Dreamer

by L. E. DeLano

  In the real world, my body sinks to the floor, and I hear both Ben and Finn call my name before a blinding light and a deafening crack render me senseless.

  36

  Coming Down

  My vision slowly clears, and in a sea of Jessas, I find the face I’m looking for.

  “Finn!”

  “I’m here, love.” He’s grinning widely. “You’ve done it.” He looks over his shoulder at all the many, many me’s. “All of you.”

  Some of us are already transferring back, and several are just popping out indiscriminately as Mario waves them off. A few of us are high-fiving or talking among ourselves, laughing and comparing hair and clothing and scars.

  Mario is standing at the red door as the long line of Jessas moves past me to him and then back to the waking world and their own realities. He’s congratulating all of us, and we’re all hugging and laughing and patting one another on the back as we pass through. I see a familiar face—more familiar than the rest, anyway—waiting for me near the door.

  “Hey,” she says. “You going to keep dancing?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “I wrote my first fan fiction,” she tells me with an embarrassed shrug. “It’s probably not too good, but I’d love it if you’d read it.”

  “Definitely!”

  “See ya,” she says, and she steps through.

  Mario turns to me with a wide smile. “You did it, Jessa!”

  “We did it,” I correct him. “And does that mean the universe is saved?”

  He waves a hand and the whiteboard behind him flickers to life, showing me people in parks or sitting down to dinner, deserts and mountains and football games and crowds jostling down city streets.

  “You’ve all managed to save quite a bit,” he says. “Though what remains has been condensed somewhat.”

  “Condensed?” I don’t like the sound of that.

  “Some of the reality streams were lost before you attempted to save them,” Mario reminds me gently. “Those cannot be recovered completely. And when all of the Jessas moved to control the splintering, there was some convergence, eliminating most of the fractures by combining certain realities—specifically, the ones without any Jessas.”

  I feel like I’ve been hit in the chest. “So … people were lost?”

  “Not lost,” he reassures me. “Redirected. Splintered realities were merged back into similar streams. I directed where we could to save and combine as much as possible. Think of it as a kind of … recycling.”

  I cover my face with my hands. “Please tell me there won’t be any more tanks driving down Main Street in Ardenville.”

  Mario chuckles. “No, Jessa. Your life is very much like it was. The adjustments are spread across countless realities to lessen the impact.” He smiles a very smug smile, like he’s got a secret. “I think you’ll be happy with the way it all came out.”

  Whew. I exhale in relief. “So now what?” I ask.

  “Live your life,” he says with a shrug. “Go to college. Write a novel or two. It’s all up to you, after all.”

  “Will I still be traveling?”

  “I’m still going to need you,” he says. “And Finn.”

  “How do we keep this from happening again?” Finn asks.

  Mario lets out a sigh. “We’ll certainly be more vigilant on our end,” he says truthfully. “But now that we know how to manage a convergence, I know to keep an eye on your descendants.”

  I reach for the doorknob so I can follow Finn out, but Mario’s hand comes out to hold the door a moment.

  “You’re an amazing individual, Jessa St. Clair.”

  “We’re all amazing individuals.” I shrug. “There are a lot of Jessas to go around.”

  “Let’s keep it that way,” he says. “It makes the universe a far more interesting place.” He gestures to the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow,” I echo, then I wave to the remaining multitude of me’s in the room. “See ya around!” I call out, and I hear them calling back as I open the door.

  As I fade back into reality, I realize I’m lying down and my eyes are closed.

  My fingers register a hand, sliding over mine, a thumb slowly and rhythmically rubbing the back of my hand. It’s a good feeling, because it’s Finn. I’d know that hand anywhere and the way it feels in mine. It’s warm and wonderful and I can float here forever with Finn at my side.

  If only I didn’t have a shoe in my back.

  My eyes flutter open at that discordant thought, and I hear Ben suck in a breath as he sits back in pure relief.

  “She’s okay!”

