The Problem with Dreams

Chapter 43 - Talking it Over

Susan and Matt arrived home at the new house by mid-afternoon on the first Saturday in November, even earlier than promised, on that first weekend after they moved in.

"Hello?" Susan called as they entered the house.

"I'm in here, Mama," Jessie called, running up the stairs to greet them.

"Where is everyone?" Susan asked curiously.

"Zackary is doing his homework and Papa is taking a nap. I'm drawing a picture in my room," Jessie reported.

"When did Papa go for his nap?" Susan asked curiously.

"After we got home from Rabbi Sloane's Temple," Jessie told her.

Susan glanced at the clock and frowned.

"That was nearly two and a half hours ago. Maybe I should go check on him," she commented.

"I think maybe I'll go do my homework with Zack," Matt said. "Is he in his room?"

"No. He's at the kitchen table," Jessie said.

"Cool," Matt said and he went to get his backpack.

"Do you want to see my picture, Mama?" Jessie asked.

"In a little while, Jessie. Let me make sure Papa's all right first, okay?" Susan said.

"Okay," Jessie said and she returned to her room.

Susan went through the library on her way to the master bedroom, thinking of some of the small tables she'd seen at the furniture store that she thought would be perfect for the room. She'd also seen some chairs she thought they might consider and she intended to tell Greg about them, but the idea that he was still asleep in the middle of the afternoon pushed the idea from her mind. Somewhere in the back of her mind hovered the thought that maybe he'd caught Zackary's bug and was becoming ill. And so it was with a hint of concern, Susan went to look for him.

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Susan entered the master bedroom expecting to see Greg there, stretched out on their bed, but the bed was empty. She scanned the dimly lit room and spotted the slightly ajar door leading to the sunroom they intended to use for the nursery. On a hunch, she went through it, and sure enough she found Greg standing in the middle of the room facing the view of the ocean, his prayer shawl over his head, fervently praying. The passion in his voice was enough to cause her to creep out again backwards, not wanting to disturb him.

"Susan, don't go." Greg's voice abruptly changed from the rhythmical cadence of the Hebrew prayer to the abrupt staccato of his request.

Susan stopped. The sharpness of his tone sounded like a command. It was a tone she hadn't known him to use since those days on the island when they relied on one another for their very survival. Those days were long passed, well behind them, and yet the automatic panic she felt at that tone in his voice hadn't changed. She froze where she was, her expression one of startled surprise, one she hadn't quite replaced by a calmer one by the time Greg turned around.

"What is it?" she asked with fear in her tone.

Greg took in her frightened expression.

"I'm sorry. That came out sharper than I intended it to," he told her. "I didn't mean to alarm you."

Susan nodded. "But there is something wrong," she guessed.

"I ... I am not sure," he told her honestly. "I need to talk to you, Susan. I need to understand, but I don't quite know how to do that. And so I have been asking the Lord."