She had to get out of this mood. She would work hard to keep the dead men from whispering and her baby boy from calling to her.
Nora automatically filled the hot water kettle and placed it on the burner to heat, but her mind was on the baby she’d given away at fourteen.
Would he always call to her? Did that mean he ached for his mother, too?COLLAPSE