When Calls the Dream

Life Goes On

WHEN I EMERGE FROM MY ROOM battered, broken, and full of Wicked Witch of the West hair, I wash my face and travel back outside. Another walk, but on my own this time. Evening shrouds over me, and the lights of a lingering Christmas season twinkle and smear in my vision. Christmas doesn't want to end, even though it already has. For whatever reason, I forgot about a few things here. Like the fact that Nathan, during this time in the show, was choosing whether or not to move onto his new post. The one he had been wanting for so long. Why didn't he say anything? I wonder if he still received the offer. There is a secret part of me, that wonders if I have changed a few things since coming here. Don't worry, Clara and Jesse still got engaged. But an example would be the Christmas Eve get-together. Elizabeth asked Nathan to dance instead. This was after the children's choir sang at the school. I asked Lucas to dance, but only after Elizabeth chose her partner. I have been pondering the little things more often since that meltdown in my room. Funny enough, Lucas seemed to enjoy dancing with me that night, but I still swooned at the first opportunity to spend time with Jude instead. Something must be the matter with me. He isn't like Lucas at all. He is secretive. Too secretive. Did he drug me into this?

I'm too busy mulling about possibilities in my head to notice Lucas himself gazing up at the sequin-studded sky. "Nyrah?" He is particularly handsome tonight. I don't know why. He just always is. "Nyrah, are you quite well?" No. I'm not. But he can't know that.

"Well enough." I keep walking.

"Nyrah, wait." I stop, disturbed that I am on the verge to break down crying again. My eyes are still puffy and sore. "Would you like something hot to drink? It's too cold to be outside. You don't even have a coat." I search his eyes. Everything is confusing. I love Lucas, but there is something growing between me and Nathan as well. Something has changed. I stand as a cold statue, at last, realizing the truth and gravity of the situation, every ounce of moonlight, tracing my skin. Tracing his.

"You're right," My throat cracks, dry and hoarse, "I should take better care of myself." Everything is numb. My mind. My bones. When Lucas ushers me into the saloon, I notice then that it is past closing time. The place is empty. I did not realize it was so late.

"Sit down. Do you want coffee or hot chocolate?"

"Um, hot chocolate is fine." It takes a mere fifteen minutes, before Lucas emerges from the back of the saloon, where the kitchen is. His mug of chocolate next to mine on the table.

"Do you want to share with me what is wrong?"He asks. He is asking me to talk about my feelings. This sensation drags out all the memory of therapy sessions in my world...or time. I've lost track as to which it is. I comply with his request, because it is Lucas.

"Not really, but I need to say it out loud to help me process things, I guess." I stare into space, before tipping my chin down.

His hand is on mine, "What is it?" I ignore the electricity buzzing up my spine, and take a sip of the frothy marshmellow pool he prepared for me.

I begin, "Have you ever had so much bad happen to you, so much crazy, that it takes the majority of your lifetime so far to process it?" I do not wait for him to answer, I continue, "Jeremiah...Glory. Peter and Lily...all dead because of me. I lived my childhood as an orphan, and only managed to find one friend to call my own, and then I get sent here. A place of hope.

"Ironic. A woman with little hope, in a town called Hope Valley. The wounds were healing, Lucas. At least, I thought they were. Perhaps I was just fooling myself." The man sits in silence, blinking, probably thinking about his next words. His hand moves, leaving mine to freeze, despite the warm liquid near it. Lucas must think I am an ungrateful, selfish woman.