Only In My Dreams Read online

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

  Many thanks go to Jeffry Hepple of Elisco Publishing for his invaluable assistance in editing and proofing this work as well as the design of the cover.

  DEDICATION

  To Annalog, a wonderful forum friend with a good heart who inspired this story.

  Also by Margaret Lake

  Ariana's Pride

  Catherine and the Captain

  Of Love and War – A Novelette

  Copyright 2010; Margaret Lake, Jobree Publishing, all rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part (beyond that copying permitted by U.S. Copyright Law, Section 107, “fair use” in teaching or research. Section 108, certain library copying, or in published media by reviewers in limited excerpt), without written permission.

  ONLY IN MY DREAMS

  Delia Cummings lowered her bulk carefully into her easy chair and lifted her swollen feet onto the footstool. Dinner was finished and the kitchen tidied and now she could rest for awhile.

  Charlie was already resting, judging by the snores coming from the recliner. Used to be they'd sit and cuddle on the sofa after dinner, their feet entwined on the coffee table. Now they not only sat in separate chairs, it seemed like they led separate lives.

  When the babies started coming (three in five years), there had been no time to cuddle and she often wondered where they found the energy to make the fourth baby. As the kids grew a little older, they swore they would find that intimacy again, but it never happened.

  The kids were finally all in school and Delia went to work in the bakery to help out with the bills. It was only part-time, four hours a day so she'd be home when the kids came in from school. But then they needed to start saving for braces and college and never seemed to get ahead. She'd increased her hours to six a day and worked every other weekend as well. Added to that, there were doctor bills and Little League and prom dresses and sneakers that seemed to wear out every few months. Once, just once, she would have liked to go on a vacation where they weren't sleeping on some relative's pull-out sofa.

  At least Charlie never complained when he had to watch the kids on the Saturdays she worked. Delia had tried to make it up to him, cooking nice dinners on Sunday, shooing him off to play darts with the guys down at The Pub on Thursdays. She'd even scrimped and saved to get him that leather case filled with four sets of the best hammerhead darts and all the extras she bought him for Father's Day a few years ago so he would know how much she appreciated him.

  Charlie had just smiled his tired little smile, kissed her on the cheek and said, “Thanks, Dee.” He never even called her “Doll” anymore. That had been his pet name for her from the first day they met. Delia held onto her tears and smiled back, but she would always remember that as the moment she had given up on her marriage.

  It was after ten and she should have been in bed already. Tomorrow was her Saturday to work and she needed to be at the bakery early to ice and decorate the cakes. That was her specialty. She should be proud of her work, but it had become just another dull and boring task.

  She left Charlie to sleep away the night in the recliner. He'd be stiff in the morning, but it was Friday and he could work it out on the lawn tomorrow. Every summer he cared for that yard as it if were his baby. He watered, he fertilized, he mowed, and if a weed dare show it's ugly head, he made sure to pull it out carefully, roots and all.

  She had to admit she enjoyed the fresh vegetables he grew. They already had lettuce and spinach and luscious tomatoes would be ready soon. They never got to eat or even give away the whole crop. They had to share it with the woodchuck that came back every summer to take up residence in their shed.

  Charlie waged a mighty battle with the little critter every year, even trapping him one time and driving him fifty miles away to release him in the woods. He didn't know if the same woodchuck came back or another one took his place, but he had finally given up the battle and named him Herbie. It was little things like that that still warmed her heart and kept her at his side. That and habit.

  As she trudged up the stairs she thought, not for the first time, that maybe they should sell this big place and get a nice little condo. But Charlie would never agree to it. He needed his garden and his yard. Maybe, she thought wearily, he'd agree to one of those new bungalows they were building out by River Road. They had a little yard and he could plant his vegetables in containers on the patio. Something to think about, anyway.

  Long habit had her brushing her teeth and hair, tired as she was. Even though her hair was flecked with gray and she wore it short now, it was still thick and curly. There wasn't much else to admire, she thought ruefully. Twenty pounds overweight (thirty if she was honest with herself) and she dressed like it in a muu-muu and house slippers.

  Delia left the bathroom light on in case Charlie came to bed later on. She hoped he wouldn't. She needed her rest. Not that he'd want to have sex or anything. Not that she'd want it either. Sex had gotten to be a monthly chore, more like scratching an itch than anything else. They'd had a brief resurgence of lust after the last one went off to college, but then Charlie had to put in a lot of overtime to support three kids in school all at once. Good thing it was never all four of them at the same time.

  Maybe they should get twin beds. This old mattress needed replacing anyway. Come to think of it, she might just redo the whole room. This shabby old furniture had been ready for the dump a long time ago. Charlie kept fixing it, said it had plenty of wear yet, but they'd bought it nearly thirty years ago when they had first married.

  She was so tired. It didn't do any good to think about these things. She'd be better off going to sleep. Nothing would have changed by morning. She cleared her mind and drifted off.

  Delia didn't usually dream … she slept too heavily for that … but this night she dreamed of a man. She couldn't see his face. He was just an outline … a shadow in the moonlight. She could tell he was tall and muscular, but nothing beyond that. She was startled awake when he whispered her name.

