silence, and I worked in silence. It took a few minutes to get everything wiped and dried, and I joined Becky at the table with my own glass of water.
“Do you always do that? Sit in the dark?” she asked again.
“Sometimes,” I said, focusing on the condensation on the glass.
What I wouldn’t tell her was that, most nights, I was down here, in the dark. Because I couldn’t stand being in my room alone, without Nat. I used to be the man who slept soundly every night. Natalie used to complain that as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was snoring. I was no longer that man. I hardly slept anymore. I was used to functioning on little to no sleep, mostly because I’d relive that horrid night over and over again.
“Why?” Her eyebrows quirked.
“I have trouble sleeping,” I said honestly—too honestly.
“Me too.”
There was a tenseness in her voice that had me locking my eyes with her. They were the prettiest green color I’d ever seen. I found myself wanting to drown in them.
“Why?” I asked. More curious than I should’ve been.
She shook her head, focusing on the table now.
I knew not to push too hard. I knew she had a past, and what I needed to focus on was the fact that she was our nanny—and not look at her breasts. What an honorable employer would do was get up, say good night, and let her get on her way, but I was a damn nosy employer. I had a curiosity so strong, it was hard to swallow this damn water I kept drinking.
I knew how this worked.
Tit for tat.
I was in business after all.
So, I offered, “I can’t sleep because of the nightmares.” My voice didn’t sound like my own; it was soft, distant, disconnected.
She peered up at me because I’d gotten her attention.
I hadn’t told anyone but my therapist that I still had nightmares of Natalie dying on the hospital bed. I still pictured her elated face as the nurse set a crying Mary in her arms, moments before she coded blue and they rushed me out of the room. Her blood pressure had skyrocketed. She’d had preeclampsia and …
Becky’s voice was careful, curious, just like I was. “Do these nightmares come every night?”
I let out one slow breath. I didn’t want to give too much, reveal too much truth, truth that I didn’t want others to see—that I really wasn’t okay.
My brothers continued to worry about me, and I didn’t need to add anything else to their plates. To everyone, to the world, my life, even after my deceased wife, was perfect. They just didn’t know that, every day, I walked through life, not seeing, only going through the motions. I wouldn’t consider this living, just being.
I stared at her for a few seconds before letting a little more out. “Not every night. But most nights.” I took a sip of water, waiting for her to give me something … anything. More …
Because I wanted to know her more. It had only been days since I’d met her, but the need to know her surpassed my need to keep my nightmares a secret. A truth that shocked the hell out of me.
After a deep breath, she whispered into the air, “I have nightmares too.”
We were both silent for a beat, knowing we were sharing intimate details now, breaking the seal of the nanny-employer relationship. She could probably guess what mine were about. I found it unfair that my life could be read in a newspaper or on the internet, being the CEO of a high-profile company, and I knew nothing about what kept her up at night.
I needed to know, so I kept going, giving snippets of what haunted me, snippets I never let anyone else see. “Sometimes, I get a break. The longest has been a week, and then I think the nightmares are over … but they come back clearer.” More frightening. So vivid that I wake up sometimes in a cold sweat, screaming out for Nat.
Becky held her glass tighter, her gaze dropping to the table.
“You’re lucky.” She stood. “My nightmares never give me a break.” She walked to the dishwasher and placed her glass in the top drawer, already done with the conversation. “Good night, Charles. Thank you.” She lifted her foot and wiggled her bandaged big toe.
“Good night.” I guessed that was all I was going to get, but if her nightmares never ceased, maybe she’d be down here