The Hour of Dreams (21 page)

His question took me aback, since I’d long forgotten any concerns about me. I nodded, and Wes sucked in a deep breath and turned his attention sharply back to Dr. Carter.

The discussion was going nowhere fast, so I jumped in. “Wes. It was just a quick blood test. No big deal.” He was shaking his head, so I kept reasoning. “Listen. Dr. Carter has a point. Think about it. We’ve been escorted by security everywhere we’ve gone, for the fear that these people would swoop in when we least expected it. Maybe you don’t remember, but it’s been—”

“I remember,” he corrected, still looking at Dr. Carter.

I blinked several times. “What do you mean? You remember?”

“I remember being taken to a place just like this with those soldiers, and doing everything I could to get home to you. He looked at me with a shocking familiarity before looking back at Dr. Carter. “And now I remember saving your life on a mountain top. When these people came for you. And you walked us right back into their hands.”

The last time I saw Wes this worked up was when he was facing off with Chase at the party a year before. Only this time, poor Dr. Carter was standing there.

“Wes,” I pleaded, grabbing his bicep. “Think about this. He’s right. And before your procedure, you knew the lab made promises to them for our safety. And Dr. Carter knew your tests would come back normal, so maybe it’s a good thing. Just let it go. There’s nothing to hang on to anymore.”

Wes looked as though I'd punched him in the stomach. “Let it go? This is my life. It’s everything I’ve worked for.”

Standing there, hearing him speak so passionately about his lab and who received credit, I was unsettled. It had never seemed so important to him before, and suddenly I started to think about how
my
Wes would have said
whatever
, taken me by the hand, and walked away, not looking back. Or would he have? Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought. Maybe I was living in a dream world all this time.

I took a step back to try to figure out where I fit in. Recognition crossed Wes’ face. “Sophie. That’s not what I meant. I just meant that this is years and years of research, and he’s handed it over to them. And risked our lives to do it.”

“I don’t care,” I said, more quickly than I intended. “I’ve spent the last several weeks remembering a past that links us for at least two hundred and fifty years. All so that you could feel good about risking everything for
us
. And now you found your cure for a virus, and suddenly it’s the most important thing to you. Now I guess you can decide what you want to focus on. Who gets credit or not.”

I turned my back sharply and faced the window. Part of me wanted him to step closer to me and just let it go, but the other half knew that he wouldn’t. And I couldn’t even blame him. He was still the Wes I knew, with integrity and concern for doing what was right, but I was still hurt by the fact that it was so important to him.

As I suspected, he turned back to Dr. Carter. “Since this is your plan, what’s next?”

Dr. Carter cleared his throat. “Well, Dr. Lyon should be down there making an official statement right about now, and, despite what you think, this isn’t about me. You can go down there if you want. Otherwise, if all goes well, we will be escorted out of here and you will be free to go home.”

“And what about Sophie?”

“Of course. Sophie too.”

“Well then, you make that happen. And then you make sure that the California Blood Research Lab is given more than eighty percent of the credit for any cures, because you may not care, but Dr. Thomas wouldn’t have wanted his good work turned over to such leeches.”

Dr. Carter opened his mouth to say something and then paused. He exhaled and raised his shoulders, square to Wes. “One day,” he said. “I hope you’ll see that I did this for you.”

The sentiment was spoken with such emotion that it caused me to shift my weight forward. If there were an imaginary line drawn between them, and I had to choose which side to stand on, for some reason, I would’ve picked Dr. Carter’s. Wes looked like an unruly teenager who wasn’t getting his way.

Sure, he had a point about the years of research, but who cared? Sometimes sacrifices needed to be made, and if it let us move on together, I would have thought Wes would’ve been fine with that. At least the Wes I knew before.

Luckily the door opened before I had to choose sides, and Dr. Carter stepped out where voices could be heard. Wes briefly looked my way and offered a small, businesslike nod.

