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“No. It’s just flashes here and there. Bits and pieces that I can’t make out. I can hear voices, but I can’t see any faces. I’m not sure if it’s real or not. I try to stay with it, but . . . I can’t. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make sense of any of it. I keep thinking it really happened. I remember all of my other missions. Just not this one.”
“Maybe it is just a bad dream then.”
“It feels too real. Like it happened. Really happened. And I keep thinking it has to be my last mission. Everything about it feels like I was there. But I can’t remember where I was or who else was there. Except for the guys who died, I can’t remember them.”
She took a small step back and looked at me. Even in the dark, her eyes bore into mine. “I think you should write this stuff down.”
“Hailey, I’m not keeping a journal.”
“Lots of people write down their dreams.”
“Yeah, and they hang dreamcatchers and read their horoscopes because they think that stuff means something.” She narrowed her eyes at me. I held up my hands. “Look, you want to do that stuff, that’s up to you. I prefer to deal with the tangible.”
“You are such a skeptic. I swear, sometimes it’s like I’m married to a blockhead. You can believe in starships and wars in space, but when it comes to other stuff, it’s a hard no for you.”
“I don’t believe inStar Warsstuff actually happening.”
“Then why are their pictures of you in costumes holding lifesavers?”
“They’reLightsabers, Hailey. And I was a kid.”
“Um, I’ve seen the pictures, and you had facial hair.”
She had me there. I smiled at the memory. “Fine. I surrender.”
“So, you’ll keep a journal?” She looked so proud, standing in her fuzzy robe and matching slippers.
“No. I’m not keeping a journal. But I’ll write it all down in a notebook.”
“That works, too.” Her words may have been approving, but there was a hint of smugness etched into them.
“I don’t like the idea of dwelling on the bad stuff. My dreams are always bad, and now it’s like I’m just reliving the same thing over and over again.”
“Maybe we can look at this as part of your healing process. If you write them down, maybe new stuff will come to the surface. Or perhaps you’ll stop having bad dreams.”
“I just don’t want to jinx it. My brain is fucked up enough as it is. And lately, my dreams are always bad, and I never remember anything but bits and pieces anyway! I don’t want to make things worse. You don’t worry about that?”
“Vince, it’s been happening for over a week.”
“Two weeks,” I admitted.
Instead of berating me for keeping this from her, she touched my face softly and stroked my cheek with her thumb. “We will keep a journal . . . um, write them down just as a way to monitor what you’re dreaming of. I like to think that the process of getting them out of your head and onto paper will help to rid your mind of it. Maybe you keep dreaming about it because it’s still lodged in there. Maybe once you write it down, you’ll start to dream about something good.”
“I don’t need to dream about anything good, Hailey. All I have to do is think about you and Hudson.”
She pressed her soft lips to mine. I drank in her kiss and sank into her embrace. We made our way back to bed and made love. The tenderness of our union almost brought tears to my eyes. Hailey stood right by my side. With each struggle and setback, through my memory loss and the challenges it brought, Hailey had been nothing short of amazing. It was moments like this that reminded me of her resilience and capacity for unconditional love. “I would walk on my knees to hell and back for you. Thank you for loving me,” I whispered.
A few days later, I was back at Dr. Farris’s office. Since Hailey and I were doing much better, we agreed we could drop our couples counseling sessions to once a month. I was still coming in at least once a week. This was my second time coming in this week, though. I was feeling particularly vulnerable and like a complete chump.
“How are things going?”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Well, clearly not since I’m coming to see you so soon. I guess after remembering a couple of new things, I just expected it to keep happening. I should be better by now, shouldn’t I?” My question was rhetorical, but I asked it anyway.
“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but the brain is a complex thing. It takes time.”
