CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A woman I don’t recognize materializes. She’s dressed in the familiar sky blue worn by many of the station’s staff. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders, and although she’s only in my mind, her bright eyes seem to stare right into me.

“Desiree Donnelly,” she says. “Welcome to Dream-State Reflection. It is here where we do our most important life-reflective work, which, when combined with our effective talk therapy led by our highly skilled counselors, will assist you in letting go of the life you’ve left behind.

“You hold your destiny in your own hands. Our staff is here to guide you, but it is you who must take the steps on the path of progress. Arguing and fighting are counterproductive. A cooperative mind is a cooperative soul.

“Please relax and focus as tonight’s reflections are presented to you.”

I’m in the car driving to my cello lesson, my window down despite the chilly, hazy morning. After a long winter, the smell of spring is enough to make the blast of cool air worthwhile. I smile as I take a deep breath of the sweet scent. The breeze blows against my face, bringing with it a promise of long summer days to come. Days like this are about as perfect as they come.

I drive past the last farm before a large tract of forest. Even the cows, gathered around a feed bin, seem happy today. Their tails flick as they munch serenely on hay.

My last summer before college is almost here. Dad’s already taunting me with talk of my mystery graduation gift, but I can’t even get Mom to give me a hint as to what he’s planning.

A trip?

Some big gift?

Something sentimental?

His poker face is world class, and no amount of begging, buttering up, or cajoling has ever cracked him.

I guess I’ll just have to wait.

My mom left a CD in the stereo, but for once I don’t mind, or even lament the lack of an iPod connection. I turn up the volume and sing along, but my ringtone interrupts my duet. Still singing, I turn down the music and reach into my purse. My hand searches past my wallet, lip gloss, gum, iPod—I have a lot of stuff in there—fumbling around for my elusive phone. True to form, my purse tips over and the phone falls out and slides across the seat, just out of reach.

“Crap.”

I lean over and stretch out my fingers, my eyes fixed on the road, the phone still inches beyond my grasp. I hear my mom’s voice in my mind, ordering me to not even think of what I’m about to do, but that’s her ringtone squawking at me.

It must be important, because she never calls when she knows I’m driving.

She was just answering a call from Grandma when I left.

Grandpa just got out of the hospital two days ago after a bunch of tests. Is something wrong? Is his cancer back?

It will only take a second, so I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean a bit farther.

Success! My fingers close around the phone, and as I’m about to pick it up, it slips again, this time landing on the floor. Figures.

Since there are no cars coming and it’s a matter of a few seconds, I steady my left hand on the wheel and lean across the seat, doing my best to watch the road.

Sometimes your best isn’t good enough.

My fingers fumble across the floor mat, at last closing around the prize. With the phone in hand and a triumphant “Ha!” I sit back up.

Too late, I realize I’ve drifted over to the shoulder, and I jerk the wheel hard to the left, overcorrecting into the oncoming lane.

I see the truck.

It’s too late.

I crank the wheel hard to the right and slam on the brakes, doing about everything wrong and remembering none of my dad’s careful training. The car spins sideways, leaving my driver’s side rear door directly in the truck’s path. Its horn blares at me in a futile attempt to prevent the inevitable. I grip the wheel and brace for impact, screaming above the shriek of metal meeting metal.

And then I’m airborne.

Time seems to slow to a near standstill as my body drifts through the air. I feel like I may never hit the ground. The sound of shattering glass and crumpling metal fade away, and all that remains is the whistling wind. …

Next, I’m shown my parents, but this isn’t a memory. They are sitting in my high school’s auditorium. Proud smiles light up their faces as they watch me walk across the stage in my white cap and gown, a gold honor cord across my shoulders. I wave to them from the stage and my mom’s eyes well with tears. Dad puts an arm around her and offers her a tissue with his free hand. She leans against him as they watch me walk back to my seat. …

We pull to the curb in front of a dormitory, the car packed to near overflowing. Dad opens the hatchback as Mom and I get out. Her auburn hair shines in the afternoon sun, in stark contrast to Dad’s salt-and-pepper curls. She gets her camera from her purse and snaps a photo of the building, then ushers me into the frame.

Click. Click. “Just one more, Stinkerbell.”

“I’m in college and officially way too old for that name,” I insist. Click. “Mom, come on … ” Click.

“Almost done.” Click. “Don’t make that face.” Click. Click. “This is a big day!” Click.

“Okay, Mary, that’s good enough, huh?” Click.

“Jim, stand next to her. I want one of both of you.” Click. Click.

“Dad’s on my side. Back in the purse, Mom.” Click.

She hugs me like she’s never going to see me again.

“Mom, it’s going to be okay. You already booked my flight home for Thanksgiving. It’s only a couple of months.” I pat her back, trying to reassure her. …

The mystery woman appears again. “Your assignment for the day,” she says, “is a simple one. You must remind yourself of these words: Acceptance turns the rocky path smooth. Cooperation leads the way.

“You may now wake, Desiree.”