Chapter 7
Dreams in trains woke her. Clutched under her fingers was the torn patchwork of Sam’s comforter. She’d pulled it from his mothballed closet before bed and it still was not enough to warm her. The rain had started again.
No, she realized slowly. Now it was snow.
She lay on Sam’s couch staring at the ceiling, feeling like she was being watched. Sam snored in the other room (loudly), so it could not have been him. A glance at his microwave told her that it wasn’t even five yet. And yet she felt no more sleepiness. She’d slept for days, she told herself, and dreamed so many months into memory.
She turned onto her side until she was facing the couch’s rough pillows. Her breath fell back against her face, warming her cheeks, her chin. She clenched her fist, and remembered nights it
