She groans. Her hair splays across her face as she turns. I try and brush it back, but she moves again as her breathing gets heavier and heavier.
“Esme,” I say, a little louder.
She jerks forward, her eyes widening as she pulls herself from the throes of the nightmare.
As the fog clears, she blinks at me a few times, trying to bat away the disorientation.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “You’re okay.”
“I’m okay?” she repeats uncertainly.
“You were just having a nightmare,” I explain. “It was a nightmare.”
She shakes her head as a shiver runs over her body. “No, it wasn’t.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t.
Instead, she sighs deeply and collapses against her seat as she looks out onto the road.
“Oh, wow,” she says. “It’s dark already.”
“We’re almost at Joshua Tree.”
“I ca
