The Hour of Dreams

by Shelena Shorts

  “Okay. I know you like a lot of things, including history. I brought books and movies that will catch you up on the gist of things. And then I brought some of my personal favorite movies that will get you up to speed on culture. And after that, I have a surprise for you. Which do you want first? History, or culture?”

  “Let’s do culture, since they’re your favorites,” he murmured agreeably.

  I was amazed that he still seemed to be my Wes, even though he didn’t know it. I smiled. “Great idea.” War movies would have been too heavy to start with, anyway.

  We watched two movies that night before he became stiff and uncomfortable. I helped him get up and walk around the room and to his bed. He was surprised to learn that I was planning to stay in the room with him overnight, so I gave him the choice.

  He nodded approvingly as I played up the nurse card, figuring he still associated me with Amelia. And then it hit me that he was, and still is, pretty traditional, so he was probably starting to suspect that we were married, but he didn’t let on as I helped him get situated.

  In the morning, he underwent more tests and more physical therapy while I took a shower. The facility wasn’t set up for overnight patients, but it did have nice bathrooms with large showers, and some rooms with beds for scientists who pulled all-nighters and for the occasional test subject.

  Eager to get back to Wes, I kept my shower shorter than planned, but took a little time drying my hair, trying to make a good impression. I was, after all, wanting him to be in love with me. That meant a little effort in looking attractive.

  Satisfied with leaving my hair down, bangs casually swept to the side, I returned to find Wes resting. And staring at me more than usual. Perhaps the modern look was too much. I busied myself with tidying up, trying to distract myself from worrying over his reaction to the real me.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  I turned to find him resting with one arm folded behind his head.

  “You?”

  “Very,” he said, forming a small smile.

  We ordered Chinese food for lunch and watched the two romance movies. Afterward, he looked at me and smiled. “That tells me a lot about you…and cars.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, it appears you like guys who are tough, underdogs, and a hero in some way. And sensitive.”

  “Hmm. Actually, I do. I never thought of it that way, but I guess all those movies do have that in common.” And so did Wes. I smiled inside and then redirected his attention. “What about the cars?” I asked.

  “The cars are amazing,” he answered.

  “Which brings me to my next batch of goodies. Look at these.” I pulled out the books on cars and airplanes, offering them to him. He reached for the aircraft book, with eyes full of awe.

  “How did you know?” he asked, flipping through it.

  “Let’s just say you told me a lot about them.” I left out the part about how they freak me out.

  He looked through each picture as if he’d discovered the rarest gems in the world. “I can’t believe it. Look at that design.” He was stopped on a page showcasing a private jet.

  “You’ve flown some of them, you know.”

  He looked at me with shock, then sadness, making me wonder whether I’d pushed him too far. He was holding up so well, considering, but maybe realizing how much he’d forgotten was just as traumatic as having no memories at all.

  But then I realized he’d have many more years to create new memories. He could fly as much as he wanted. And that was encouraging.

  “I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike,” I offered encouragingly.

  He blinked and glanced my way. “I hope so.”

  He put the plane book down and skimmed through the car book, almost as amazed, and set them both aside, vowing to go back and read them in more depth another time.

  “What next?” he asked with purpose.

  All that was left was my journal and the war movies. I wasn’t ready to reveal the contents of my journal, but war movies now seemed depressing.

  As I was thinking, he chimed in. “History is next, I believe.”

  I shook my head. “Yeah, it was, but I don’t think it’s a good idea after all.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re sort of downers. Well, not sort of. They’re definitely downers. I’m not sure you want to watch people fighting and dying.”

  “I really don’t,” he said. “But if I’m going to be reminded of what kind of society we live in, I’d better learn. Unless you have a history book I can read tonight, then I guess I’ll be watching a movie. But if you don’t want to stay—”

  “No. I’ll stay,” I said, a little too eagerly.

  Chapter 17

  COMING BACK

  After the war movies, we both lay around, somber and quiet. It was obvious that Wes was still processing everything he’d watched and read, so I wanted to give him time. Even as the silence took over, the time with him was comforting. In the morning, we were awakened by Dr. Carter. Wes was in for more testing, so I went to make some calls in the lounge area. Mr. Healey and Dawn had wanted updates, so I gave them an abbreviated version.

  When I got back into the room, Wes was finished with his testing and was going through some physical therapy with small weights and bands for his leg muscles. After about thirty minutes of work, I noticed some small beads of sweat just above his brow. Shocked, I stood closer.

  He looked at me with caution. “Amazing,” I whispered.

  “What?” he answered, looking himself over.

  “You’re sweating.”

  He looked unsurprised, but Dr. Carter hurried over, equally amazed. “He is, isn’t he? That’s a good sign. A very good sign.” He started writing notations on his chart, while Wes continued to look confused.

  “Is that strange?” he asked.

  I laughed. “No. Well, sort of. After the first transfusion, you never sweated. And now you do. It’s…”

  “Weird?”

  “No, it’s normal.” I smiled.