  “I’m … not,” I struggle to say.

  “You’re hurt?” Finn’s face hovers over mine, his brow knit with concern. He chafes my hand gently between his. “You’re going to be all right.”

  I try to sit up, but his hand comes to my shoulder, pressing me back down. “Easy now, love. Stay still.”

  I swat at his hand and make a sound as I roll to my side.

  “I’ve got a … damn shoe under me,” I huff.

  Ben lets out an explosive laugh, and he pulls the offending footwear out from under my back. “I got it,” he says. “Sorry—didn’t realize I’d left them so close to the bed.”

  “Lie down now,” Finn tells me again as he pushes me gently to my back once more.

  “You scared the hell out of me!” Ben accuses. “You just … dropped! Like a sack of rocks!”

  I look over at him. “So I guess I didn’t crumple languidly to the carpet with the back of my hand to my forehead?”

  “You landed on a shoe,” Finn points out. “Perhaps you need lessons in the proper deportment of fainting ladies.”

  “Help me up,” I demand, reaching for their hands. As I sit up, it all hits me like a ton of bricks.

  “We did it!”

  “You did it?” Ben is grinning from ear to ear.

  “Aye, love, you did. All of you.”

  “Jessa?”

  It’s my mom’s voice, and I leap to my feet, tripping over Ben’s shoes again.

  “Dammit!”

  “Sorry!”

  “Keep your voice down!” I hiss.

  His second apology follows me as I tear down the stairs—limping a little because I twisted my ankle on Ben’s shoe. Mom is standing in the doorway, and I throw my arms around her.

  “Mom!”

  She pulls away and looks at me carefully. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I nod. “You?”

  She looks a little confused. “Honey, I just heard the news.”

  “From the soldiers?” I ask, feeling my stomach clench.

  “Soldiers? Jessa, what are you talking about?”

  I exhale in relief. “It’s nothing. What are you talking about?”

  “About that teacher,” she says. Her hand comes out, pushing my hair off my face. “The one who took off last semester.”

  “Ms. Eversor?”

  She nods. “That’s the one. I ran into Officer Glauner at the grocery store—he was the one who was here asking questions about her last month, remember?”

  “What about her?” I’m holding my breath—and trying not to look like I’m holding my breath.

  “Her body was found in the river late last night. According to the police, she was an addict.” Her face is sad, and I know mine is, too. “They’re saying it was suicide, honey. I’m sorry I had to tell you.”

  I swallow hard, almost afraid to ask. “Where’s Danny?”

  “Danny!” she calls out over her shoulder. “How long does it take to get groceries?”

  “Coming!” he shouts, which is really unnecessary, since he’s already stepping through the doorway. I can’t help myself; I throw my arms around him, too. He drops the grocery bags and hugs me back, hard. Good old Danny. He doesn’t ask questions. He just gives you what you need.

  I stagger back a bit under the exuberance of his hug.

  “Ow! Ow!” I say, picking up my foot and rubbin
g my ankle.

  “Did you kick your head again?” Danny asks.

  I sink into the nearest chair, laughing entirely too hard, but I can’t seem to stop.

  There’s no place like home.

  Epilogue

  “They have the cookies three for a dollar ninety-nine,” Ben is saying to Danny. “But you’ve already had some.”

  “Danny, no more,” I say as I take my seat. “If you eat too many cookies, Mom will smack me with a frying pan.”

  “No, she won’t,” he says. “She doesn’t hit.” He gives me a pointed look.

  “Oh for … I didn’t hit Finn! He was teasing you.” I look at Finn in exasperation, and he gives me an unrepentant grin. Danny couldn’t help but notice the bruise over Finn’s eye from where Ben clocked him earlier, but Finn found it amusing to tell Danny I punched him.

  “You shouldn’t hit, Jessa! You shouldn’t hit, Jessa Emeline St. Clair!”

  “You heard him, Emeline,” Finn says blandly.

