When his voice faded to nothing, Adele looked over at him. He had the paper unfolded and was holding it in both hands, staring at it. She took a deep breath, then slowly walked around the car so she could stand at his side. She glanced down at the paper, then back up at the cabin. Then down again.
“I told you,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I know this place.”
She'd perfectly sketched his father's old cabin. Even down to the wind chime hanging near the door. As rushed as she'd been, she'd put in a lot of subtle details, like the crack in the bottom front window. The lopsided porch swing. The random patch of tulips growing beside the porch steps.
If only I'd had my colored pencils; I knew there'd be two oranges and one yellow.
“How did you do this?” Jones asked, and she noticed his knuckles were turning white.
“I ... I don't know,” she said. He turned on her.
“How did you do this!?” he demanded, startling her with his raised voice. “How do you know about this place? I've never taken anyone here before!”
“You've taken me here before!” she yelled back.
“That's impossible!” he snarled, and he threw her drawing to the ground. She scrambled to pick it up before he could walk over it.
“Please!” she cried, hurrying after him. “I couldn't make this up, could I?”
“You're a fucking stalker,” he grunted, jogging up the porch steps.
“How? How could I have come here when I didn't even know you were my nurse until a couple days ago?” she pointed out. That seemed to get through to him, and he paused in the act of unlocking his front door. She took the opportunity to step up close and thrust her picture in front of him again. “That door is locked – how could I know what the inside looks like?”
Jones looked down at her.
“You didn't draw the -”
“There's an easel in the front here,” she barreled through him. “And a small bed across from it, against the back wall. The frame looks hand carved – maybe your dad made it? And over there, to our right, is a small kitchen. You don't use it very much, all the pots and pans and dishes look old. And there's a small round table under the kitchen window, with only two chairs, because only the two of you ever came here.”
The more she spoke, the whiter Jones got.
“How is this possible?”
“I don't know,” she moaned, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I really don't. You think this is freaky for you? Try being me. I have all these memories of you, of us, in my head, and they're more real than anything I've ever experienced. Yet everyone tells me they're not real. What does that mean?”
He hesitated for a moment. For a long, scary, eternity-filled moment. Adele thought maybe she'd lost him. She'd pushed her luck too far, and he was going to shut her out. If he did, she'd know it was truly over. The real Jones, her Jones, would never give up on her.
But then the moment passed. He unlocked his front door, pushed it wide open, then stepped aside to allow her through first.
She walked into the cabin with tentative steps. Everything was just as she'd said – an easel to her left, sitting in a shaft of sunlight. This one had a canvas on it, half painted with the view outside the window. It was dusty, though, no one had worked on it in a while.
The bed was exactly as she remembered it, and a quick glance into the kitchen showed her it was also the same. Everything looked dustier than it had in their dream world, but other than that, it was definitely the same cabin.
“You know all this,” he said softly from behind her. She looked over her shoulder and nodded.
“I do.”
Jones nodded as well, then shut the door. She held still while he walked across the floor and shrugged out of his jacket. He dropped it on the mattress, then tossed his ball cap on top of it. He stood looking down at the items for a moment, then he abruptly grabbed a stool from near the wood stove and pulled it close to the bed.
“Please, sit down,” he offered. She gave him a weak smile and hurried to the bed, sitting as close to him as she could without making him uncomfortable.
“I'm sorry,” she started. “I really am. I don't mean to scare you, but I just ... I don't know what else to do. I have to figure out what's going on in my brain.”
“I get it,” Jones nodded, rubbing his hand along his jaw. “I do. And I'm sorry I was a dick to you earlier. My job is just ... it's really important to me.”
“I know it is,” she said, then winced. He glanced at her like he wanted to snap, then he just shook his head and smiled.
“You really do, don't you?” he even managed a laugh. “And you really know this place. But how?”
“I think maybe ...” she tried to organize her thoughts – she had to pick and choose what was safe to say. “You talked to me a lot, right? That's what my brother said.”
“Yes. Studies show that talking to coma patients can help stimulate their brains. I talk to all my patients.”
“I know, but you talked to me a lot.”
“I did – most people are in and out of their comas fairly quickly, or they're moved to long-term care facilities. You were ... special.”
