Page 12 of Chasing Dreams
“What?”
“The dreams.”
Unconsciously, she frowned. “I don’t know.”
“A bump on the head? A mental trauma?”
She shook her head. “Nothing like that.”
“Had you ever had dreams like them before?”
She hesitated a moment. “Sometimes. When I was a kid. It spooked my mom, so I quit telling her about them. After a while I quit having them.”
They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, she tried once again to convince him. “I’m not here to get your father to find Jack for me. I’ve found him. I just can’t get to him—yet.”
“Jack being your nephew.”
“Yes. My dreams have convinced me that he’s alive. If I could learn how to...” She stumbled for the right words to express what she knew was possible. “Connect,” she said for lack of a better word. “How to understand what’s going on with me and do it myself, I think I can find him. I hope I can.”
“I wouldn’t be doing you any favors if I didn’t warn you not to hold out false hope,” he said. “I can’t encourage you.”
“It’s not false hope. I just know...somehow...that he’s alive.”
“Was the Deets boy alive?”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s exactly the same. Who are you kidding here? You hoped against hope that that child was alive at the bottom of that hole. You felt every minute of his fear and his pain. You knew when the pain ended that it was over, but you hoped. You prayed his parents wouldn’t have to get the awful news. You hoped he was waiting for someone to find him, hanging in there until you could tell the police where he was.”
She stared at him, her heart pounding, the protracted torment of those hours painted afresh in her mind.
He stood abruptly and moved around the sofas toward the kitchen area.
Shaine followed, not caring that he hadn’t invited her.
He opened a drawer, plucked out a couple of self-sealing bags and efficiently placed a sandwich in each.
He had described her feelings in exact detail. “How do you know what I hoped?” she asked softly.
“Was I wrong?”
“No.”
“Then you’re going to have to trust me.”
“Okay, I hoped they would find that boy in time. But Jack is different. It’s been a year since he disappeared, but in my dreams he’s older, just as he would be today. I know he’s alive.”
“That’s your hope speaking. You want it to be true so badly that even when there’s no basis for your belief, you’re clinging to it, inventing reasons why it should be so.”
“I’m not inventing anything,” she said, less calmly, her frustration already at a dangerous level. “Or do you think I’m crazy?”
His head snapped up and he met her eyes. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“Then help me.” The words came out more pleadingly than she’d intended. She quickly looked down at her hands while she composed herself. “All I want is a chance to talk to Mr. Allen about my dreams. If he’s busy, I’ll make it quick. If he’s not well, I won’t upset him. I’d hoped...”
“What had you hoped?”
She gazed at an old tin baking soda sign on the wall behind the counter. “I’d hoped he was a lonely old man who’d welcome a little company.”
