Beautiful Dreamer

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Rosemary's picture burned a hole in my back pocket as I climbed out of Logan's car and onto the snowy sidewalk in front of Blessed Trinity the next morning. The sun hung low, casting deep forenoon shadows onto the snow-blanketed grass.

“You gonna be all right?” Logan asked, coming up beside me with his hands buried into his pockets. I pressed my lips together, tugging the end of my sweater low over my leggings, and nodded.

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” I replied, though I knew the violets blooming under my eyes said otherwise. Even though the dream hadn't been a nightmare, it plagued my thoughts all the same, because I had a deep, gnawing feeling that I knew Rosemary, whoever she was. The girl with my face.

“Are you reading this week, Parker?” Aubrey asked, hopping out of her car to join us. All around us, people in coats and winter boots were tromping the snow, making their way into the chapel.

“Nope.” Thankfully, I added mentally. I didn't think I'd be able to make it through an entire reading coherently.

Inside, nearly all the pews were filled, despite it being a quarter of an hour till the beginning of mass. We split up then, because my mother was calling me and Aubrey wanted to say hi to her dad. Mom was oddly calm, considering I hadn't been home since the day before, but her eyes kept darting back to my face when she thought I couldn't see.

The service sped by in a blur of hymns and gospels and prayers, and I felt as if I had merely blinked when Father Lucas dismissed us with the words, “Let us go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

I exited the church with the rest of the congregation, but I felt as if I wasn't actually there. Half of me was in the real world, being towed through the crowd by my mother, but the other half was living and reliving that dream, seeing the girl's face again and again. Rosemary.

My fingers itched to tear the drawing out of my pocket and stare at it until my gaze singed the paper, but I was forced to smile and nod as my mother greeted Aubrey and Logan and Juliette's families, pretending that I wasn't experiencing inner turmoil. Vaguely, I heard the sound of Thanksgiving plans being made between our families—potluck at the Westburys' house—but my attention was elsewhere, and no one except Logan and Aubrey seemed to realize that.

I wasn't pulled from my reverie until the Westburys had already left, leaving only a bleary-eyed Mr. Dearborn swaying between his two children. He didn't seem to be anymore aware than I was, but we were all polite enough not to mention that (even though I really wanted to). Everyone was saying their goodbyes, and I was drawn back into reality by the warmth of Logan's arms wrapping around me.

“I can come over later if you need me to,” he said as we parted, though he didn't seem so sure. Not wanting to deal with the awkwardness, I forced a smile and shook my head.

“No, it's fine,” I assured him. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

The ride home from church—unlike the week before—was uneventful. My mom didn't speak, so neither did I. We hardly acknowledged each other as she unlocked the front door and I brushed past her, heading straight up to my room with Zipper at my heels.

I tried to study—really, I did. With my psych midterm less than twenty-four hours away, that was all I needed to focus on. If I didn't pass my classes, I could kiss school goodbye. But it was impossible. About half an hour into my attempted study session, I'd set my books aside and spread Logan's drawing across their closed covers.

“Who are you, Rosemary?” I wondered aloud. It was a question that had been plaguing me since the morning. When I'd asked the girl the same thing, she thought I knew already. But I didn't. All I knew was that she was there, she existed, and she was trying to help me.