Free Loving Jessie by Dallas Schulze Page B

always struck him as ironic when, in the dream, he couldn’t make a sound. Somehow he’d conditioned himself not to cry out, waking himself a split second before his screams of rage became reality. It was too damned bad he couldn’t condition himself not to dream at all.
    He swung his legs off the bed and padded barefoot across the room. Experience had taught him that trying to go back to sleep was worse than a waste of time. If he did manage to fall asleep again, the dream would probably return. Finding his way in the dark, he moved through the house. The doors and windows had been left open to allow air to stir through the rooms. Flipping up the latch on the screen door, he stepped out onto the porch. He was wearing only the white cotton briefs in which he’d slept, but there weren’t any neighbors near enough to care, even if they happened to be awake at two o’clock in the morning.
    The air was still and warm. September was just around the corner, but there was nothing even remotely autumnal about late August in the Salinas Valley. The heat would linger for another month or more, until the fall rains came, bringing with them new growth, new beginnings.He heard an owl hoot nearby and a rustle of leaves as if some small creature had just burrowed into deeper hiding.
    Leaning his hands on the porch railing, Matt forced his breathing into a slow and steady rhythm. It wasn’t as bad as it had been at first, he told himself, wishing he believed it. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against one of the roof supports. It felt worse, maybe because he’d had a whole week without the nightmare and had half started to believe that coming here had worked a miracle cure.
    Behind him, the screen door creaked softly, but he didn’t turn.
    “Here.” Gabe set a plain white mug on the rail in front of him. “Tea. It’s herbal crap. Tastes like boiled weeds, but it’s supposed to be soothing.”
    Matt nodded and picked up the mug, finding the heat comforting, even though the night was warm. Behind him, he heard Gabe sink down on the glider and the barely audible creak of the chains as he set it in motion.
    “You want to talk about it?” Gabe asked after a while.
    “No.” Had he cried out after all? Or was it just that instincts honed thirty years ago were still functional? How many nights had Gabe snuck into his room when they were children, saying nothing but just sitting with him, sharing the pain of their father’s latest beating?
    “Okay.” Gabe accepted his refusal to talk about what was bothering him without question, just as Matt had known he would. Gabe never pushed, but Matt knew he would be there if he ever needed to talk.
    Cradling the mug between his palms, Matt leaned against the porch railing. Gabe was right. The stuff tasted like boiled weeds— old boiled weeds. He was fairly sure that any soothing effect was more likely caused by thesoft night air and Gabe’s quiet company. Like Jessie, Gabe never felt the need to fill every silence.
    “Did you know Jessie’s grandfather was writing a garden book?” Matt asked suddenly.
    “I’ve read some of the manuscript. He had a good style. Jessie said he had a publisher who was interested in it.”
    “Yeah.” Matt frowned down at the mug, gleaming white in the darkness. “She asked me to do the photography for it.”
    “Can’t blame her for wanting the best,” Gabe said. “You going to do it?”
    “I don’t know.” Suddenly restless, Matt set the cup down on the rail and turned to look at his brother for the first time. “It’s not exactly my line of work. I don’t take pretty pictures.” He reached up to rub his shoulder, suddenly aware that it was aching like a sore tooth. He laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “Now, if someone was torturing rosebushes to death, that would be right up my alley.”
    He could just make out Gabe’s nod in the darkness. “It would be different, all right, but sometimes change is a good