After a moment of people conversing in the hallway, we were given back our phones and escorted silently to the elevator by armed men. It was as if they were still trying to flex their power over us.

Once off the elevator, we were given our freedom and hurried over to the Tahoe. As we exited the garage, several newscasters attempted to peek in the tinted windows. It was a media circus, but I supposed that’s exactly what Dr. Carter wanted—no, it was what he needed, for our safe release.

The car ride seemed long, and feeling the large space between me and Wes, with our contradictory anticipation of freedom, made me uncomfortable. I felt a peace offering was needed, so I placed my hand on the seat between us and set it against his thigh as an invitation. Any other time, he would’ve immediately put his hand over mine. But this time, he continued to stare out the window, his hands resting in his lap the whole way home.

D
uring the car ride, the only one who said anything was Dr. Carter, who suggested that Wes and I get away for a couple of days, in case the media were following us. Wes looked at me for a moment and then agreed without saying anything else.

There was no telling how long Wes would stay angry and upset that his hand had been forced in the matter of the military and the media. At any rate, we quickly packed up enough clothes for a week. Dr. Carter waited the whole time and suggested that the security detail take us to the destination of our choice. Wes declined curtly, saying he preferred to drive us.

I wasn't sure how to feel about that. It was either a good thing that would allow us to be alone together, or it was a bad thing that he didn't seem to be prioritizing our safety anymore.

Dr. Carter tried to argue, but Wes called him on it.

“The whole point of what you just did was so that we wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

“If that’s the case,” I interrupted, “then why don't we just stay home?"

“Because Dr. Carter is right. I do need to get away.”

The way he said it made me wonder whether he was trying to get away from everyone, including me, or just the situation. Everything in me was trying not to whine or be insecure.

While I carried on an internal conversation with myself, Wes and Dr. Carter agreed to have the Tahoes escort us part of the way. Then Wes led me into the garage. Once inside, he loaded up the trunk of his Maserati. I offered to drive, even though I had no idea where we were going or how to comfortably drive a stick shift, but he quickly declined.

Even still, I pressed the issue. “But you don't really know anything about—”

“Sophie, I remember now. I'm fine. Let’s go.”

Wait a minute.
This was a big moment. And he was acting as if it were no big deal. I stopped him. “Wes? What do you remember? Everything?”

He stepped closer to me and, for the first time since before his appointment, he acknowledged my presence in a way that made me feel calmer again. He placed his hands on the sides of my face and lowered himself to my level. “Yes, I think so. Or at least enough to know what we need to do.”

“And what’s that?” I asked.

“Start living our lives again.”

He nodded one time and then opened the door for me without even looking at the handle. I slid into the car and waited for him to go around to his side. With a familiar movement, he positioned himself into the driver’s seat, and backed out of the garage with precision.

With no direction from me, he turned on to the local freeway. At that point, having no idea where we were going, I just stayed quiet and went with the flow.

He ended up driving us along the coast, and the silence between us became peaceful. Eventually we pulled into a bed and breakfast along the water, and he reserved an oceanfront room. As we unpacked our bags and settled in, we realized that we hadn’t eaten. He took charge and had dinner delivered to our room, which I happily accepted, and we ate in silence.

When we were done with that, he asked me to go with him on to the balcony. Outside, we watched the sunset, listened to the waves crashing below, and, for the first time since our trip to the facility, he placed my hand in his, and we watched the red-orange sun tuck itself below the horizon.

A small part of me wanted to ask him a million questions about what he was thinking, how he was feeling, and what exactly he remembered. But I was also content to just sit there with him and hold his hand.

We spent most of the week eating in and walking on the beach. He didn’t share his memories, or lack of them, with me, and although it bothered me, I continued to let him be. He had been through an experience that no one else in the world would ever replicate, and no amount of pressure would help him open up. At least that was my reasoning. Just let him heal physically, mentally, and emotionally. I would be there, but wouldn’t force anything else.

