See Jane Die Part 8

"Of course it does."

"I want people to look at the art, not me."

"Can't separate the two, babe," he said. "Sorry."

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d. p.r.i.c.k."

"I've been called worse."

"By most of the women you dated."

"I can live with that."

He'd always had the ability to drag her out of herself. She smiled and slid the magazine across the table.

"Keep it." He nudged it back, then looked her directly in the eye. "Time's up, Jane. Spill it."

"Spill what?"

"What's bothering you."

"I can't simply arrange a visit with an old friend without being accused of having ulterior motives?"

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "Less than two weeks before your one-person exhibit opens at the Dallas

Museum of Art? In a word, no."

"Smart-a.s.s."

"Just plain smart, potty mouth."

Any other time she would have smiled. "The nightmare's back."

He didn't have to ask which one, he knew. "Any changes?"

"One." She laced her fingers. "The boater doubles back, to make another pa.s.s at me. To finish the job. I

wake up screaming."

"How many times-"

"Three in two weeks."

"Anything going on in your life besides a perfect marriage and impending fame?"

She hesitated. She and Ian had agreed to keep their news to themselves, and when they did spill it, Stacy

would be the first.

But Dave couldn't help her if she wasn't honest with him.

"I'm pregnant."

His expression went momentarily slack with surprise, then lit up with pleasure. He jumped to his feet,

came around the table and drew her up into a bear hug. "I'm so happy for you! This is wonderful news!"

She held him tightly, suddenly irrationally terrified.

He let her hold him a moment, then drew away. "What are you scared of, Jane?"

She thought of her session with Anne, how she had posed nearly that same question to her subject: "Tell me what you 're afraid of. When you're alone with your thoughts, who's the monster?"

The other woman had answered honestly. Could she?

"Let's sit down," she said. He nodded and a moment later they once again faced each other across the

table. "You start?" she said.

"All right." He folded his hands in front of him. "How's everything?"

"Great."

"Is it?"

"Yes...G.o.d, yes. I'm the luckiest person alive."

"You really believe that?"

"I do. I've been thinking a lot about luck lately." She paused, taking a moment to collect her thoughts.

"Not just because of Ian or the baby or the show. The day of the accident, if that doctor hadn't been home, if he hadn't heard the screams and called 911 before he came running, if the ambulance had been held up or the EMS guys hadn't been experienced, or the boat had crossed a fraction of an inch in another direction...I would have died."

She clasped her hands in her lap; they trembled. "And now I have everything. Love. Success in a career I adore. A baby on the way."

"So why the nightmares?"

"You're the headshrinker. You tell me."

"Okay." He leaned forward slightly. "Maybe you're afraid your luck's going to run out? That you're going to lose it all?"

"But why would I-"

"What happens when all someone's dreams come true?"

"They're happy?"

He ignored her sarcasm. "Once upon a time, you took your life for granted. You had everything, a happy

family, friends, popularity. And in an instant, someone took it away from you.

"You know how fast that can happen, Jane. You know how fickle fate is, how precious each moment is.

"All your dreams have come true." He caught her hands. Squeezed them tightly. "And you're afraid of

losing it all again. That your luck is going to run out."

She pressed her trembling lips together, his words, their meaning, resounding in her.

"That's what your dream represents, Jane. Losing it all. Living with that despair. You survived the first time, you made it. So he's going to try again, in your words, to finish the job."

Dear G.o.d, he was right. It mattered so much now. She had everything.

It all made sense.

A small sound of relief slipped past her lips. "You're right, Dave. Thank G.o.d. I...I was afraid I was losing it. That I was somehow slipping back into that dark place. I never want to go back there. Never!"

He squeezed her hands, then released them. "You want to conquer your fears? See them for what they are."

"Silly. Overwrought. Groundless."

"None of the above," he scolded, tone gentle. "You lived through a severe trauma. The mind adapts, protects itself. The most extreme example of that is MPD, multiple-personality disorder."

She smiled. "I feel as if a giant weight has just been lifted off my shoulders."

"Dave Nash, super genius."

"Or as Stacy and I used to say, stupor genius."

"Speaking of your sister, how did Stacy respond to your news?"

"She doesn't know."

His eyebrows shot up. "You haven't told her?"

She hurried to explain, tone defensive. "We just found out. And meant to tell her first. I wanted to, but

just-" She looked helplessly at her friend. "You know Stacy."

He remained silent a moment. "Relations.h.i.+ps are a two-way street, Jane. You're partly responsible for your strained relations.h.i.+p with Stacy."

"Then tell me how to make it better. I hate that we're this way."

"I don't believe that's true."

Heat stung her cheeks. "I can't believe you said that."

"Look at it from where I'm sitting. She's your sister, your only sibling. Yet you haven't told her you're

pregnant. You should have picked up the phone right then and called her. You always hold back."

"I was worried that she'd be upset, that she wouldn't be happy for me."

"So you didn't even give her the chance? Somebody has to break this cycle."

"She's the one with issues."