The Hour of Dreams (16 page)

I felt a crease form between my brows. “Why would he do that to me?” I pouted.

“No, Sophie. It was for you that he did this. He believed you wouldn’t heal unless he set himself completely right. And that’s what I’ve promised to do for him, regardless of what you say.”

It felt like a threat. I knew he was trying to help us, but I was bothered by the power he held over what I wanted. I half wanted to figure out how to wake him up myself and do it behind Dr. Carter’s back. Wes was my husband. I should choose what happens to him when he is unconscious. Not Dr. Carter.

Dr. Carter chuckled. “What?” I scowled.

“He said you would probably be angry, but to stand my ground.” He smiled. “You’re a lucky girl, Sophie. Don’t worry. I’ll do my best to have him awake today. Cross your fingers.”

Cross my fingers? It took everything I had to calm myself down. How could they conspire against me like this? Wes would be in big trouble when he woke up. Big trouble.

Knowing I’d only go nuts standing there, watching Dr. Carter be so calm and collected while I had no say in the matter, I went ahead and made my way to the bathroom to freshen up and change. My mom had brought me some of my own pajamas and clothes from home, and that helped me feel normal.

Wearing yoga pants, a tank, and flip flops, I headed toward the lounge, which had been set up with bagels and cream cheese, fruits, and yogurts. I was hardly hungry, but knew once they started waking Wes up, food would be the farthest thing from my mind. If I was going to eat at all, it had to be now.

With a little fruit and yogurt in my stomach, I made my way back to Wes’ side. Dr. Carter was just finishing up with his samples, and said he’d have the results soon. In the meantime, I kept busy by writing in my journal, something else my mom had brought to me.

The entries had become something I relied heavily on. At first it was just so I wouldn’t forget anything that happened, or so that, if I’d died and Wes found me again in thirty years, he’d have something to give me instead of explaining a lifetime all over again. However, shortly after I began writing, it became like therapy.

Writing must have made the time go by quickly, because, surprisingly soon, Dr. Carter and Dr. Lyon returned with a cart full of medical supplies. My posture straightened as I watched them roll in a second cart. A quick look revealed that it was a defibrillator. Sharp pain ricocheted in my chest.

“It’s time,” Dr. Carter said, glancing my way with a nod. There was nothing I could say or do besides sit there, frozen. After a moment he asked me to move my chair out of the way, and I quickly hopped up and scooted it back.

My knees felt weak and my nerves tight. He was going to be fine. Why was I so nervous?

With a deep sigh, I inched over to him and planted myself by his shoulders. He looked peaceful, to the point where I almost didn’t want them to disturb him. But then I realized I was just afraid. Perhaps I’d rather that he “sleep” longer than risk something going wrong while waking him.

You can’t be afraid, Sophie. You can’t be afraid.
I repeated those words several times while the doctors continued to prepare and discuss among themselves.

My nervousness had built so much that I was practically begging for them to get started, before the anticipation caused me to burst.

“Can you guys get started, please?” I implored.

Dr. Carter looked at me and smiled softly. “There’s nothing for us to do but wait.”

“But I thought you were going to wake him up?”

“He’ll wake on his own now. It’s time.”

“On his own?”

Dr. Lyon nodded and interrupted. “Yes, the medicine is wearing off, so he should come around on his own.”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

“He will,” Dr. Carter chimed in again.

They looked so calm and sure of themselves. It was irritating. If they were so sure of everything, then why bring in all the equipment. They must have seen my eyes surveying the carts.

“The equipment is just a precaution. We won’t know how he’ll react or whether he’ll need medical attention. Either way, we want to be prepared”

Okay. I took a deep breath. “So, what do I do?”

“Well, you can talk to him. Take it easy, though. We want him calm.”

I turned and glanced again at his peaceful face. Keep him calm. I could do that.

I leaned over and started rubbing Wes’ hair. At first I didn’t know what to say, wanting to share so much, but not wanting to excite him either. I kept rubbing.

Eventually I started with telling him I was there, of course. And that I was fine. That his sacrifice worked. And I told him that everything would be okay if he just woke up. After the first couple of assurances, I glanced around to see whether the doctors were watching us. Surely they could hear me, but thankfully they were studying the charts and readings.