He seemed to appreciate the space, but was affectionate enough that I didn't worry too much. After what I hoped was a rejuvenating getaway, we came home feeling more relaxed.

That lasted for about a month before I was about to burst. It felt like we were robots. We slept, we ate, we talked about everything but his memories or the news. It seemed like every time we turned it on, the media were talking about cures and test trials and a lab that Wes had almost completely distanced himself from. Even though, as he requested, the California Blood Research Center received most of the credit, he lacked the excitement that everyone else had.

He even opted out of giving a speech at the celebration dinner that Dr. Lyon and Dr. Carter hosted. My mom and Tom went and even took notice of Wes’ lack of participation. It made no sense, and I had a hard time believing that his mood was just a matter of who was receiving credit.

I started to worry that he was never going to be quite the same. He went through his days normally, swimming in the morning, going to class, and overseeing some lab operations. I went to class, to work, and met my mom for lunch. We got along well, with no arguments. But it was just…being. It eventually pulled me down like gravity.

I let out all of my frustrations on Dawn at work one day. We sat in the back of the store, eating our lunch, and I ranted, telling her everything except for the true nature of Wes’ procedure. She knew he’d undergone some experimental blood treatment, but that was the extent of it. When I was done, she looked me in the eyes and said, “I thought
I
was hormonal.”

“Say what?”

“Hormonal. You know, female emotional overload?”

“I know what hormonal means, but I’m not hormonal. I’m frustrated. I don’t know what to do.”

“Here’s an idea. Talk to him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I’ll come off like I’m pouting or needy, and I hate that. I’ve never had to ask for his attention before. Or had to ask him how he felt about me. And now it’s like that’s all I want to know. I have no idea what he’s thinking.”

“Ask him.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re being ridiculous. He’s never given you a reason to doubt him before.”

I rolled my eyes, took a bite of my burger, and slumped my shoulders. “Sophie, are you kidding me?” she asked.

“No, I’m not. I’ve been like this for weeks.”

Now she rolled her eyes. “Let me put this into perspective for you.” She stood up, showing me her ever-growing bump. “I think my situation is worse than yours. I’m pregnant, a teenager, not married, have no idea what I’m doing with my future, and you’re the one who told me to look at the bright side. To stick it out and be selfless. Right? And now, here you are, feeling ‘neglected’ by someone who obviously loves you, and you’re acting like it’s the end of the world.” She sat down. “Give me a break.”

I furrowed my brows. “Wait a minute. I’m just saying, I don’t know what to do. I just want us to be like we used to.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen. It’s real life. Things change. Life changes. And if you love someone, you roll with the changes and are there for that person. No matter
what
.”

I felt the sharpness of her words and realized she wasn’t just talking about me and Wes.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. Life is full of peaks and valleys. And I guess we have to weed out everything in between to find out what we want out of it.”

She nodded. “That’s better.”

“So what about you? Are you going to take your own advice?”

She shook her head, her mouth full of fries. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” I started laughing.

“I’m serious. I’m never talking to Jackson again. I don’t have to be there for squat.”

“Oh, come on. Remember, life is full of peaks and valleys. He’s experienced both with you, and he needs to adjust to the in-between. You should help him. If you loved him, you wouldn’t give up on it.”

“Sophie, he’s completely distanced himself from me. No obligation left there.”

“You didn’t help the situation by flipping out and refusing to talk to him after everything went down. Maybe you should at least open the door. Do your part.”

“And what’s that?”

“I don’t know. Send him a sonogram picture. A card. The baby’s due date.”

She thought for a moment. “I guess I could send him a text telling him it’s a girl.”

“Yeah. You cou—wait.” My eyes bulged. “It’s a girl?”

She laughed, folding in another fry. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve been sort of preoccupied.”

“Oh, my gosh.” I got up and hugged her. “And he doesn’t know?”

“Nope. I heard he’s planning a graduation trip this summer, right around the due date. Nice.”