  “Okay,” he answered, shrugging. “So I guess it’s normal that I feel like taking a shower to freshen up.”

  “Definitely,” I said, feeling excited that his crazy plan of doing this to himself actually seemed to be working.

  I helped him gather some clean clothes that I’d brought for him, and then I helped him toward the lounge. He was walking much better, but still used my shoulder for some support, because he had experienced a couple of dizzy spells. Closing the door, I turned on the water, and then realized that he was looking at me with a raised brow.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said, standing still.

  In all of my excitement, I’d completely forgotten that I was supposed to only be a helper. One that he had a crush on, but that’s all. And there I was, hovering in the bathroom when he was about to strip down.

  “Oops,” I said, embarrassed. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “Um…” He glanced at the shower and then back to me. Then his gaze traveled to my ring finger. “Well, not really, but you don’t have to stay. I can handle—”

  “Okay, listen,” I murmured, putting my palms out, realizing enough was enough. I didn’t want to keep up the façade anymore. I was just too excited about his progress, and he appeared to be handling everything well. So what if I shocked him with the news. I was ready to move on and get my Wes back. Healthy and strong.

  “This may come as a shock to you,” I continued, looking him in the eye, “and I really didn’t want to make you feel obligated to feel a certain way, but here it goes. This ring…” I pointed to it. “You gave it to me. It’s a wedding ring. We’re married. You and me. I’ve loved you forever, and there you have it. So, no, I’m not leaving. I’ll turn around to give you privacy, but don’t feel obligated to shield my virtue, by all means.”

  His lips parted, but nothing came out. Shocked by my own words, I instinctively turned and faced the wall, my ey
es squeezed shut. What did I just do? It was too soon. Crap.

  The air was tense, and the sound of the water hitting the shower floor was deafening against the silence in the room. That’s all I heard. Pounding water drops that muffled Wes’ footsteps as he stepped forward. The electricity of his proximity was so strong, I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. There he was, right behind me. If I breathed deeply enough, I was sure my back would touch his chest. But we both stood there.

  What was he doing? I was afraid to look. Afraid to say anything else. But his closeness screamed to me like it always did. He was right there. If he didn’t want me near him, he wouldn’t be standing so close. Accepting the invite, I just relaxed and leaned back.

  It felt unbelievably good and natural. My whole body was leaning into him, and he hadn’t moved an inch. It had seemed like forever since he’d truly held me, and in that moment that’s all I wanted.

  As if reading my mind, he wrapped his arms around me and placed his cheek right against my ear. His breath was warm, and it enveloped my face, my neck, my everything. I gave in and started crying, not even knowing why. I was so confused.

  “Shh, don’t cry,” he whispered, holding me tighter.

  The sound of his voice made it worse. What was the matter with me? At that moment, he turned me around and looked at me.

  “Is it that bad?”

  “What?” I asked, sucking in a sob.

  “Being married to me.”

  The absurdity of the assumption stopped me still for a moment. But he was dead serious. So serious, it made me laugh. I shoved him with my forearms, as they were pressed against his chest.

  “Of course not,” I retorted, trying to figure out what had happened in the last five minutes.

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “Because you don’t remember me,” I admitted. No longer able to look him in the eye, I buried my face in his chest. Ugh. I had done it. Managed to turn this back around to me. I truly hated myself for doing it so quickly.

  “I’m sorry,” he answered. “I wish it were different. It must be hard, but all I can tell you is that, every day since I woke up, it’s felt like I’ve been missing a big piece of the puzzle. I’ve been trying to reason out what’s happening to me and reconcile with what I feared your ring meant. And to know now? I don’t think I could possibly feel more relieved.”

  Taking slow, deep breaths, I managed to settle down, but somehow couldn’t stop myself from plowing on.

  “The relief you feel is for Amelia,” I countered. “Not Sophie. I haven’t lived in the same body and mind like you have. We’re soul mates, but I’m a different person. You don’t even know me at all.”

  He pulled his head back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. “Yes, I do,” he said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Really? Then why am I having memories of skiing with you, right now. And of needing a hot shower to warm up? I’ve never been skiing with Amelia.”

  My head jerked up. “What?”

  He looked at me and shrugged. “I don’t really know, but this shower is making this room hot, and I keep seeing myself with you, in the snow.”

  “What?”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “But—” I shut my mouth, not wanting to push it.

  “Did we not go skiing?” he asked.

  I nodded, dumbfounded.

  He smiled. “See, I don’t remember a lot right now, but I will. And I want you to help me.”

  I nodded again, taking a step back and smiling to show that was okay.

  “So,” he said, pulling off his shirt. “Since I don’t have to protect your virtue, I’m going to take my shower now. You can turn around if you want to.”

  And with that, he turned his back to me—revealing still highly defined muscles—dropped his pants, and stepped into the shower, giving me a devious smile before closing the curtain. I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.

  Chapter 18

  PROGRESS

  After Wes showered and dressed, he seemed to have more energy, but still wrapped his arm around me for support as we walked down the hall. Somehow, it felt like he was just doing that to encourage me in some way. It was working.

