Since he had his hat on, I couldn’t see his face from that angle, but I didn’t have to. His back was so tense, I could see the ridge running down the center of it through his shirt. I leaned down beside him, but my stomach got in the way. “Then what is it?”
“It’s nothing.”
“If it was nothing, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
His knuckles were white, his eyes narrowed at the floor. For a second it looked like he was going to answer, but that changed instantly.
“Come on. You can’t keep all of this bottled up or you’re going to explode. You need to vent a little sometimes. You need to talk to me, Jesse. I can’t help you if you won’t be open with me.”
“I’m supposed to be helping you, not the other way around,” he replied in that rough voice he’d taken on recently.
“Oh, yeah? Where did you read that? The Unhealthy Relationship Bible?” I nudged him with my elbow. “Come on, I can take it. Whatever you have to say, I promise. I know I might seem fragile and emotional, but those are the out-of-whack hormones talking.” I dropped my hand on his leg, above his knee. “Come on. Give it to me.”
“I can’t.”
I watched the sleeping-slash-snoring family sitting across from us. I wondered if they’d had to go through the same kinds of obstacles to wind up where they were—together. A step above comatose, but still a family. I couldn’t look at them for long without feeling that hole in my stomach start to open. The one I’d told Jesse nothing about because if he knew I was worried about me and the baby making it through this thing, unlike I let on, he wouldn’t make it through the next three months without suffering a nervous breakdown.
“Come on, if you don’t tell me, I’ll assume the worst,” I continued, having to sit back up. Leaning forward with a hard beach ball in the way couldn’t be endured for very long. “And you know me, I can assume the very worst. I have an imagination that knows no bounds. Curse of the artistic types.” My eyebrows pulled together. “Well, one of them at least.”
My attempts at pleading and rationalizing the truth out of him didn’t seem to be working. I was just preparing to go to phase two and plaster on a face he couldn’t say no to—at least not for very long—when he shifted, and a few words tumbled from his mouth. “It’s this dream.” His voice was quiet. “I seem to have it every time I fall asleep. That’s why I’ve been having a tough time sleeping.”
“You’ve been having an impossible time sleeping,” I said gently.
“Not that it really matters much, because even if I’m not dreaming it, I can’t forget about that dream for very long.”
“So it’s a nightmare?” I checked the clock again, and this time, instead of wishing the nurse would call my name already, I found myself hoping she wouldn’t. Not when he was finally opening up.
His head shook. “Nightmares aren’t like this. You wake up from a nightmare and know it was a nightmare, but this . . . this seems real. I can smell things, feel things, taste things. This isn’t like any other dream where only one or two senses are involved—in this, I can feel everything.” He was still leaning forward, so I couldn’t see his face, but I knew enough about that tone to picture his expression.
“What’s it about?” I asked, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as I was capable of. Jesse was no stranger to bad dreams, and I didn’t want to be responsible for bringing more into his life.
He took two long breaths before he could answer. “It’s just me wandering around at night in some large empty field I don’t recognize.” One of his shoulders quivered. “I’m walking around trying to find you, but I can’t. So I start running around, screaming your name, and that’s when I trip over something.” His back rose and fell. “That’s when I see the headstones. Your name is on one, but the name on the one beside yours is blurry. I can’t make it out.”
Jesse managed to keep his voice level, his breathing even. I was able to do the same, but only because I was working really hard to stay calm. Nothing about what he was saying bred calm.
“Whenever I reach out to rub at the name, to try to see the letters, that’s when I’m jerked awake. Not wanting to see that name is what snaps me out of that place, and that’s why I don’t want to decide on names.” Finally, he looked at me over his shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and there wasn’t a square inch of his face that didn’t show the wear and tear of the months of self-torture, but still, he managed to work a smile into place for me. A real smile that reminded me of the first time we met and how curious it had seemed to me at the time that someone could smile so effortlessly and mean it.
“You’re afraid that if you see that name on the headstone, you won’t be able to wake yourself up?” I dropped my hand to his neck and combed my fingers into the light hair at the base of his neck.
His head shook once. “I’m afraid that if we name our baby before it’s born, death will have an easier time finding it.”
I nearly choked on the ball that had decided to take residence in the middle of my throat. It came out of nowhere, derived from emotions that extended past understanding. I felt the same sorrow I supposed he did every time he relived his dream. I felt my own worry dial up a few notches when I thought of everything we had ahead of us. But I also felt relief. It was a strange emotion in the lineup, but it was the only welcome one.