I turned back to Wes, feeling a little bit more private. From there, I held his hand and started reminiscing about our past. But then I thought it might be better to talk about our future. I told him about all the places we could visit when he woke up. I was talking about snow and how we’d be able to ski worry-free, when I felt a faint pressure.

I looked down to see his thumb moving along the back of my hand, and my heart started racing. I gently squeezed and continued talking. Within a few moments, he gave my hand a full squeeze and amidst the noise of beeps and the doctors talking, Wes turned his head away.

His back arched slightly, and his head turned back my way.

“Come on, Wes. It’s okay. Open your eyes. We’re here.”

As he squirmed a little more, the beeping sounds in the background sped up, and then his eyelids fluttered.

“It’s okay, Wes,” I assured again.

Now, both Dr. Lyon and Dr. Carter were beside me. Wes’ eyelids peeled back slowly, and he let out a small groan.

“Wes,” I sighed, glancing into each of his beautiful brown eyes, hoping he was okay. They looked the same. They looked perfect.

When his gaze caught mine, he coughed softly and then smiled, squeezing my hand harder.

“I think it worked,” Dr. Lyon muttered.

“Wes,” I repeated, kissing his cheek.

When I pulled back, he gazed up at me and whispered, “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” I assured.

He gave another labored smile and then tried to lift his head. “Lay back and rest,” Dr. Carter ordered.

“Is my mother here?” Wes asked, looking around the room.

“What?” I whispered.

“I dreamed of a letter. She was sick,” he croaked.

“But…” I looked at Dr. Carter for help, and he stepped closer.

“Wes,” he said. “Do you know where you are?”

“Yes, but my mother,” he whispered, squeezing my hand tighter. He then looked at me, concern in his eyes. “Amelia, tell me where she is.”

I sucked in a frightened breath as Dr. Carter put his palm on my shoulder. “Wes. I’m not Amelia. I’m…Sophie.”

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at Dr. Carter, looking for answers.

“Who?” he asked.

A
s I stared at Wes’ perplexed features, the unexpected was happening. Somewhere in his brown eyes there was a comforting recognition, but below the surface there was complete confusion. He had no idea who I was talking about.

“Sophie?” I repeated.

His head shook. With no idea what to say or do, I stood there with my mouth parted, mute. Dr. Carter, thankfully, jumped in.

“Wes, do you know who I am?”

Wes turned his head back to Dr. Carter, wincing. After studying him for a long moment, he nodded and hoarsely replied, “Yes.”

“And my name?” Dr. Carted prodded.

“What’s going on?” Wes asked.

“You’ve just woken up from a procedure. We just want to make sure you’re all right.”

Wes nodded again. “Dr. Thomas,” he whispered.

He thinks he’s back in London.
Dr. Carter glanced at me briefly and then at Dr. Lyon.

Dr. Lyon also looked stunned, but quickly picked up a clipboard and murmured to Dr. Carter. “Let’s check him over physically and then we’ll evaluate him mentally.”

Dr. Carter nodded. “Yes, let’s proceed.”

It must have been obvious that I was about to hyperventilate, because Dr. Lyon turned his attention to me. “I think it would be a good idea if you took a short break.” He raised his brows as if to suggest it was not optional. I wanted to protest, but knew that a break was exactly what I needed.

“Okay.” I squeezed Wes’ hand, gave him the best smile of assurance that I could muster, and then walked, like a zombie, toward the door. As soon as it closed behind me, I started crying, again. Embarrassed and hoping no one would see, I made my way toward the lounge.

Halfway there, my mom appeared at the end of the hall, having just come off the elevator.

By then, I was a mess. She must have sensed something was off, because she hurried down the hall and grabbed my shoulders. “Sophie, what’s the matter? I came over because Tom said Wes would be coming around today. What happened?” she pressed, eyes wide.

I just cried and leaned into her.

“Is he okay?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure?” she asked, not understanding.

I finally mustered up enough strength to answer. “He’s okay. But he doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t remember who I am.”