  She lay still for a minute, frozen in place, her heart beating a bit faster than normal. When she felt Charlie turn over in the bed beside her, she felt a little better. Giving herself a mental shake, Delia vowed to read less of those romance novels with half-naked hotties on the cover. She didn't need those unreal men invading her dreams.

  * * *

  The next morning at the bakery, Delia did her job with only half her mind on what she was doing. She'd never had a dream like that, at least not one that she had remembered the next day. Was she secretly longing for Diego the Pirate or one of those kilted highlanders with muscular thighs?

  “Better face reality, Girl”, she admonished herself. “You're overweight, on the wrong side of fifty and you've got a thirtieth anniversary coming up. Better focus on the plans for that.”

  Delia went back to work, concentrating on her job. There were still several months to go before her thirtieth anniversary party, but it wasn't too early to start planning her own special cake. Should it be a sheet cake with two layers? Or maybe tiered like a bridal cake? She'd never had a cake like that for her wedding and it would be nice.

  By one o'clock, all the special orders had been picked up. Delia gave her work station a final scrub, then grabbed a box to pack up the pastries for Sunday breakfast. She didn't notice that instead of the baker's dozen she usually selected, she only took ten items.

  Delia called Charlie's name when she walked into the living room, but there was no answer. She went into the kitchen to put away the pastries, but he wasn't there either. Looked like he hadn't waited lunch for her, but then he usually didn't on Saturdays.

  It was when she started to arrange the pastries on a plate that she realized she'd shorted herself. She c
ounted them twice, but there was still only ten. Now there wouldn't be any turnovers left for Charlie's lunch. Delia made up her mind right then and there to see that Charlie got his pick first. She'd put the turnovers in the freezer now, and if Charlie asked about the missing Danish and cinnamon buns, she'd just tell him she'd had them for a snack.

  They usually followed the same routine every night; Charlie falling asleep in the recliner and Delia going up to bed early. The only exception was Saturday when they had dinner at The Pub. The “league widows” as they called themselves, enjoyed this time together to gossip and complain while their men threw darts as if the fate of the world hung in the balance.

  Sunday night, they were back in the pattern again and Delia had forgotten about her dream. By Wednesday, Delia was thoroughly put out. She'd had a bad day at work with cranky customers. There was a storm in the air and people were edgy. To top it all off, her boss slipped and twisted her ankle, leaving Delia to work late and close up.

  She hated having to start dinner as soon as she got home. Nothing was defrosted and she didn't want to give Charlie leftovers. Leftovers were for Fridays when his work week was done and he was more relaxed.

  Delia stopped to pick up Chinese, but there was a long line. By the time she left the restaurant, the storm had broken and naturally, her umbrella was in the car. She sloshed into the house, soaked to the skin. “Dinner in five minutes,” she told Charlie.

  He didn't say a word, just picked himself up from the recliner and took the bags out of her hands. She heard him pulling open the silverware drawer and knew he was serving the meal himself. For the thousandth time, she told herself how lucky she was to have such a considerate husband. For the thousandth time, in the dim recesses of her heart, she wished for something more.

  That night, not long after she had fallen asleep, she got her wish. There he was, standing at the end of the jetty. He was closer this time, but still she couldn't see his face. She could almost hear the waves popping and hissing against the sand and smell the salt air. The ocean breeze lifted the long strands of the stranger's hair, and now Delia knew one more thing. He had straight hair that swept back behind his ears and down to brush his shoulders.

  Once again, she heard her name whispered in that soft voice. Once again, she woke abruptly, eyes wide, unable to move a muscle. Once again, Charlie was beside her; soft, balding, boring Charlie. They'd hardly exchanged a dozen words all evening. About the only thing he said was thank you for dinner. The stranger hadn't done much better. He'd only said her name, but oh, how he'd said her name.

  Delia squirmed into a more comfortable position, determined to get back to sleep without waking Charlie. She hoped the stranger wouldn't come back into her dreams again. She needed her sleep. But she really did want to know more about him, she thought wistfully.

  The days went by, and it seemed like the bakery got busier every day. Delia couldn't even take the time for her usual mid-morning coffee and Danish. She had to do more and more of the work since her boss still had trouble getting around on her twisted ankle.

  For two weeks, Delia was too exhausted to dream. Heck, she was almost too tired to eat. It seemed when Friday came around, they had a lot more leftovers than usual. She was puzzled by it because, after so many years of cooking, she knew just how much to make. With a sigh, she scraped it all down the garbage disposal. Maybe Charlie was off his feed. If he didn't get back to normal soon, she'd nag him into a checkup.

  Delia's worry kept her awake for longer than usual, but when she finally fell asleep, her dream man was waiting for her. Her heart gave a tiny ping when she saw him. She hadn't realized she missed him. She wanted to move closer, but she was afraid if he saw her bulging out of her cotton nightgown, he would leave and never come back. And now she definitely wanted him to come back.

  She was able to see him better in the moonlight reflecting off the ocean. There was a narrow band around his forehead holding his hair back. She was sure he was wearing some kind of tight, black trousers, but his chest was bare. She thought his feet might be bare, too, but she couldn't be sure.

