In This Life or the Next Read online

  "Chris!"

  * * * *

  Blinking wildly, Tania took a few steps away from the canvas and tried to catch her bearings by looking elsewhere. Without really thinking about what she was doing, she scanned the crowd, vainly searching for Alex. She would have liked to have him back at her side to lean against him and anchor herself to the present. Alone as she was, she felt strangely disconnected from the gallery and its visitors, her thoughts a little muddled still by what she had just experienced.

  For a moment, she had been so caught up in the painting that her mind had conjured images so real she could have sworn they were. Not only images, but sounds, scents, textures ... A whole world, right out of the flat surface of a canvas covered in oil paints. She had always had a vivid imagination, but that vision had been far beyond anything her mind had ever created.

  At first, she had only been aware that she had been running through a field, but quickly she had noticed she was being pursued, and she might have been scared if not for the laughter she could hear bubbling from a throat that wasn't her own. Then she—no, it hadn't been her, not really—Lauren had undressed in front of the man who had chased after her; and while the part that had remained Tania had been utterly embarrassed, she had also been aware of Lauren's shyness, and excitement, and of her love. When the man had touched Lauren, Tania had almost forgotten who she was.

  It had been a little like watching a movie, except that she hadn't simply been watching. She had not only been an observer. She had seen it all through the eyes of the woman; and even though she had remembered the whole time that her name was Tania and not Lauren, she had experienced the chase and the lovemaking that had followed to such an extent that she could still feel her skin burning hot in remembrance of what had happened. If she let herself think about it, she was sure she could remember exactly what the man's—Chris?—body had felt like under her hands, and she couldn't help the slight, unreasonable thread of guilt at having let a man who wasn't her husband touch her.

  It hadn't been real, though, she reminded herself forcefully, and tried to push the guilt away. It hadn't been her. She couldn't hold herself responsible for what her subconscious threw at her. It wasn't as though she had intentionally imagined herself with someone else, or even cheated on Alex. She could never hurt him like that.

  Shaking her head lightly to push the strange vision away, she finished what was left of her champagne in one long swallow. If she was daydreaming that vividly while on her feet and wide-awake, she was probably in dire need for a few vacation days.

  There was a small table nearby, and she placed her empty glass on it. The movement cleared her mind a little more, although the images were still lurking, just beyond her conscious thoughts. A little warily, she walked back to the painting and looked at it again, hoping to dispel the last of the vision. It was still as beautiful, but there were no strange figures running through it now, no impossible movement catching her eyes; she barely repressed a relieved sigh.

  "You can't see it from here,” a man's voice suddenly said near her, “but there's a stream, just beyond the edge of the field."

  A shiver ran down her spine; Tania could see again in her mind the running water almost encircling the patch of soft grass. She glanced at the man, briefly, to see whether he was talking to her. He had to be; there was no one else nearby. The painting soon attracted her gaze again.

  "These trees on the side,” the man continued, his voice soft, his tone almost confiding, “they cast their shadow onto a little patch of prairie along the river ... it's a beautiful place to have a picnic."

  As the man talked, Tania managed with some difficulty to look away from the painting and turn her gaze toward him again, taking her first good look at him. His eyes were still staring straight ahead, as though caressing the canvas or seeing more than what was there, and as he described what he saw, Tania wanted at the same time to exclaim, “I know! I've seen it too!” and demand that he explain how he knew what she had just daydreamed about.

  But when he stopped talking and looked at her, the warmth of his smile and the glint in his eyes made Tania forget what she had been about to say. He had blue eyes, so dark they almost seemed black, and she had a sudden impression of déjà vu. In her dream Chris’ eyes had been the color of dark honey, and he had been taller, bulkier than the man in front of her. Nevertheless, she was receiving the exact same look, the same grin Lauren had been offered in her vision, and Tania wasn't quite sure what was happening, or why her heart was pounding in her chest suddenly.

  "My name's Marc,” he introduced himself, extending his hand to her as she was gaping at him. “Marc Wendell."

  By pure reflex, she took his hand and shook it lightly.

  "Tania Chalmers,” she offered, as politeness required, and realized at the same instant who he was. She had seen his name earlier on the artist plaque; she had even seen his picture, but she had not recognized him until now.

  "You painted this,” she said, feeling somewhat dense for not thinking of anything more intelligent to utter. Belatedly, she noticed she was still holding his hand and she hurriedly let go of it, feeling her cheeks warm in embarrassment as she did, even more so when he smiled.

  "Yes, I painted this,” he acquiesced, looking back briefly at the painting. A deep note of pride ran through his words, accompanied by what seemed to be longing. “Do you like it?"

  Somehow, he didn't sound like an artist fishing for compliments, sincere or otherwise. He sounded more like a man who just offered roses to the woman he loved and asked her if she liked them. She answered as she would have whether he had offered her the painting, or roses. Truthfully and with a large smile.

  "I love it. It's truly beautiful."

  His grin widened until he was beaming when he gestured toward the row of paintings behind him. “Did you have the chance to look at the others? What did you think of them?"