She pulled herself back and looked at me, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

I nodded. “He thinks I’m Amelia. That it’s 1915 all over again.”

I started sniffling again, but she sighed with relief. “Oh, Sophie. That’s okay. It will be okay. Here, come on.” She put her arm around me and guided me into the lounge. Inside, we sat on the sofa and I cried some more.

She let me get it all out before talking. When I was tired of the tears and tissues, I rested my head against the back of the couch. She ran her fingers through my bangs.

“Feel better now?”

I turned to her with an exhausted scowl.

“Well, you should. That was a lot you had built up. It’s time you let it all go.”

I sighed and let my head fall back again. “How can I let it go? We’re worse off than we were before.”

“Are you?” she replied.

I sat back up, more persistent. “He doesn’t even know who I am.”

“Sophie, don’t forget that he could be dead right now.”

I jerked my head her way. “He could be,” she pressed on. “But he isn’t. He just went through a very dangerous experimental procedure, and he made it. And of course he remembers you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” I argued. “He remembers Amelia.” I was suddenly feeling a jealousy that I’d never had.

“Same thing,” she said.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Sophie, isn’t that what you convinced me and Tom? That you are the same?”

“But I’m not. I mean, I am, but it’s not the same. I’m my own person. My own memories. Everything we’ve been through this past year has been us. And it’s gone?”

She rubbed my shoulder. “It’s not gone, Sophie. It’s there.” She pointed to my heart. “That’s where he loves you. Not up there.” She tapped my temple, and continued. “What if you lost
your
memory? Do you think Wes would be out here, crying a river? Of course not. He would love you the same and figure out a way for you to love him back.”

Of all the things I’d feared or prepared for, Wes’ memory loss was not one of them. He was the glue that held us together for three generations. Three generations of love and hope, and now it was gone. And I was supposed to be the glue now? I wasn’t Wes.

She squeezed my shoulders to pull me from my reverie. “Sophie. Wes will remember you. And even if he doesn’t, he’ll love you all over again. In case you haven’t noticed, you two are meant to be together. Now take a deep breath and go in there and support him. He needs you.
Especially
if he can’t remember the last hundred years. Can you imagine what that would be like? Waking up in a world entirely foreign? Your challenge right now is not about you and him…it’s about how to get him to understand where he is and when.”

Her words drew my attention. There I was, focusing on my woes. I’d been given a cure that was supposed to free me from worrying about my body literally attacking itself and shutting down. And there I was, focusing on the negative again.

Like I’d done many times before, I would force myself to focus on the positive. Wes made it through his transformation. That was huge.
Huge
. Whether he remembered Sophie or not wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things. He was about to find out that a century had gone by and that somehow he was still alive to see it. How do you explain that to someone? If anyone was capable, it was me.

I hugged my mother for once again offering me sound advice, and together we walked back toward Wes’ room. Dr. Lyon came out just as we were approaching the door.

“How is he?” I asked eagerly.

“He’s doing exceptionally well.”

I tilted forward onto my toes, ready to spout a million questions, but he cut me off. “Considering. He’s extremely tired and weak,” he continued. “His muscles are very stiff, but we think it’s the adjustment of the tissue. He’ll need some extensive physical therapy. Dr. Carter has broken the news to him, that this is his second transfusion, as well as what year it is.”

My own muscles became stiff too. How could they just spring that on him, fifteen minutes after him waking?

Dr. Lyon read my thoughts. “Wes remembered his first transfusion—and its side effects. Dr. Carter explained to him that he'd wanted to reverse the procedure because he was aging too slowly. He doesn’t quite understand, but he’s a smart boy. He’s asking to see you, because he doesn’t know how either Dr. Thomas or Amelia is still here if it’s truly decades later. We thought we would leave that to you to explain however you see fit.”

I felt the biggest responsibility of my life coming on, and knew I needed to muster up a plan to conquer it, but I needed to first understand what was happening.

“How is it that he doesn’t remember so much time?”

Dr. Lyon smiled softly. “It’s actually not all that surprising, considering the extent of what we did. It could be a combination of the seizures and the transfusion. He’s just really disoriented right now.”