Chapter 25

Shawn

“Is this a good dream? Or is it just a dream?”

“Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

Evelyn sure seems like she’s awake and aware as both her hands grip me acutely, purposefully leaning her weight against mine while walking.

The way the cool night air assaults my face is also a tad too real for a dream. As real as dreams are, they’re not that real.

Also, she’s walking, so I doubt she’s in dreamland quite yet.

“Could you ask that question one more time, Evelyn? I need to make sure I have the details down pat before I commit to an answer.”

“Is this a good dream? Or is it just a dream?”

She glances up at me with those beautiful green eyes. They blink slowly, and they’ve already got that dreamy expression in them.

“You might be dreaming right now because that still doesn’t make much s—”

“It makes perfect sense.”

She begins sloping against me with even more intensity and holding onto me even more tenaciously.

The way she fits into me is perfect. I can’t help but strain to remember what it was like before…before the accident, before I lost my memory.

Did we take moonlit walks? Did we argue? Or were we the perfect couple?

I begin slowing down the pace of our walk to extend this magnificent moment for as long as I can. If I don’t have my old memories, I want to at least create perfect new ones. And this one, I won’t forget, ever.

Of course, I may have said that about other memories. And look at what’s happened to me. I’m a walking shell of my former self.

Nothing. I search, I grope, and nothing. My mind remains blank.

“To answer your question, if we were in a dream, it would be a good dream,” I admit.

“How good?”

Evelyn’s voice is taking on additional sleepiness as we approach her front door. She must be beyond exhausted after that episode we just experienced together.

I know myself how tired you are after being assaulted by a massive amount of adrenalin.

Fortunately, all of the darkness surrounding that ordeal—those hazy traumas starting to resurface, the confusion between the present and a past that refuses to fade away gracefully, the fear and bewilderment that my actions inspired—it’s all evaporating as quickly and completely as a half-remembered nightmare in the morning light.

I even spot the lights of nosy, awakened neighbors shutting off as the usual early morning quiet resettles onto the neighborhood.

But, most of all, I can tell that things have taken a sudden, rapid turn for the better by the way that Evelyn has relaxed on so many levels—letting herself almost fall, knowing that I’ll be there to keep her safe and upright.

“This is no dream,” I tell her, “even if it’s starting to feel like one.”

“Like a good dream?”

That’s a good question.

For so many people, dreams are usually good, or neutral, or weird, or maybe a little off. For most people, when a dream becomes really bad, it stops being a dream—and it becomes a nightmare.

For me, at least these days, there are no such thing as nightmares because every dream goes well into deep abyss of abject fear and sadness. They’re just dreams now, and I dream more than I care to think about.

But now, for the first time in a long, long time, for the first time in what seems like an entire lifetime or more—I’m remembering that not all dreams are nightmares.

For the first time since my old life, I’m truly remembering what a good dream is like, even though this is no dream.

She’s really here, and so am I.

“No,” I say to Evelyn as we both stop just before walking through the door.

Evelyn pulls away from me slightly, standing back up on her feet and looking at me with vaguely questioning eyes.

“No?” she asks. “This is not a good dream?”

“No, it’s not.”

“But…why isn’t it?”

“Because dreams are never this good.”

I can see the question in her eyes now answered by just a hint of tears, which she soon blinks away with a smile.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says. “But I think it’s soon past time for me to drift back into my dreams for real for a while—at least until morning.”

“Let’s go get you back to dreamland for a while, then.”

Evelyn leans towards me and let gravity do its job of letting her fall back into me, so I can support her wonderful weight.

“You can go back into dreamland before we even get to the bedroom, if you’d like,” I clarify.

Evelyn’s head slowly comes to rest on my chest, and we just stay there for a quiet, heavenly moment.

“That might just happen,” she mutters, already starting to fall asleep.

I lift Evelyn’s legs with one arms, supporting her back with my other arm, open the door, and carry her into the house, watching her fatigued eyes look at the ceiling in some deep reverie.

Without really thinking, I let her down onto the couch and kneel down beside her.

“Not quite going off into dreamland, yet?” I ask.

“Not quite. You should join me, first.”

I lie down on the couch next to Evelyn. There’s the perfect amount of space for both of us—just enough for us to stay very close together as sleep starts to take us.

Just enough so I can hear her heart beating, slowly and steadily, as she smiles and her eyes start to close.

Before I can even think about allowing my own eyes to shut, I pull down a blanket resting neatly on the back of the couch and carefully unfold it as I lie.

As I start wrapping Evelyn in the blanket, I study her face for a moment. Considering the night we’ve had, I’ve never seen anyone’s face look as peaceful and content as they slept. Even her smile is still there.

I get up from the couch, so I can make sure the blanket is wrapped snugly and securely around the beautifully sleeping Evelyn.

Once I’m satisfied that she’s comfortably ensconced in the blanket for the rest of her night’s sleep, I lie down again beside her.

Seemingly without waking back up, Evelyn lies her head back on my chest. Her smile stays fixed on her slumbering face as she breathes slowly and contentedly.

Illuminated only by the ambient moonlight coming through the windows, Evelyn’s face might be the most breathtaking sight I’ve ever seen.

As I fall back into a peaceful sleep, I’m sure I have a smile on my face, as well. And I don’t have any dreams.

At least, I think I don’t, since, for the first time in a long time, I don’t wake up drenched in sweat.