  She glanced at the wall and the succession of paintings. For a second, she wanted to tell him how each of them had touched her, more deeply than she would have thought possible. She even wanted to tell him that she had seen the river he had described and the people who lived there. But she quickly realized that he would certainly think she was crazy, so she kept her praise to a minimum.

  "I liked them all, they're all so ... vivid. Alive.” She stopped herself before she could say anything too strange and pointed at the large landscape work. “But this one is my favorite."

  His chuckle puzzled her, as did his words. “Yes, I knew it would be.” His smile took on a strange shade, almost wistful, and he glanced toward the next painting, the one of the nude woman. “I've got to admit I prefer that one,” he said, as though confiding a secret. “But then, I might just be biased because it's Lauren."

  A moment earlier, Tania had dreamed of a woman called Lauren, had seen the world through her eyes. To hear this name now sent a jolt through her, and she blinked several times as she looked at Marc. It had to be a coincidence; of course, it couldn't be anything more than that. But after having heard him describe the unseen river that she had discovered in her daydream, the coincidence seemed too incredible to believe.

  She tried to come up with something to say, something that would make him explain what was going on, or simply prove that it had been nothing more than a fluke. Before she could say a word however, a familiar hand slipped around her waist even as Alex settled right against her.

  "You want to introduce me to your friend, honey?"

  Part of Tania was amused at the fake casualness of his voice that barely disguised his possessiveness. Another part was intrigued by the quick glance Marc gave to her hand, and the disconcerted look that fluttered across his face when, presumably, he noticed her wedding ring. She could have understood disappointment if he had been flirting with her. But why would he be taken aback that she was married?

  "Alex, this is Marc Wendell. He painted all of these beautiful paintings. Mr. Wendell, my husband, Alex Chalmers."

  The two men inc
lined their heads, muttering niceties, but Tania noticed that neither offered the other his hand to shake. As much as she would have liked to question Marc about Lauren and the field painting, maybe it was better to get away before sparks started flying.

  "It was a pleasure to meet you,” she told Marc with a smile. “Good luck with the exhibition."

  He mumbled something that could have been a thank you, and she walked away, pulling Alex after her.

  "Looks like you liked his paintings more than you liked him,” she teased once they were far enough.

  Alex glanced back behind them, and his frown prompted Tania to do the same. Marc hadn't moved and was looking at them. At her.

  "What I don't like is the way he looks at you,” Alex muttered as they reached a new aisle of paintings that would put them out of Marc's line of sight.

  Despite herself, Tania grinned and moved closer to murmur in his ear: “Did I ever mention how cute you are when you're jealous?"

  He threw her a look, half amused, half annoyed, and they went back to talking about the artwork. However, even as Tania tried to pay attention to what was in front of her, her thoughts kept coming back to the oversized landscape painting and the strange daydream it had caused. She wished she could have talked to Marc a little longer and learned a little more about his art. It was too late, though, she reasoned with herself. Whatever tricks her mind had played on her, it was over, and she would forget about it as soon as the soiree was over.

  * * * *

  The summer air felt stifling, and, not without regret, Lauren disentangled her body from Christopher's and stood. Stepping carefully in the dark room, she navigated her way to the window. She pulled aside the curtains, undid the latch and opened the window just enough for a light breeze to make its way in. She shivered as the cooler air touched her skin, but she didn't move, remaining instead in front of the window.

  The moon was only a faint smile drawn low in the horizon, but there was enough light for her to distinguish the flowers she had planted in front of the house, the barn standing on the side, the fields and road beyond that. In the distance, a small hill hid the closest neighbors’ house and the village a little farther than that. It was a lovely property that she and Chris had. It was rare for a couple their age to be so well established already, and she knew some envious eyes in the village followed her when she and Chris went to worship on Sundays. But not even the bitterest gossiper would have wished on her to lose her husband as she was about to.

  Behind her, the scratch of a match sounded loud in the silence. The flame of the oil lamp wavered for a second, casting reflections onto the glass, before becoming steady. Lauren didn't move, but her gaze refocused, so that instead of looking out, she was watching the stretching figure reflected on the window.

  "Lauren? Come to bed, love. You will catch cold like this."

  Ignoring his words, she remained where she was. She was already cold; it had nothing to do with the outside air refreshing her skin.

  "Do you really have to go?” she murmured, and when he failed to answer immediately, she wondered if he had heard her at all. But his voice eventually rose, as quiet as hers. As sad as hers.

  "You know I do."

  Shaking her head, she finally faced him. He had sat up on the bed and was leaning against a pillow. She yearned to go back to him and touch him again, but she wouldn't be able to tell him what weighed on her mind if she did.

  "I don't. I don't know any such thing. All I know is that you're leaving me and—"

  "I'm not leaving you, love. I'm needed to defend something I believe in. So that the world you live in can be just a little better."

  She almost wanted to weep at his quiet words. The world she lived in, her world, was this farm, the village, and him. The war touched none of it.

  "The world I live in will be better if you're in it too,” she muttered, sullen.