“I was,” she agreed. “Jones, I think I know part of what happened, but you might not believe it.”
“I promise to withhold judgement until you're completely finished,” he said. She nodded once. Twice. Hesitated for a second. Then nodded one more time.
You weren't scared of him before, don't be scared of him now. Trust him.
“Let me tell you about my dreams.”
26
Ocean Reins stared down at his phone screen, ignoring the noise around him. They were in a crowded sports bar. Not his favorite type of place, but August loved them – someone almost always recognized him, and he ate up the limelight like he'd been born in it. He'd flown into L.A. earlier that day, but wouldn't be staying for long. He was just there to collect the last of his belongings, then he'd be returning to Pennsylvania full time.
Because of course he was, their sister was all better, there was no reason to stay. August would be gone for good by the end of the week – this was his impromptu goodbye party – and not long after, their parents would head back to Philadelphia. They were still trying to convince Adele to move home, but whether or not they achieved it, they'd still be leaving. Their mom had already started boxing everything up.
River was staying behind. He actually liked Los Angeles, he said, he was having a lot of luck with the ladies. Zoey had introduced him to some of her work friends, had helped give his social life a jump start.
Zoey ...
Ocean knew he should be making his own return plans. L.A. was too hot, and too ... trendy. He didn't know anyone, and he didn't feel like he fit in anywhere. A gritty cop from Philly transferring to Beverly Hills, it sounded like some cheesy sort of TV show. And Ocean Reins was definitely not a cheesy TV show sort of guy.
Yet as he looked up from his phone, his eyes landed on the person he'd been hoping would text him back. Zoey Blanke was hovering near the bar, laughing up at August, who was sitting on the bar top so he could better address his adoring fans.
Ocean smiled to himself while he watched her. She was wearing a ridiculously short, tight dress under a ridiculous huge knit cardigan. Her hair was its usual crazy, uninhibited mass surrounding her head. One large hoop earring was visible and her smirking lips were painted a deep shade of purple.
She was so unlike him, it fit right in with his “cheesy TV show” analogy. Scruffy cop moves to L.A., meets hip, young, sassy woman, and sparks fly. Things like that didn't happen in real life.
And yet they did, and yet here you are.
Zoey glanced in his direction, then did a double take and held his gaze. Her smile dimmed a little, but it was still just as beautiful, because it was genuine. Full of sass and humor. She nodded along to whatever August was saying, but continued looking at Ocean, delicately fingering her earring.
Then she turned back to the youngest Reins brother, gave him a big smile, said goodbye, and walked out of the bar.
So what happens next in our TV show?
“August!” Ocean shouted as he hurried across the room. “I gotta go – see you in the morning.”
“You're leaving?” his brother asked. “River isn't even here yet, he said he's on his way!”
“Yeah, yeah, tell him I'll see him, too. Early for coffee, okay?”
“Where's the fire?”
Ocean paused just short of the exit, trying to think how best to respond.
“You know,” he chuckled. “I'm not sure, but I think I'm gonna find out.”
Zoey wasn't too far down the block when he finally made it outside. He watched her for a second, amazed she could walk in her huge high heels, then he jogged after her.
“Blanke!” he called out. She didn't stop moving, but he could hear her laugh.
“Nice night for a stroll, Ocean,” she said once he caught up to her.
“You didn't stay long at the party.”
“Wasn't really in a partying mood.”
“I texted you earlier.”
“Wasn't in a texting mood, either.”
See, this was what Ocean hated. He was undeniably attracted to Zoey, but he also didn't understand her one bit. He didn't like games or riddles.
“So what kind of mood are you in?” he finally asked.
Zoey sighed and slowed to a stop, then glanced up at the building next to them.
“I'm in a stay at home and drink whiskey straight from the bottle kind of mood. How about you?” she replied. Ocean smiled back at her.
“I think I'm always in that mood.”
“Perfect. I hate to drink alone.”
They didn't talk again as she led him into the building. The elevator was broken, so he followed her up five flights of stairs. He was impressed she was able to do the whole thing in her heels. When she unlocked a door marked 5A and stepped inside, he followed without any hesitation.