The Hour of Dreams

by Shelena Shorts

  There was no telling how long Wes would stay angry and upset that his hand had been forced in the matter of the military and the media. At any rate, we quickly packed up enough clothes for a week. Dr. Carter waited the whole time and suggested that the security detail take us to the destination of our choice. Wes declined curtly, saying he preferred to drive us.

  I wasn't sure how to feel about that. It was either a good thing that would allow us to be alone together, or it was a bad thing that he didn't seem to be prioritizing our safety anymore.

  Dr. Carter tried to argue, but Wes called him on it.

  “The whole point of what you just did was so that we wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

  “If that’s the case,” I interrupted, “then why don't we just stay home?"

  “Because Dr. Carter is right. I do need to get away.”

  The way he said it made me wonder whether he was trying to get away from everyone, including me, or just the situation. Everything in me was trying not to whine or be insecure.

  While I carried on an internal conversation with myself, Wes and Dr. Carter agreed to have the Tahoes escort us part of the way. Then Wes led me into the garage. Once inside, he loaded up the trunk of his Maserati. I offered to drive, even though I had no idea where we were going or how to comfortably drive a stick shift, but he quickly declined.

  Even still, I pressed the issue. “But you don't really know anything about—”

  “Sophie, I remember now. I'm fine. Let’s go.”

  Wait a minute. This was a big moment. And he was acting as if it were no big deal. I stopped him. “Wes? What do you remember? Everything?”

  He stepped closer to me and, for the first time since before his appointment, he acknowledged my presence in a way that made me feel calmer again. He placed his hands on the sides of my face and lowered himself to my level. “Yes, I think so. Or at least enough to know what we need to do.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  “Start living our lives again.”

  He nodded one time and then opened the door for me without even looking at the handle. I slid into the car and waited for him to go around to his side. With a familiar movement, he positioned himself into the driver’s seat, and backed out of the garage with precision.

  With no direction from me, he turned on to the local freeway. At that point, having no idea where we were going, I just stayed quiet and went with the flow.

  He ended up driving us along the coast, and the silence between us became peaceful. Eventually we pulled into a bed and breakfast along the water, and he reserved an oceanfront room. As we unpacked our bags and settled in, we realized that we hadn’t eaten. He took charge and had dinner delivered to our room, which I happily accepted, and we ate in silence.

  When we were done with that, he asked me to go with him on to the balcony. Outside, we watched the sunset, listened to the waves crashing below, and, for the first time since our trip to the facility, he placed my hand in his, and we watched the red-orange sun tuck itself below the horizon.

  A small part of me wanted to ask him a million questions about what he was thinking, how he was feeling, and what exactly he remembered. But I was also content to just sit there with him and hold his hand.

  We spent most of the week eating in and walking on the beach. He didn’t share his memories, or lack of them, with me, and although it bothered me, I continued to let him be. He had been through an experience that no one else in the world would ever replicate, and no amount of pressure would help him open up. At least that was my reasoning. Just let him heal physically, mentally, and emotionally. I would be there, but wouldn’t force anything else.

  He seemed to appreciate the space, but was affectionate enough that I didn't worry too much. After what I hoped was a rejuvenating getaway, we came home feeling more relaxed.

  That lasted for about a month before I was about to burst. It felt like we were robots. We slept, we ate, we talked about everything but his memories or the news. It seemed like every time we turned it on, the media were talking about cures and test trials and a lab that Wes had almost completely distanced himself from. Even though, as he requested, the California Blood Research Center received most of the credit, he lacked the excitement that everyone else had.

  He even opted out of giving a speech at the celebration dinner that Dr. Lyon and Dr. Carter hosted. My mom and Tom went and even took notice of Wes’ lack of participation. It made no sense, and I had a hard time believing that his mood was just a matter of who was receiving credit.

  I started to worry that he was never going to be quite the same. He went through his days normally, swimming in the morning, going to class, and overseeing some lab operations. I went to class, to work, and met my mom for lunch. We got along well, with no arguments. But it was just…being. It eventually pulled me down like gravity.

  I let out all of my frustrations on Dawn at work one day. We sat in the back of the store, eating our lunch, and I ranted, telling her everything except for the true nature of Wes’ procedure. She knew he’d undergone some experimental blood treatment, but that was the extent of it. When I was done, she looked me in the eyes and said, “I thought I was hormonal.”

  “Say what?”

  “Hormonal. You know, female emotional overload?”

  “I know what hormonal means, but I’m not hormonal. I’m frustrated. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Here’s an idea. Talk to him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, I’ll come off like I’m pouting or needy, and I hate that. I’ve never had to ask for his attention before. Or had to ask him how he felt about me. And now it’s like that’s all I want to know. I have no idea what he’s thinking.”

  “Ask him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. He’s never given you a reason to doubt him before.”

  I rolled my eyes, took a bite of my burger, and slumped my shoulders. “Sophie, are you kidding me?” she asked.

  “No, I’m not. I’ve been like this for weeks.”