  With a soft sigh, Chris pushed back the sheet and stood, coming to her and taking her into his arms. She held on to him tightly, as though such a simple gesture might change his resolve to fight.

  "Lauren...” he breathed, the word caressing her cheek.

  "Stay. Please stay. I don't want you to go to war. I don't want you to get hurt or ... or..."

  She choked on the words, unable to say or even think about the worst that could happen, yet all too aware that it was a possibility. Chris drew back just enough so he could press his forehead against hers.

  "Or nothing,” he finished her sentence with as much conviction as she had ever heard him put into his words. “I will be fine. I will be careful. Nothing will happen to me. I will write to you, and miss you every single day, and before you know it I'll be back."

  She knew it wasn't that easy, but more than anything else she wanted to believe him. “Promise?"

  "I promise. Everything will be fine, my love."

  Still holding her tight, he led her back to bed and soothed her with quiet words and tender caresses until she had fallen asleep. Before the week had ended, he had left.

  * * * *

  Her heart was beating so fast when she woke that for an instant Tania thought she was having a heart attack. But she wasn't, she soon realized. It was more like a panic attack. A panic attack over someone in her dream going off to fight and her fear—or the fear of the woman she had been in her dream—that he would never be back. She still had that oppressive void, right in the middle of her chest, and couldn't help the overwhelming feeling that something was missing. Something or someone. Blindly, she reached toward Alex at her side and snuggled against him, waking him up in the process.

  "Honey, what's wrong?” he mumbled sleepily after a few seconds. “You're trembling. Bad dream?"

  Had it only been a bad dream, she asked herself. It had felt much more real than any dream she had ever had, more real than that strange vision she had had at the gallery, and that alone had left her dazed for a while. Not only had the dream felt incredibly real, but she had seen things through the same eyes, through Lauren's eyes, and the man opposite her had been Chris again. What could it mean that her dreams were about people she didn't know and made her become someone else?

  "Not bad,” she replied, willing her shaky voice steady so as not to alarm him. “Just ... weird. It was a weird dream. I'm fine though. Hold me?"

  His arms curled around her, and he rested one hand at her waist while the other caressed her short hair soothingly. She took comfort in him the same way that, in her dream, Lauren had taken comfort in Chris. The parallel was a little too much though, and she refused to let herself think about it. Instead, she focused on Alex, and nothing else, and soon she was sure he had fallen asleep again. Her ear pressed to his chest, she listened to the quiet rhythm of his heart and let it lull her into a half-sleep, unable to let go completely, anxious that the dream would return if she did. She didn't want to dream again about Lauren and Chris, not if she was going to end up waking with her chest constricted by fear.

  They remained like so for nearly hour, until the alarm clock buzzed. Alex groaned and turned over to shut it off, and Tania clung to him, preventing him from leaving the bed.

  "Do you really have to go?” she mumbled.

  His hand caressed gently along her back, calming her. “You know I do, love."

  "I don't,” she protested, and realized when the words passed her lips that she was repeating what Lauren had said in her dream. It didn't stop her, however; it was as though by using Lauren's words, she was making them her own and denying the dream. “I don't know any such thing. All I know is that you're leaving me and—"

  "Leaving you?” Alex chuckled. “My, aren't we a bit over dramatic this morning. I'll never leave you, Tania. Not if I have any say about it."

  She felt relieved that he had broken the script established by her dream, but she still wished the painful void in her chest hadn't come back at the simple idea that he would soon be gone. She knew it would only be for a few hours, but an irrational part of her was suddenly afraid he wouldn't r
eturn; just as afraid, in fact, as Lauren had been.

  "Then have a say about it,” she pleaded. “Call in sick, tell them you're not going to work today, stay here with me. Just today."

  His whole face serious now, he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, and she leaned into the touch.

  "Are you all right? Is this about your dream? If you need me here..."

  He didn't finish his thought, but then he didn't need to. She realized he would stay if she asked him to, and somehow that was enough. That cold, scary place in her mind that had been so sure she would be left all alone was suddenly filled with the love she knew he had for her, and she felt better already.

  "I'm fine,” she said with a small, self-deprecating smile. “Just in a clinging mood.” Demonstrating, she moved even closer to him so that she could weave her arms and legs around him, trapping him against her. “Plus even if you stayed, I've got so much work to do today I probably wouldn't pay any attention to you."

  That made him laugh, and she closed her eyes to enjoy fully the rumbling of his laughter against her.

  "Well, at least I know where I stand in the grand scheme of things,” he teased. “Right underneath my lovely wife's dissertation. I feel very special now."

  "And rightly so,” she grinned up at him, reluctantly letting go of her hold. He leaned back into her long enough to press his lips to her own before leaving the bed. She would have gladly remained where she was, huddled under the covers and holding his pillow to her, but with a sigh, she managed to convince herself to get up. She stepped into the bathroom just long enough to retrieve her robe—and steal a delicious peek at Alex under the spray of steaming water—before going to the kitchen to prepare some coffee.