Logan knew he was in a dream because the woman with the zebra-print dress was upside down, shouting his name. “Logan! Logan!”

He thought he smelled grass and the smell of cleats, but he couldn’t see any of the other faces.

“Wake up!” the zebra-print woman shouted.

His mind flashed to an image of a green beer bottle smashing against a wall and glass shattering. Reflexively, he tried to cover his face to protect it from the glass.

His movement woke him, and he felt the beads of sweat on his forehead and all down his back. He turned to look at the clock. Five-thirty in the morning.

He was alone, in the guest bedroom. He lay back down, thinking it had been three when he’d put Paris to bed, then gone to bed himself. He couldn’t get back to sleep, just lying there, his heart racing. Thinking about his dream, the woman. Kim.

How, in this alternate reality, had he gotten engaged to Kim? He lay there, thinking about all he’d learned about his life yesterday. He went through each piece of information and placed it in the puzzle of the gap of eight years.

Was there something he didn’t want to remember?

To him, the answer was obvious. He’d screwed up his life; that’s what he didn’t want to remember. The longer he thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. He still didn’t know exactly why things hadn’t worked out with Paris.

Why? Why? Why?

Why won’t she answer the question?

Getting up, he pulled some gym clothes out of the bag he’d packed and quickly put them on. He needed to run. He could tell he did. The minute he hit the trail around the lake, it felt good, more than good. His mind began to clear and he could pinpoint the gaps in the timeline.

Gaps that he wanted—needed—answers to.

By the time he got back to the cabin, it was almost nine. He’d been running a long time. He noticed he was sweating, but not very tired. His stomach grumbled. Luckily, when he pulled back the sliding door, Paris’s dad was in the kitchen and Logan could smell bacon.

The sound of music drew him toward the piano, where Paris was engrossed in her playing. He watched her hands dance across the keys, even though her eyes were closed. Was she composing? Pausing, he tried to decipher if he knew the song, but he couldn’t tell.

“Logan, you’re back just in time. Go shower and we’ll eat before we go attend a service,” her dad said.

Logan turned and her dad had a big smile on his face. He nodded to Paris and winked at him.

Logan hesitated, then remembered all the times he’d come in the summer and stayed the weekend. He’d gone to church with them, an old church on the outskirts of Star Valley. He didn’t move. How did he tell Paris’s dad that he didn’t want to go?

He could tell by the look on her dad’s face that there would be no telling him no. “Go on, get showered. Paris, sweetheart, it sounds so beautiful, but it’s time to get ready.”

As if pulled from another world, Paris opened her eyes, her hands slowing and stopping on the keys. She looked guilty.

His heart raced and he smiled at her.

“Go on, now, you two,” her dad said. “We’ll eat and then go.”

An hour later, they were sitting in the Faith Hills Chapel. It was an old country church, white stucco with vines growing up the sides and pretty flowers out front, all surrounded by trees. The inside was well taken care of. They were late, so they found a seat in the back row. Paris’s dad ended up between them.

Paris’s dad leaned over to whisper something to him just as the prayer finished and the song had begun. “Did you know that Paris’s mother and I were married in this church?”

In fact, that was the only thing he knew about this church, because her dad had told him every time they came. He’d actually talked to Paris about getting married in this church. “Really?” Logan said, taking the hymnbook from the bench in front and looking up the song.

“Hmm. Hmm.” Paris’s dad shared his book with Paris and belted out the hymn.

Logan began to sing. He’d never been raised in any church, but he’d always believed in God. He’d liked Christmas, always liked the idea that a Savior had been born to the Earth. He probably thought about Christmas because he always came to church with Paris on Christmas.

They finished singing and listened to the preacher talk about faith.

“Faith is the key to all good things in life. Government. Community. Marriage. Having faith is the only thing that allows you to get through life. To forgive, as Christ forgave, even when he was hanging on the cross.”

Logan listened and thought about faith. Did he have faith? Him? The young him had faith in Paris and in Shane. He had faith in something like God. He’d never been able to square things, like why he’d been given a mother who overdosed on drugs and an alcoholic father. But he’d looked at having Paris’s family as some kind of compensation. His heart raced and he decided somehow, he would demand answers from her. He didn’t care if she didn’t want to tell him or that she was afraid to tell him. He would find out.

The preacher continued for a while longer, and when he had finished, they launched into another song and then a prayer.

Logan jumped when her dad shot up and rushed to the front. “Hold up, everyone.” He gestured to the preacher.

“Wait, everyone,” the preacher said. “Please.”

Her dad put up both hands. “I know that many of you know the drama with Logan Slade. Please, don’t rat us out to the press. Let him have a chance to remember. Don’t post on social media anywhere. Don’t take pictures.”

Many of the people in the congregation smiled or nodded to him.

As they left, it was near impossible to stay out of people’s way. Several people stopped them and he was surprised to get a few hugs from people who he kind of remembered, but looked older now.

One old lady, Ms. Pixley, who lived next to the cabin, said, “I always told everyone you were the nicest boy and I didn’t know what happened. It seemed like after your daddy passed away you had a breakdown.”

Paris and her dad glanced at each other, and then Paris took his hand. “Good to see you, Ms. Pixley, but we have to go.”

As they got to the car her dad said, “I wonder how long we have before the press shows up.”