  Now she rolled her eyes. “Let me put this into perspective for you.” She stood up, showing me her ever-growing bump. “I think my situation is worse than yours. I’m pregnant, a teenager, not married, have no idea what I’m doing with my future, and you’re the one who told me to look at the bright side. To stick it out and be selfless. Right? And now, here you are, feeling ‘neglected’ by someone who obviously loves you, and you’re acting like it’s the end of the world.” She sat down. “Give me a break.”

  I furrowed my brows. “Wait a minute. I’m just saying, I don’t know what to do. I just want us to be like we used to.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen. It’s real life. Things change. Life changes. And if you love someone, you roll with the changes and are there for that person. No matter what.”

  I felt the sharpness of her words and realized she wasn’t just talking about me and Wes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. Life is full of peaks and valleys. And I guess we have to weed out everything in between to find out what we want out of it.”

  She nodded. “That’s better.”

  “So what about you? Are you going to take your own advice?”

  She shook her head, her mouth full of fries. “Absolutely not.”

  “What?” I started laughing.

  “I’m serious. I’m never talking to Jackson again. I don’t have to be there for squat.”

  “Oh, come on. Remember, life is full of peaks and valleys. He’s experienced both with you, and he needs to adjust to the in-between. You should help him. If you loved him, you wouldn’t give up on it.”

  “Sophie, he’s completely distanced himself from me. No obligation left there.”

  “You didn’t help the situation by flipping out and refusing to talk to him after everything went down. Maybe you should at least open the door. Do your part.”

  “And
what’s that?”

  “I don’t know. Send him a sonogram picture. A card. The baby’s due date.”

  She thought for a moment. “I guess I could send him a text telling him it’s a girl.”

  “Yeah. You cou—wait.” My eyes bulged. “It’s a girl?”

  She laughed, folding in another fry. “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You’ve been sort of preoccupied.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” I got up and hugged her. “And he doesn’t know?”

  “Nope. I heard he’s planning a graduation trip this summer, right around the due date. Nice.”

  I sat down. “Well, I think you should send him an actual card and pictures. It’s more personal and will strike a chord more than a text. He needs to know what he’s missing.”

  As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I needed to follow my own advice. Maybe Wes’ mind was too cluttered with other stuff to realize what we were missing. Hmm. I needed a way to change that. Several ideas popped in my mind. Candlelight dinner. Cliché. Romantic getaway. Cliché. Date night. Cliché. I had no clue how to restore that sorely missed spark, but I’d think of something.

  I stayed hopeful until I got home that evening and there was a note on the counter from Wes, saying he’d gone to the race track. What? Where did that come from? He just took off on his own, without even inviting or calling me? I took deep breaths and then scooped up my keys. Yes, I was being that girl. The one who chased down her man even when he was out with the guys. Sometimes it’s important, and I wouldn't have had to go to such measures if he wasn’t so out of sorts. I was worried about him.

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot. The lights were on, but Wes’ car was the only one there. I pulled my jeep in right beside it and went to the front door of the hangar. It was locked and wasn’t budging, no matter how many times I shook it or rang the bell. After getting no answer and hearing the deafening sounds of a car engine, I walked around to the side fence for a better view. One of Wes’ sponsored cars was making its way on to the track, squealing its tires as it darted around the far bend. It flew around the track with a vengeance. I looked around for Wes, watching as he usually did, but he was nowhere in sight.

  Not ready to give up, I decided to climb the fence. So, there I was, in the dark, in my jean capris, tank top, and flip flops, straddling the chain-link fence.

  I dropped to the grass and made my way to the back side of the hangar. One garage door was up and I stepped inside to find Wes, but he wasn't there. It sank in then that Wes must have been in the car, which caused me to turn toward the track and pay closer attention. The car was flying around the turns dangerously. What was he doing?

  He’d told me several times that he no longer drove because he’d passed the stage of needing the rush. Yet there he was, zooming around the track at night, all alone.

  I pressed my lips together and stepped closer to the railing so that he could see me on the next pass. Which he did. At the sight of me, he applied the brakes, spun the car around, and rolled up next to me. He hoisted himself out of the window, wearing only jeans and a t-shirt. Not even a helmet.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, looking shocked.

  “What are you doing here?” I retorted, crossing my arms. He didn’t answer. “Are you trying to hurt yourself?” He exhaled heavily, shrugged his shoulders, and looked away. “Well, why are you out here?” I pressed.

  He looked back to me and leaned against the car. “I just wanted to feel the rush. To feel myself again.”

  “How does this help you?”

  “Because I feel like my mind is working so slowly now. I just want to speed it up so I can think more clearly.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”

  “Because. I can’t think while worrying about us all the time.”

  I felt like someone had kneed me in the gut. A sharp breath escaped my chest, and I turned to walk away, furious and hurt. And then I thought about my conversation with Dawn. No matter what, I needed to be honest with myself and figure out where we fit. And that meant no more leaving things unsaid.

