Elane Osborn - A Season To Believe

“You’re afraid, aren’t you,” he asked gently.

Jane frowned. Yes, this tension gripping her was indeed fear. What was worse, she didn’t understand what exactly had caused a memory of sea and sand to freeze her with terror. Now, crowds of people was a different matter. Add to that—

“Do you think,” Matt was asking, “that you might have been abducted from that beach? You know you’re safe now. There isn’t anything to be afraid of.”

Jane glanced at Matt’s large hands sandwiching hers. The gentle strength in his grip returned sensation to her fingers, warming them. She looked again into his eyes—eyes that promised to bring her assailant to justice, to make sure she was safe.

Oh, how she wished it were as simple as that.

A shiver broke her paralysis. She shook her head. “That memory didn’t make me afraid of whoever tried to kill me,” she finally said. “It made me afraid of the person I was.”

Afraid of herself?

Matt tightened his fingers around Jane’s icy hand, and wondered what in the hell was going on in that mind of hers. Of course, uncovering what was going on in her mind—or hidden in it—had been the point of this exercise in hypnotherapy.

He was surprised at the details Zoe had managed to draw out of what had to have been the briefest of flashbacks. Perhaps, with a little time, Jane might begin to recall larger pieces of her past, giving Zoe more than the image of an unnamed beach to—

The beach. If he could find that beach, take Jane to it, perhaps revisiting the sights and sounds she recalled so briefly would open her mind to further details. However, would Jane go along with his plan, such as it was? The fear plainly etched upon her pale features said not, but he knew how to take care of that.

Cocking his head to one side, Matt squinted at her in exaggerated puzzlement. “You’re afraid of the person you were?” he asked. “What, you recall being at the beach, and suddenly worry that you might have spent your past roaming the seashore, randomly destroying sandcastles built by innocent children? That you were once an evil surfer girl bent on mowing down unsuspecting swimmers with your ten-foot board?”

His ploy worked. Jane’s lips twitched slightly, and some of the anxiety retreated from her eyes. “No.” She sighed. “I’m frightened of what happened at Maxwell’s, after I became aware of the music.”

Matt squeezed her hand. “You thought it was May. Most people would be irritated by having the holiday buying season forced upon them in late spring. It’s bad enough that Halloween is barely—”

Jane shook her head. “It wasn’t just the timing. It was the idea of Christmas itself that irritated me. No. Infuriated me.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “When the salesclerk suggested I might like to get a cup of coffee, eggnog flavored to be specific, I informed her that I hated the stuff.”

“Then, why did you try to drink it later?”

“Because I don’t want to hate anything about Christmas.”

“What about last Christmas? Did you like it then?”

“I had a cold and couldn’t really taste or smell it. Besides, disliking eggnog isn’t the worst part. When I realized that it was indeed the day after Thanksgiving and that I had been Christmas shopping, I actually shuddered with revulsion.”

As she finished speaking, a tiny tremor shook her slender form.

Matt smiled. “You zeem to have a very zerious zyndrome, young lady. You are afraid zat in your past you ver Ebenezer Scrooge, or ze Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Is zer a cure for ziz, Doctor Zeffarelli?”

He turned to Zoe, but she didn’t look at him.

“Jane,” the woman said softly. “I have spoken with many people who have issues with Christmas. Most feel overwhelmed at the idea of adding shopping, wrapping and parties to already incredibly busy lives. Some feel that commercial aspects overpower the spiritual meaning of the season. And many are plagued with childhood memories of Christmas involving deprivation or, worse, abuse. Sometimes, the effort to put on a show of good cheer is such an effort for these people that they end up resenting everything about the holiday.”

Matt felt his smile grow tight.

“That makes no sense,” Jane said, “I had a wonderful time last Christmas with your cousin’s family in Maine, tromping through the forest to chop down the tree, then decorating it with the popcorn and cranberries I’d helped string, wrapping the gifts I’d made and walking over glittering snow on the way to midnight Mass.”

Matt was relieved when Jane brought her Currier and Ives reminiscences to an end. With each new jolly image, his muscles had tensed further. The smile faded from his lips and he glanced away from Jane’s features, where the glow of remembered joy warred with an expression of annoyance.

“Yes,” Zoe replied. “But we were in a very small town, not a large city. She turned to Matt. “Does this description sound like any of the Christmases you remember?”

He forced his smile to widen. “Well, certainly not the snowy part. However, my McDermott cousins do have a party every year, where whoever wants to can string popcorn.”

Zoe’s sharp glance suggested she was going to ask him another question. Instead, she gave her head a little shake and turned to Jane.

“When you insisted on going downtown today, I warned you about the crowds. That might be what set you off, so it is best you put your worries out of your mind until you remember more of your past.”

“I’ve got a question about that, Zoe,” Matt said. “I think I might be familiar with the beach Jane described. Do you think it would help her to remember more if I took her there?”

“Well, the senses, that of smell in particular, are known to have a powerful effect upon the memory. Jane, how do you feel about a trip to the beach with Matt?”

Jane wasn’t sure how she felt about anything at that moment. Other than completely exhausted. A profound sense of weariness had banished the tension in her muscles, leaving her with barely the strength to remain upright with her eyes open.

“That would be fine,” she replied at last.

Matt stood. Jane managed to look up just as he smiled and said, “Good. I need to speak with Jack on a few matters in the morning, but I can be here at eleven.”

On the one hand, Jane told herself as she pulled the door to her studio apartment behind her, it had been wonderful seeing Matt Sullivan again. Aside from the fact that he was every bit as handsome as she remembered, she’d yet to meet anyone with the same knack for making her laugh, even when she didn’t particularly want to. But still, her insides were in knots over the idea of going anywhere with him.

Jane took a deep breath as she started down the flower-print runner that carpeted the stairway.

On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to read her all that well. When Manny’s death and Matt’s injuries had pulled those two men out of her life, she had looked for someone to take their place—someone she could trust with her thoughts, hopes, fears. The person she had chosen had used those things against her, so now the idea of trusting anyone made her stomach twist and brought a sour lump to her throat.

And, after the way she’d behaved in Maxwell’s, she wasn’t even sure she could trust herself.

When Jane reached the foyer, she moved to the small window to the left of the front door and stared at the street below. She wouldn’t want to even know the tense, dismissive person she had become for those few moments the day before, let alone be like that. How would Matt Sullivan feel about her if today’s trip to the beach happened to bring out that “dark side” of her personality?