Page 14 of Whistle
John was in the bed next to her, his head propped up on his palm, elbow dug into the mattress.
He smiled at her and said, “Don’t go, Annie. Don’t go.”
Annie woke up, sat up in bed, put her hand to her chest, and felt her heart beating so quickly she thought it might burn out.
Four
Annie had the car loaded shortly before eleven, and after advising Charlie to go to the bathroom one last time (good advice for Annie, too) they hit the road. It took the better part of half an hour to get out of the city, heading south and picking up the Holland Tunnel that took her under the Hudson River and into New Jersey. She followed without question the verbal instructions from her in-dash GPS companion, a woman Annie had, in her head, named Sherpa because she was such an excellent guide.
Annie was not the most confident driver. Having grown up in the city, she had never held a driver’s license and never learned to drive when she was in her teens. Her father had an old Ford, but, what with taxis and buses and subways and the nightmare of trying to find a place to park, Annie had figured if she did have a license, she wouldn’t make use of it. But when the money started coming in, and they moved into the Bank Street address, John thought it was finally time to have some wheels. With a car, they could head out of town on weekends. They had friends who lived out in the Hamptons. They could rent that Cape Cod beach house they’d always dreamed of spending part of the summer in. Annie said fine, okay, I’ll get a license, I’ll learn to drive, but don’t ask me to like it.
And she didn’t. But she could do it. It was the downtown driving she hated most. Once she got out of the city, hit the interstate, and could put the BMW on cruise control, wander the Sirius dial, sampling everything from Springsteen to punk, well, then she could endure it.
What she missed was having someone up front with her.
Charlie was still, for safety reasons, riding in the backseat on a booster seat that allowed him a better view out his window.
When she and John traveled, regardless of who was sitting behind the wheel, all she had to do was turn her head if she had something on her mind, something she wanted to talk about.
But these days, all conversations were conducted over her right shoulder.
“How’s it going back there?” she’d ask, turning her head slightly so that Charlie could better hear her.
“Fine.”
“Whatcha doin’?”
“Nothin’.”
“You need a juice box or anything?”
“No.”
“You need to make a pit stop?”
“No.”
There were times when he would talk your ear off, and times when he had very little to say. Although the truth was, on this particular trip, Annie didn’t actually have that much to say herself.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the dream.
Because, of course, itwasa dream. John hadnotcome back from the Great Beyond to give her a little snippet of advice.
Still, it had been so real. She’d sensed that familiar stirring in the bed next to her. Even though she was generally a pretty sound sleeper, she could always tell when John was getting out of bed. It could be three in the morning, but no matter how carefully he might slip back the covers to head to the bathroom, she would know, and ask dreamily, “You okay?”
“Gotta pee,” he’d say, and she would go back to sleep.
So it had to be that she’ddreamedthe stirring in the bed next to her. Anddreamedturning over in bed to see what it was. Anddreamedseeing John there, head propped up on his palm. Anddreamedwhat he had said to her.
“Don’t go, Annie. Don’t go.”
She’d woken with a start, her heart hammering, her nightshirt drenched in sweat. She had flicked on her bedside lamp, turned and put her bare feet to the floor, and sat there a moment, catching her breath, letting her heart rate settle down to something more normal. She went to the bathroom, had a small drink of water, then returned to bed, unsure whether she would be able to get back to sleep, but after about half an hour, she did.
In the light of day, traveling along 280 West, waiting for Sherpa to tell her to bear left or bear right or take this mountain pass, she wondered what to make of the dream, if anything. She imagined herself as her therapist, what she would make of it:Well, maybe you’re giving yourself a warning here. Perhaps you don’t want to leave the city as much as you thought you did. Maybe you don’t want to go to the country for the summer.
“What do you know,” Annie said aloud.
“What?” Charlie asked from the backseat.