  When we got back to Wes’ room, Dr. Carter was waiting. After answering a few questions about how he felt, Wes asked when he could go home. Surprisingly, Dr. Carter’s eyes grew wide before he regained his composure.

  “Not yet,” he said.

  “Why not?” Wes asked, sounding disappointed.

  “Because we’re still monitoring your recovery.”

  “I’m fine. Besides a little memory loss and joint soreness, I’m perfectly fine. And I don’t intend on staying around here for long.” He stole a glance in my direction. “I have a life to live.”

  Dr. Carter quickly glanced my way. “I’m sure you do, but you must be stable first.”

  “I can heal at home with Sophie,” he countered.

  “True,” the doctor said. “Well, let’s give it twenty-four more hours. If all seems well, we’ll look into having you released.” His voice was heavy with reluctance.

  Had I not been so impressed with Wes’ miraculous recovery and take-charge attitude, I may have tried to decipher Dr. Carter’s resistance. But Wes was recovering. He was looking better by the hour, and, after another round of tests, the doctors left him all to me for the afternoon. He couldn’t have looked happier about it.

  Once we were alone, he turned to me. “So, what was the surprise you had?”

  “Well, it’s just my journal. I had written it thinking that one day you might need to give it to me to remember my past, but I never thought we would use it to help you remember yours.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up into his signature grin. “I want to remember more,” he offered.

  I smiled. “Okay. Let me get it.”

  By the time I’d retrieved the journal from my bag, he had settled himself onto the sofa, in the middle, so that no matter which end I decided to sit on, I’d be close to him. That was comforting. Choosing a spot to his right, I settled in, and then became nervous. These were my thoughts. Everything I’d felt and held dear.

  I’d written them with the intention of reading them myself again one day, not being around while someone else read them. I suddenly felt entirely exposed.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I took a deep breath. “Yeah. Just nervous. When I wrote this, I didn’t really think I’d read it to you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  I shook my head, knowing. “No, I want to. There are certain parts that will help you understand us, and me.”

  “Okay,” he murmured, waiting.

  I exhaled and started flipping through the pages. One entry stood out as a good one to start with. I asked him if he wanted me to read it out loud, and he nodded. I skimmed through it first to make sure there wasn’t anything embarrassing. There wasn’t, but I still took a nervous breath before starting.

  I had known Wes for about a month before he told me his secret. That was the craziest day of my life. I had suspected something was different about him from the beginning. But it wasn’t until I found the newspaper articles—about his “father” dying in a time period totally different from when Wes said he had—that I began to question his honesty. No, not question. I knew he was lying, which is why I avoided him for several days.

  When I could no longer stand not knowing Wes’ reason, I agreed to meet him at the pier. He wasn’t surprised by the discrepancy I’d discovered, but he didn’t come clean either. Instead, he was going to just let me walk away, until some reckless chick fell off the pier and disappeared into the bay.

  We both ran after her, and I was about to jump in to help her, without a chance in the world, when Wes stopped me. He jumped in my place, saved her, and almost froze to death. Literally. He looked hypothermic when he came out of the water. Everyone wanted him to go to the hospital, but he refused, begging me to take him
home.

  Like a robot on autopilot, I did. But when we got there, he was still freezing and looked like death. Although hesitant, I helped him inside and removed his wet clothes, including his pants. I was so nervous, I almost died myself.

  Once I had him dried off, I noticed his heart wasn’t beating. Panic took over again, and then I remembered that, in the car, he'd told me that his heartbeat would be so slow, I wouldn’t be able to feel it. He was right. After listening harder, a faint beat was there. It was a crazy, intense moment.

  While he was asleep, I looked for something to read, and came across an old journal from 1915, written by a Dr. Thomas. The journal described a girl name Amelia, who had rescued a boy named Weston, and how the doctor had performed an insane, cold-blood experiment on Weston to keep him from bleeding to death.

  Even crazier, when Wes woke up the next day, he told me that the boy in the journal was him. Not an ancestor, but him.

  He had survived the procedure, but, because of the cold-blood transfusion, his cells were altered, causing him to age slowly—like, one year for every thirty. The idea freaked me out. Who was this crazy guy, talking all this crazy stuff? I didn’t want to know. I bolted out of his house so fast. I needed to think. To get away from him, the crazy guy. But my distance didn’t last long.

  By that night, I realized that what he was saying might actually be true. And then I thought about every encounter I had had with him. He was always so gentle, kind, giving, and loving. Everything about him felt right, and something in me burned like I wanted to know more. Like I needed to know more. So, I called him and he came over that night.

  Having him there was like an answer in itself. That was the night we first kissed. And that was the night I knew I wanted to be with him.

  I learned so much more about him that amazed and intrigued me. For one, aging slowly wasn’t so wonderful. It was a curse and messed with his mind. Somehow it threw off the pace of time for him. But through it all, he told me that the day we met was a gift. Something he’d waited decades for. It was then that I knew I was falling for him, fast.