  “I am never going to be free of that,” I grumble.

  “This frosting is amazing,” Ben says, digging his finger into it. “So … you’re working at the museum, St. Clair?” He gives me a grin. “Really?”

  “One day a week,” I say with a shrug. “Maybe I’ll pick up some new story ideas. You should give the place a try—they can use the help.”

  He drags his finger through the frosting again. “Maybe I will,” he says.

  “You can tell all the patrons about your extensive travels in Mexico.”

  Ben shoots me a long-suffering look, but before he can fashion a suitable retort, Danny stands up.

  “It’s time to go, Ben,” Danny says. “You said I could ride in the truck and it’s time to go now.”

  “He’s got a shift at the library this afternoon,” I explain. “Better get him back.”

  “I’m on it,” Ben says. He points a finger at me. “Don’t be punching anybody while we’re gone.”

  “You be nice!” Danny admonishes me as he swipes up the last cookie and heads for the door, with Ben laughing and following.

  “See ya!” He waves back over his shoulder as he goes.

  I set down my empty coffee cup with a sigh.

  “All right there, love?” Finn asks.

  “I’m debating whether or not I want another cup of coffee,” I say. “You want anything?”

  “I’m finishing this. It’s been entirely too long since I’ve had a proper scone,” he says, biting into his treat with relish.

  “Too bad you never got a chance to try glitter mousse.”

  “Is it only served on certain days?”

  “It’s only served in certain realities.” I smile at the memory, and instead of a shaft of pain, I’m feeling something strangely like contentment, both at the memory and the thought of introducing this Finn to a bowl of glowing deliciousness.

  “I’m going to go get that coffee before we go,” I say, reaching for my purse.

  Finn stays my hand. “My turn to pay,” he says, pulling out his wallet.

  “Where did you get money?”

  “I’m not without means,” he says in an offended voice. “Mario made sure I’m accommodated, and that includes this lovely new wallet.”

  He opens it up, and inside is cash. A lot of cash. And a driver’s license with his name and address on it.

  “So that’s Mario’s surprise,” I say. “You’re now officially a part of this reality.”

  “Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” he assures me. “Do you mind a short detour on the way home?”

  “Sure.” I shrug. “I don’t have to get the car back till bedtime.”

  He’s got a devilish twinkle in his eye. “Then let’s use every bit of that time, shall we? Do you mind if I drive?”

  “You know how?”

  “I do. And I have just the place to spend the day.” He holds out his hand, and I take it.

  We head out to the parking lot and I hand him the keys, and we make idle small talk about next semester as he drives. Eventually, we pull off Main Street and onto the highway, then off again onto a smaller, narrower road.

  “The marina?” I ask, recognizing the area.

  “It’s chilly, but we’re bundled up well,” he points out as he pulls into the parking lot. “I thought a walk down the pier might be just the thing. All that fresh air, you know.”

  He helps me out of the car, holding my hand as we walk. He’s having a hard time keeping his decidedly sneaky grin off his face, too. What is he up to?

  In less than five minutes, I have my answer. There she is, bobbing at the end of the pier. Her gangplank is down, the tree painted on the mainmast is rippling with the breeze, and I can read her name clearly as we get closer.

  THE TRAVELING LADY

  My eyes meet his and I am thrilled for him, grinning a crazy grin that he answers with one of his own.

  “Mario thought I could do with a permanent address, since I’ll be staying.”

  We’re still grinning at each other. His joy is contagious, and I laugh as he takes my hand and pulls me up the gangplank.

  “I’m going down below to check things over,” he tells me. “Why don’t you sit at the bow and enjoy the view?”

  I tighten my coat around me to ward against the breeze coming off the water.

  “All right,” I say, getting up on my toes to give him a quick kiss. “But don’t be too long.”

