When she reached the page titled THE DAY I FOUND REID, her expression softened.
“This recognition is important.”
“It wasn’t a real memory,” Noah said.
“It was stored association with emotional and sensory components.”
“That sounds less romantic.”
“It may be more neurologically accurate.”
He glanced at me.
“I prefer my version.”
“So do I.”
Dr. Whitcomb turned another page.
“You also wrote that you woke saying Reid’s name.”
“This morning.”
“What did the dream contain?”
Noah described the flooded apartment, the shifting rooms, the whistle, the hand at his neck.
Dr. Whitcomb asked whether the dream frightened him.
“No. It felt difficult. But I knew where to go.”
“And the nightmare?”
“Still there.”
“Any change?”
“It ends faster when Reid is beside me.”
She looked at me.
“Are you sleeping in the same room now?”
Noah answered before I could.
“Yes.”
The color in his face deepened slightly.
“Is that arrangement comfortable for both of you?”
“Yes,” I said.
Noah nodded.
“Any pressure related to your prior relationship?”
“No.”