  Once again, he whispered her name, but this time, she expected it and didn't wake. Delia didn't want to call attention to herself, but she wanted to know more about this man who haunted her dreams and called her name so enticingly. “Who are you?” she managed.

  She could see his brilliant white teeth as he flashed her a smile and shook his head. He saluted her with one hand, then turned and walked away down the beach.

  * * *

  A month later, Delia decided it was time to take a day off and shop for something to wear to her anniversary party. She wanted to look her best, even though her best had never been much. The kids were spending a lot of money on this party, and she owed it to them.

  She thought she ought to go to Amy's House of Design (weddings and formal wear). to look for a cocktail suit. Something in silver to go with her gray eyes (and hair, she sighed).

  She was glad she'd taken the day off. The last thing she wanted to do was sit around on those flimsy chairs watching slender young things trying on bridal gowns.

  She recognized Amy from when she'd been there before with her daughter. Delia breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't have to deal with a perky little salesgirl who would call her ma'am, or worse, dear.

  Amy came over with a smile and called her by name. “Mrs. Cummings, how good to see you!”

  “Thank you, Amy. Please, call me Delia.”

  “Alright, Delia. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you.” Delia cleared her throat. She hated having to try on clothes. She hated seeing how dumpy she looked in front of those full-length mirrors. “I'm, um, looking for something suitable to wear to my thirtieth anniversary party. Nothing fancy, maybe something in gray or beige?”

  “Now why would you want something like that,” Amy admonished her. “It's a big day for you. Not many people can claim thirty years together.”

  “Well, I …,” Delia shrugged helplessly, not wanting to admit that she'd rather blend in with the wallpaper.

  “You just sit right in this comfy armchair while I get some things to show you,” Amy told her briskly. “Twelve petite, I think.”

  Before Delia could protest that she wore a fourteen, Amy left her to rummage through the racks in the back of the store. In a few minutes she returned with an armful of cocktail suits in deep rose, royal blue and emerald green. Delia's heart sank when she saw there wasn't a sign of any neutral colors.

  “Let's just see how these colors work for you before you try anything on.”

  Amy moved to the big picture window where the light was better and Delia had no choice but to follow. This was getting more and more embarrassing. Suppose somebody she knew walked by and saw her? Suppose a stranger walked by and saw this fat middle-aged woman trying to look elegant? Suppose the stranger couldn't help laughing at her?

  Amy held the green suit against Delia's face. “Hmm, no, I don't think so. Green makes you look too sallow.”

  “Don't you have anything in a pastel?” Delia asked timidly.

  “No, no, you don't want a pastel. Not with your dark hair. And you need a bold color to bring out your eyes,” Amy told her, holding up first the royal blue and then the rose pink.” Amy looked critically at the suits she had brought. “Here, you try these on. I have something else I want to show you.”

  Delia's heart sank when she saw Amy had given her size twelve to try on. Well, she'd just struggle into one of them and then show Amy she needed the fourteen.

  With a resigned sigh, Delia went into the dressing room and took off her slacks and blouse. She quickly pulled on the skirt so no one would see her plain, white underwear. To her surprise, the straight skirt slid smoothly over her hips and she was easily able to zip it up. Still, she didn't dare look into the mirror until she'd put on the jacket. Once it was buttoned, she took a breath and looked in the mirror.

  For once she didn't mind looking so much. The jacket was
slightly tailored so that it almost appeared that she had a waist. Not a small waist by any standard, but a waist nonetheless. The deep pink gave a hint of blush to her normally pale cheeks and put a sparkle in her eyes. Or maybe the sparkle came from the pleasure she felt when she realized she might look more than just presentable at the party.

  When Amy knocked on the door, Delia called to her to come in. She turned shyly so Amy could see how she looked.

  “Well, don't you look a treat!” Amy exclaimed, delighted at the difference the right clothes made for her customer. “I could tell right away that you had lost weight.”

  “Have I?” Delia asked. She peeked at herself in the mirror once more. Why hadn't she noticed before?

  Amy couldn't help but laugh at Delia's astonished face. “I brought a few more dresses for you to try on, but I think it might be too early for you to decide on anything right now. When is your anniversary?”

  “February first,” Delia replied absently, still looking in the mirror.

  “Then I wouldn't decide on anything right now. If you keep losing weight, nothing you buy now will fit.”

  “If I keep …?” Delia looked at Amy with blank eyes until what she'd said penetrated. “Oh, yes, I see what you mean.” For the first time, Delia smiled her sweet smile.

  “Why don't you try on the blue so I can see how the color looks on you. Then I can keep an eye out for something suitable in the best color.”

  Delia was almost reluctant to take off the rose cocktail suit, but at the same time couldn't wait to try on the blue. This one was even better.

  “See what that color does for your eyes?” Amy asked.

  “Yes, they do look different, don't they.” For too many years, Delia had worn dull colors, hoping no one would notice her bulk if she blended into the background. Now she remembered how she had always loved bright colors when she was young. Maybe it was time for a change. Nothing too drastic; maybe just a pastel pink or blue blouse.