HOLLYN
I sit up straight in bed with a jolt. My entire body feels like it’s going haywire and the remnants of the dream are still clinging to me at the edges of my consciousness. It’s a strange feeling, but it feels very real.
Just like the dream did.
Right now, I’m not entirely sure I can call it a dream without wondering if I’m lying to myself. That’s how real it felt.
There was a moment when I could have sworn that I was sitting next to Hillary’s bed, her eyes boring into mine as I wished like hell for another miracle. But miracles don’t always come twice in a lifetime, and my best friend had already been blessed once. I just didn’t want to believe it.
I certainly didn’t want to say goodbye to her. But it was coming and we could both feel it.
But for that moment, fleeting as it was, she was right there in front of me and still fighting.
The sun is just starting to crest the horizon, the soft light finding nooks and bends in the curtain which are perfect for exploitation.
My chest is rising and falling far too rapidly, and I find myselfglancing over at Elwood and hoping I didn’t wake him up. He should sleep even if there’s no way I’m going to be able to get back to sleep tonight.
Not with the way I feel.
I’m unsettled.
I’m uncertain.
It’s been years since I’ve felt this way. The last time, I got a call from Hillary and she needed me. With a single act my best friend gave me purpose and set me on a clear path. I was going to be there for her no matter what.
But that time in my life is over now with her gone.
So where do I go and what do I do?
How do I find the right path for me when it was all kind of out of my hands before? How does anyone figure this shit out?
I’ve been pondering it all for far too long, the two weeks on the road helping me to feel the grief deeply and then start to look past it. My only goal was the road trip.
Well, first it was to ensure Hillary’s wishes were upheld for her funeral. Then it was getting through that day and putting my best friend to rest. Next came getting on the road and starting out on following through on the last promise I made her. I’ve been doing just that, until Storyville.
Until my car broke down.
Until I met Elwood.
I slip from the bed and pull Elwood’s hoodie, which is draped over the oversized chair next to the window, over my head. It still smells faintly of him—cinnamon and something that reminds me of Christmas.
The comforting scent of him wraps around me and I sink into it as I carefully pad out of his room and down the hall. When I pass the room where I was supposed to be staying, I snort out a laugh under my breath. Yeah, that didn’t work out very well for me.
Best laid plans, I suppose.
I couldn’t even tell you whether the bed in the guest room is comfortable or not. There hasn’t been a night when I’ve slept on it. Why would I when I sleep best snuggled into Elwood’s side with his arm wrapped around me like he never wants to let me go?
My movements are methodical as I make a cup of tea, needing the warmth of it to pull the last of my mind out of the sleep realm. It would have been far too easy to get lost there. Hillary was there. Grief wasn’t.
But it wasn’t real.
Right?
When my tea is done, I hold it between my hands and grab a cozy throw blanket before stepping onto the back porch and cocoon myself on the outdoor couch. The view is gorgeous, and I close my eyes, trying to hold onto the last of that feeling, the last of my dream.
I just know if I would have reached out and touched Hillary where she laid in her hospital bed, her fingers would have been cold. But her grip. Her fucking grip would have been tight to match the fierce fire in her eyes.
“Hollyn,” she murmured to me. Her tone told me this wasn’t a memory. Because there was never a time when she sounded as stern as she did in my dream. “You’re being an idiot.”