  He pulls me in closer, kissing me longer, his hands shifting over my back as the kiss deepens and becomes so much more. I feel like I can’t get close enough, and my hands are fisted in his hair as our tongues touch and slide and caress. He finally releases me with a reluctant groan. “You, my gorgeous girl, are in great danger of being carried off by a pirate.”

  I hold his gaze, and I know my eyes are just as bright as his. “And…?”

  He lets out a gusty sigh. “And you’re not going to distract me. I promised you a sailing, and a sailing you shall have. We have all the time in the world now, love. I’m in no hurry.”

  “You can do that without a crew?”

  “I can’t take us out far, but I can manage well enough. The ship practically runs herself, but I’m sure you’ll be an able hand with a bit of instruction.”

  “Okay.” I kiss him again and I turn to head toward the bow, but he stops me.

  “Just a moment,” he says. “You’ll need this.” He scoops up my messenger bag from where I’d set it down and pulls out my journal. I take it, feeling the familiar smoothness of the leather cover in my hands.

  “You know me so well,” I say.

  “I do. Now off with you. Take a seat at the bow and open that book. You’ve got stories to tell.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You can say that again.”

  “We’re going to make more, you and I. Many, many more.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  I stroll toward the bow, feeling the ship rise and dip gently beneath me, drinking in the fresh air and the waning winter sun on my face. Contentment fills me up until I feel I might burst with it.

  “What do you say, love?” He gives me a wink. “Are you ready for our next adventure?”

  I turn my face to the water, and I open my journal, putting pen to paper as my mind skips over the endless possibilities on the horizon.

  Acknowledgments

  As before, I’m going to start by thanking my editor, Holly West, and the rest of the Swoon staff—particularly Lauren, Emily, and Kelsey. You’ve all been so persistently good at what you do that it’s made me better at what I do. A lot better. Holly, you deserve an enormous amount of credit for this book. I took this story on a ride down so many different roads before you pulled out your magic compass and helped me find the way. Thank you.

  Massive thanks to all my family and friends for buying my book, talking about my book, posting pictures of my book on social media, and telling all your friends to read my book. Having a built-in marketing division that works for free is alwa
ys a big plus. You’re good people, the lot of you.

  To my children, who learned to recognize my raised hand as a sign that Mom’s on a roll and can’t have her thought train derailed right now—thank you for putting up with me always holding a laptop. You let me bounce ideas off you, you turned down the TV when I asked, and you petted my head whenever I mashed it into the keyboard in frustration. This book was the third child you’ve had to accommodate, and you’ve done it with an incredible amount of grace. I love you both to my last breath and beyond. You’re amazing, and I still can’t believe you’re mine.

  Lastly, I’d like to thank my cats. Even though you drink out of my tea mug, even though you walk across the keyboard while I’m trying to write, having you next to me through this adventure has been a comfort. I promise I’ll write you both into my next book if you’ll just stop barfing on the carpet.

  The Elephant in the Room

  “Your turn,” Olivia says, pushing the bowl toward me. It’s Saturday afternoon at the Lower Hudson River Museum, and there isn’t a soul in the building other than us, so I reach out and pluck what I think is the perfect piece of popcorn for this challenge. Not too oddly shaped and very nearly kernel-free.

  “No fair going for the brains,” she says, staying my hand. “That makes it too easy.”

  “The brains?”

  “Because some pieces of popcorn look like brains,” Ben interjects from his spot at the end of the counter. “Like pale alien brains. But still cruciferous.”

  “And they have a nearly round shape and the best weight for throwing,” Olivia says, reaching for a piece of popcorn. “So we really should add points for level of difficulty if we choose an oblong piece or something.”

  “Rather than a brains piece,” I say solemnly.

  “Exactly.”

  I look at Ben, and then I look at Olivia. Then I look at Ben again. “You two are mental. Popcorn is popcorn, and you’re just mad because I’m really good at this and you’re not.”

  Ben slides down the counter and reaches over it, cramming a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “Don’t be talking smack,” he warns. “I hold the record as of last night. Sixty-two.”