Page 81 of Life and Death
She raised an eyebrow and then spoke so low that I had to lean in to hear. “Ah, but you’re only conscious for roughly sixteen hours in any given twenty-four-hour period. That gives me quite a lead, don’t you think?”
“You’re not factoring in dreams, though.”
She sighed. “Do nightmares count as dreams?”
Red started creeping up my neck. “When I dream about you . . . it’s definitely not a nightmare.”
Her mouth opened just a tiny bit in surprise, and her face was suddenly vulnerable. “Really?” she asked.
It was obvious that she was pleased, so I said, “Every single night.”
She closed her eyes for just a minute, but when she opened them, her smile was teasing again.
“REM cycles are the shortest of all the sleep stages. I’m still hours ahead.”
I frowned. It was difficult to process. “You really think aboutme?”
“Why is that hard for you to believe?”
“Well, look at me,” I said, unnecessarily, as she already was. “I’m absolutely ordinary—well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so uncoordinated that I can barely walk. And look at you.” I waved my free hand toward her and all her unsettling perfection.
She smiled a slow smile. It started small but ended with the full array of dimples—like the grand finale at the end of a fireworks show on the Fourth of July.
“I can’t argue with you about the bad things.”
“Well, there you go.”
“But you’re the least ordinary person I’ve ever met.”
Our eyes held for a long moment. Mine searched hers, as I tried to believe she could see something important enough to keep her here. It always felt like she was just about to slip away, to disappear like she was only a myth after all.
“But why . . .” I didn’t know how to phrase it.
She tilted her head, waiting.
“Last night . . .” I stopped and shook my head.
She frowned. “Do you do that on purpose? The unfinished thought as a way to drive me mad?”
“I don’t know if I can explain it right.”
“Please try.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re claiming I don’t bore you and you aren’t thinking of moving on to Jeremy anytime soon.”
She nodded, fighting a grin.
“But last night . . . it was like . . .” She was anxious now. The rest came out in a rush. “Like you were already looking for a way to say goodbye.”
“Perceptive,” she whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as she confirmed my worst fear.
Her fingers ever so gently squeezed mine.
“Those two things are unrelated, however.”
“Which two things?”
“The depth of my feelings for you, and the necessity of leaving. Well, theyarerelated, but inversely.”
