A CRY FROM THE DEEP by Unknown Page B

reaction, but she couldn’t read his face. “Maybe I’m daydreaming. It was me, or I thought it was. Now I don’t know. I couldn’t really get a good look at her when I was diving. I tried, but her long hair hid the side of her face.”
    “It’s probably your imagination working overtime. This is a big thing you’re doing. Jumping in the water after all this time.”
    “I know, but it still doesn’t make sense. If she’d been wearing a scuba outfit, okay, but a bridal dress? 
    Richard stretched his long legs. “The woman in your nightmare is fighting for her life, right? Seems logical your fears would manifest themselves in your dreams. We try to solve problems we can’t solve when we’re awake.”
    “But she was also there in the daytime. Doesn’t that refute your argument? If it’s about problem-solving, why did she show up today?” 
    “Anxiety is complex, you know that.”
    She looked over at Alex, who was talking to another little girl. “It may sound absurd to you, but I feel as if I’m being haunted. I get this feeling she’s from another era.”
    “I had a patient who came to me with stories from the Arabian nights. She was sure she’d been some silk trader in the fourteenth century.”
    “What did you tell her?”
    “Frankly, I didn’t know what to say. She acted normal in every other way.”
    “What happened to her?’
    “I don’t know. She told me she was going to try a hypnotist who did past-life regression.”
    “That was bold of her telling you that.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “Why? I’m not as close-minded as you think.”
    She regarded him with renewed interest. She’d judged him as this rigid and arrogant shrink, but here he was, saying things she didn’t expect, proving her wrong. “I would never have guessed you’d be open to that.”
    “I gather you like that.”
    “Ha.” They exchanged smiles and watched Alex on the gym again.
    Richard said, “You’ve done a good job raising her.”
    “Thanks.” She turned to him, surprised yet again. “I thought you’d never forgive me for moving away.”
    “Well, that thought did cross my mind.” He grinned as he said it.
    “You’re full of surprises. Getting back to that patient of yours, what do you really think about past-life regression?”
    “Truthfully? I think it’s nuts.”
    “Hmm. And yet so many religions believe in reincarnation.”
    He shrugged. “Why do some people believe in aliens, or that Elvis Presley is still alive?” He turned to her. “Do yourself a favor and see a therapist.”
    Alex came running back, shouting, “Swing me.” Richard and Catherine each grabbed one of her hands and swung her like they used to.
     

 
     
     
     
     
    NINE
     
    When Catherine showed up at the Imagine mosaic in Central Park, the one dedicated to the memory of John Lennon, Lindsey was already there. She hadn’t changed much; she still looked kooky. She wore a loose grey gauze top over white filmy wide-legged pants and red Converse high-top sneakers. Her hair was short and feathered, and the bright blue accents on her black bangs advertised a rebellious spirit. While Catherine had gone off and married a shrink, Lindsey had graduated with a fine arts degree and had gone through several musicians. She was now on her fifth.
    After hugging and squealing with delight, they stood quietly for a few moments and watched tourists snap photos of the mosaic. They then walked past Strawberry Fields, and by the lake, talking mainly about the difficulty of selling art. They didn’t touch on the men in their lives, which was just as well since they both had little good to say on the subject.
    After they climbed the Great Hill, they sat down at a wooden table overlooking a large grassy area, where a few young men were throwing a Frisbee around and some families were picnicking. There, Catherine told Lindsey about her dreams.
    “Of course, you’re going to have nightmares,” said Lindsey, wiping the moisture off the table top