  I turned back and stood directly in front of him. “Well, I’m sorry that worrying about us is such a chore. Sorry that I’m still nineteen. I may be healthy now, but I could get hit by a falling rock tomorrow. And every single thing we worked for would be for nothing. And you don’t want to worry about it?”

  He was shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Really? Well, fill me in, please. Because one minute you’re telling me you love me more than anything, for all time. The next, you’re plotting behind my back to find a cure that’s supposedly for me, but completely risks your life. Then you don’t even remember me, but you say that you don’t need to remember me, because you ‘just know’ how you feel. Then you throw a fit when your cure gets wind under it without your consent, and now you don’t want to worry about us. Tell me, Wes. What is it that I missed on this ride?”

  He took another frustrated, deep breath and shrugged. “I don’t know, Sophie. I’ve always had a purpose. This responsibility to carry on these memories for so long, and to find a cure. To save you. And all of that is done. Dr. Carter obviously doesn’t need me anymore. You don’t need me.”

  “I do need you,” I said, feeling completely naked in front of him.

  “No, you don’t. You’ve saved me so many times, I've lost count.”

  “And you just saved me, Wes.”

  “Okay. So now what? You’re married to me and what do I have to offer you now?”

  “Are you serious?” He didn’t reply. “What happened to knowing we belonged together? Even when things didn’t make sense, ‘we belonged together.’ Don’t you still believe that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What?” My eyes started to water. “How could you say that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I scowled, and was about to say something, when he swayed backward, stumbling against the car. He pressed his palm to his temple, and I rushed to steady him. Trying to offer support, I grabbed for his elbows, but he jerked them back. “Stop,” he snapped.

  “Let me help you.”

  “I’m fine. My equilibrium is just off. I’ll be fine.”

  “Let me help you,” I pressed.

  “No,” he said, fixing his gaze on me. “Stop helping me.”

  His words shocked me. I looked into his eyes and saw that he was completely serious. “So, do you want me to go?” I asked.

  “Yes, please,” he replied.

  Okay. That pill was hard to swallow, and I couldn’t help but give him exactly what he wanted—before I said something I regretted. Without a word, I gave him one hard stare and then turned on my heels and started walking. He didn’t try to stop me, which hurt even worse.

  When I reached my car, I was sobbing. Part of me wanted to turn around and fight for what I wanted, but the other part was too upset that he wasn’t doing exactly that.

  I was fumbling with the door handle when I finally heard my name. Wes came jogging out, and, not wanting him to see my face, I hurried with the lock. He came upon me so fast, I jumped in panic.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing me and turning me toward him.

  My body was tense against his, but he held me tightly until I settled down. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Please. Don’t be upset. I have no idea what I was saying back there.”

  I stood silent, tears still trailing, glad he couldn’t see my face. After several minutes, he repeated, “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to figure everything out. I woke up thinking I had a crush on you. Then I realized that everything I’d wanted had come true. Then I learned that I’d spent decades one way, fighting for a cure and your existence, to find it was all taken care of. I’m not sure where that leaves me in all this now. What do I do?”

  My gaze finally settled on his. His brown eyes looked tired and his lids looked heavy. What to do
didn’t seem that hard to me. “You love me,” I said.

  He looked down. “I’m afraid to,” he whispered.

  “Afraid of what?”

  He was as uncomfortable as I’d seen him. “You and Dr. Carter have a clean slate now. You can do anything you want. Your future doesn’t have to depend on me anymore.”

  Some of this was starting to make sense. It was like we were at another beginning all over again. “Has this been your way of pushing me away, for fear that I want something else? That I don’t need you?” He shrugged. “Wes…” I weaved my arms around him and pressed myself into a hug. “I am not going to choose any sort of life without you. It’s that simple. I just want you to be with me. That’s all. And you distancing yourself from me isn’t any sort of guarantee for my future.” He rested his cheek on my hair and gently squeezed me. “Can’t you feel it? We belong like this. Please don’t push me away,” I said.

  He shook his head, so I gave him a shake to rouse him. To make him see. And in a bold move, I kissed him. It was a long overdue encounter that felt as intense as the first time we kissed. He held me tightly, as if he never wanted to let me go, and that was when I knew we would be okay.

  Somehow, we’d managed to weed through all the in-between hills and valley stuff that real life had dealt, and we found our happy place that night. I was proud of that, because living life sounds fun and easy, but in reality it’s the hardest thing people have to do. And we were doing it. Maybe not gracefully, but we were doing it. And standing there, feeling like we’d won another battle, I did everything I could to push aside the thought in the back of my head —that I was still only nineteen.

  Chapter 21

  THE HOUR

  Maybe it was selfish not to let Wes distance himself from me. After everything, if something did happen to me, it would be even more devastating for him. And even more so for us. Because now that he wasn’t guaranteed to age slowly or be nearly impenetrable, we weren’t guaranteed to meet again in the future, with him privy to our past. He’d given up his near immortality for unconfirmed dreams, but he insisted that it was worth it. He simply said he’d rather experience life normally, as we were meant to, and was sure it was the right thing to do.