Talking in Your Sleep.... Samantha Hunter

thought.

      “New York City.”

      “Ah, been there once. Too loud for me.”

      He laughed. “Bessie, what do you think about giving this ladder to the Goodwill—they’ll repair it for someone else’s use, and we can get you a sturdier stepping stool, though not for outside jobs.

      “That sounds like a smart idea.”

      He looked over at the house next to Warren’s where nothing was stirring.

      “Can I ask you a question, Bessie?”

      “Depends on what it is.”

      “Do you know the name of the woman across the street?”

      She eyed him shrewdly. “That’s Joy Clarke.”

      Joy, he thought, liking the name. He’d never known a Joy before.

      “As far as I know, she’s free as a bird,” Bessie added knowingly. “Used to be a young man who visited pretty often, stayed some nights, if his car in the driveway is any indication, but that was a while ago. I didn’t like him.”

      “You met?”

      “No, but I didn’t like how he came speeding up the street in his fancy car, the radio blasting. A real man doesn’t need to draw attention to himself like that. She doesn’t have much to do with anyone, from what I can tell. Probably has her reasons. She does come around collecting for charity now and then, but that’s about it. I don’t know much, but I do know you look like a man who’s interested.”

      He pulled back. “No, no…not that way. There’s a neighbor issue I need to talk to her about. Thought it would go easier if I knew her name, at least.”

      “Whatever you say.”

      It was clear Bessie wasn’t buying his story, though he took her teasing in good humor. She hustled in to make the promised lunch—and to get more lights now that she had someone to help hang them. He went to get Warren’s ladder, and wondered about Joy as he strung the lights. He noticed there wasn’t a single holiday decoration in her yard.

      Bessie served him one of the best bowls of chicken soup he’d ever had, even if it did make him sweat in the sweltering heat. Cooling off, relatively speaking, he sat on the step out front untangling some outdoor extension cords he’d found in Warren’s garage. Joy emerged, looking as if she were going somewhere, keys in hand, and he decided to make another approach.

      “Joy!” he called from across the street, setting the cords down and seeing she was surprised he knew her name. Crossing to meet her, he tried to ignore the way she tensed up when he neared.

      “Sleeping in late on Saturday, huh?”

      “I’ve been busy. How’d you know my name?”

      “Bessie mentioned it.”

      “Bessie?”

      He tilted his head toward the house across the street. “Bessie? The older lady who lives there, in the white house—just lost her husband?”

      “Oh, yes. Right.”

      “I caught her trying to hang some Christmas lights and almost killing herself up on a ladder, so I’m helping her out. Wondered if you might want to come over and give us a hand? I could use someone on the ground to feed me the extension cord while I’m up on the roof. She makes a mean chicken soup.”

      “Sorry, I have to get going. I need to replace those groceries.” She didn’t bother hiding the stiff accusation in her tone. “And run some errands.”

      “Don’t you ever relax?”

      She was clearly taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

      “You’re always so tense, so tight. You’ll give yourself high blood pressure.”

      She arched an eyebrow. “I guess you’re an expert, seeing as you’re an EMT?”

      He smiled. “You remembered.”

      “Impossible to forget conversations with men who storm in my door in the middle of the night.”

      “I hardly stormed your door. Though I probably would have if you hadn’t answered.”

      “That’s not comforting.”

      “I thought you were in trouble. I didn’t know you were talking in your sleep,” he added, his normally easygoing personality giving way to the urge to taunt her.

      “I do not—never mind. I have to get going.”

      She stepped around him, and he let her go, shaking his head, but thanking her silently for the reminder that he still needed to go to the store to pick up that tape.

      “I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’D DO without you, Joy—you’re a total lifesaver.”

      “I had fun. The guys did most of the heavy lifting, and I can’t wait to get back and get those chairs and dressers cleaned up—they’re really gorgeous. You might want to consider selling them rather than using them—I think at least one is an antique.”

      They’d been moving some furniture donated by an estate sale into the Second Chance shelter that Pam ran, and were taking time out for a late lunch. It had been a busy afternoon.

      “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like the idea of replacing some of the crappier stuff, make the rooms nicer.”

      Joy grinned, relaxed for the first time in days as she sat with Pam Reynolds at the cheery sidewalk café, munching panini sandwiches and talking. Pam was the first friend she’d made in San Diego after she’d moved. The people who had owned Joy’s house had left some old furniture, and Joy had been looking for a place to donate the stuff. She’d discovered a shelter a half mile away and when she’d called Pam, she’d not only taken Joy’s donations, but had ended up talking her into doing some volunteer time at the shelter.

      It was a great place. Second Chance did more than give people a meal or a cot for the night; Pam was really trying to change people’s lives. The shelter housed up to twelve residents at a time. The men came from all walks of life, but they all wanted a second chance, and that was what she gave them. Pam had arrangements with local colleges, employers, businesses, high schools, doctors…. Whatever it took to give a break to those who were willing to work for it.

      Joy had been so inspired by the project that she’d become a regular volunteer and supporter. Even when she was involved in the most menial tasks, Joy was doing something real, something worthwhile. She was contributing to people’s lives. She spent a lot of her weekend and weeknight time at the shelter, helping out how she could, but also visiting with Pam. They’d become close friends over the years. Though Pam was about ten years older than Joy, the age difference meant nothing to their friendship.

      A San Diego native, Pam hardly looked her age either; her curly hair, almost black, framed skin kissed by the California sun. Pam’s family lived in an exclusive neighborhood northeast of the city, and she’d been born into privilege that no one would imagine given her no-nonsense clothes, almost always jeans and T-shirts. She was pretty, but didn’t bother with makeup; she almost didn’t need to. Joy envied her strong features and flawless skin.

      “Any chance you can cover me tonight for a few hours?” Pam asked tentatively and then waved her hand. “Never mind. You’ve been working all day, and it’s Saturday night.”

      “You have a hot date?” Joy teased.

      Then the most amazing thing happened: Pam’s beautiful skin turned beet-red. Joy’s jaw dropped.

      “You do! You’re seeing him again, aren’t you, this mystery man you’ve been stealing away with….”

      “Oh stop that—we’re not ‘stealing away’ anywhere. It’s simply a Saturday night out.”

      “With the same guy?”

      Pam