The Nightmare

A few nights ago, I woke up in the middle of a dream. In it, I was dying. It wasn’t like it was five years ago when I was actually dying. Back then, I was at peace with letting go. What held me back was getting home to take care of Atticus, who was also dying at the time. When doctors wonder why I lived, I tell them of Atticus. Then I tell them of my promise to Will. On the night before he died, I gave him my word I’d tell his story. Will’s Red Coat was under contract, but most of the book was unwritten. Of course, I had to stick around, at least until it was published.

I gasped for air the other night, sitting bolt upright in bed to find Emily with her head on the pillow next to where mine had been, with Samwise pressed against my thighs and hips. I was so shaken, I couldn’t get back to sleep.