Dreaming

Chapter Four

It's been two days. Each night Will has appeared. The encounters are usually the same. I wake to find him in our room and he lies with me. I answer his questions, though he doesn't want to answer mine. I told him of my excessive cleaning, my excessive drinking and my excessive guilt.
He especially doesn't like to hear about the third one.
But then after a few minutes I am overcome with exhaustion and fall asleep. There could be worse ways to fall asleep, I suppose.

The bruise on my back had erupted an excitement in me. If a physical indication was not evidence that these were not hallucinations or extreme dreaming, then I do not know what was.

I had an appointment today with my therapist. I tell him I have been doing much better. He says I look better and I smile. He tells me he is glad that I am healing. I don't tell him the reason for my drastic improvement, of course. I don't know if Will would be able to visit if I were in a mental ward, so I keep him and our encounters a secret.

When I return from the therapist, I find myself feeling completely lethargic. It isn't even noon and I feel an extreme tiredness, as if I had just spent twelve consecutive hours running in the sun. The previous days had been the same. But yet if I lie down for a quick nap, I cannot fall asleep. It's a mental tired as opposed to a physical exhaustion. I decide that the microwave meals have contributed to it and its time now that I get back into cooking.

I lie down on the sofa and watch several hours of television simply to pass the time. Lying down certainly helps and by four o'clock, I feel energised enough to get some groceries. I pick up several bottles of wine while I'm there.

On my drive home I receive a call from my sister who declares that she is on her way and that she hopes I'm decent. I am hesitant. My sister would undoubtedly stay late and that time could be better spent with Will. I try to refuse, explaining that I had work the following day (I didn't), and also complaining of not feeling well and that I was too sick to even get out of bed. But as I pulled into my driveway I found her standing beside her parked car, eying me smugly.

"You're a fucking liar," she exclaims, though she is smiling.
I retrieve the groceries guiltily and let us through the front door.
Sensing my culpability my sister adds, "dude, it's fine. I knew you wouldn't be up for it. That's why I just showed."
I smile. Now that she was here, I'll admit I was happy to see her.
When the groceries are placed down she pulls me into a hug. She was never one for affection so I take advantage and hold her too.
"How was Morocco?" I ask.
"Great! My contract ended but I've been offered another job so I thought I'd take a quick break to come home and see all you guys."
I retrieve the bottles of wine and put all but one in the fridge. Pouring us both a glass I say, "It's good to have you back. Even if temporarily."
My sister takes a sip of the wine and eyes me suspiciously. "I told you before, if you want me around I'm happy to stay. You're the one that convinced me to go in the first place."
I nod. "I know, I know. I wasn't being sarcastic."
"Hmm. Okay, grab the bottle and let's sit outside. Honestly, it's like you knew I was coming," she winks.

I follow her to the backyard where we finish the bottle within an hour. I listen attentively to her stories of the people she met and the places she visited. She shared stories about her colleagues and how trying to get the perfect photograph almost resulted in an arrest for trespassing. She was two years older than me but her spirit and enthusiasm for life was young and ambitious.

While I settled down with Will, she travelled the world. I'd always envied her outlook on life, but part of me worried of missing my prime marriage years and ending up alone. Now here we both were; alone. Only she was living her best life and I was sleeping with my dead husband.

Two bottles deep, our laughter cackles in the night air, likely travelling to the neighbours' houses and beyond. I have forgotten about dinner and figure 10 PM is too late to start cooking so we drunkenly stumble inside, holding on to each other for support as our stomachs ache from laughter, and heat up some microwavable meals.

I pierce holes in the plastic and she grabs another bottle from the fridge. "You don't really have work tomorrow do you?"
I shake my head and burst into laughter.
We seat ourselves on the stools at the bench and listen to the hum of the microwave.
"How's your cooking blog going?"
I shake my head. "It's been a while since I've cooked."
My sister nods thoughtfully. "Have you ever thought about going away? You could do a series where you visit different countries and make food from their traditional produce."
I nod along, though I don't even consider the idea. We are silent and I watch as my sister's expression suddenly fall serious. Placing her hand on my knee and squeezing it, she suggests, "Why don't you come to Morocco with me?"
My expression mimics hers and I take a sip of wine as I try to come up with a plausible excuse.
"I mean, isn't it hard to be here on your own? You both built this house together. It happened here. I just don't understand how-"
"Shut up!" I burst.
I understand my sisters concern. I understand her perspective. But she on the other hand clearly did not reciprocate mine.
"You're right - you don't understand."

I pick up my glass of wine and head to my bedroom. I ignore the beeping of the microwave and close the door behind me. As I sit on the bed, I stare at the crack beneath my bedroom door. 

Part of me hopes for the shadows of feet to appear and for the doorhandle to turn and my sister to come after me. Part of me wanted to tell her about my late night encounters. And a big part of me wanted to tell her that I left him once when he needed me and I was not prepared to do that again.