AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Prologue
McCormick didn’t changemy life right away. I didn’t fall in love with him at first sight.
Instead it was a gradual shedding of being, a chipping away of what was, until my life was something entirely new and unrecognizable. It was a gradual thing, like the flow of the gentle tide washing over a softly sanded golden beach.
At least that’s what I tell myself when I’m lying. I often lie to myself when I’m awake and feeling generous.
But when I’m dreaming? Well, we don’t lie in dreams, do we?
Everyone knows that dreams are where we tell ourselves the truth. All our hidden desires, all our yearnings, all our fears—they come out in dreams, don’t they? In dreams we can fly, we can defeat dragons, we can go back in time, we can see our loved ones who are dead and gone, we can talk to a crowd while naked on a stage, and we can even fall in love.
In dreaming we do all the magical, wondrous things we are afraid to do in waking life.
Falling in love was always my fear. If you ask my therapist, she’ll tell you it’s because I have abandonment issues. If you ask me, it’s because love isn’t worth the hurt.
It’s just like Lake Geneva in early summer, still freezing, turn-your-lips-blue cold. My brother Daniel always dives in, splashing frigid frothy water across the coarse sand, laughing at me, “Come on, Fi! You’ll get used to it!”He teases that soon my fingers and toes will go numb and I’ll stop feeling the pain of the cold and enjoy the swim.
Mila always joins him (since age two, in her Puddle Jumpers and hot-pink cozzie) because she adores her uncle and would follow him to the moon. They splash in the shallows, shivering and pink-cheeked, while I perch on the old tree swing beneath the great plane tree, digging my feet into the cool, shaded sand, watching over them. To me the pleasure of a swim isn’t worth the blue lips, the numb fingers and toes, or the icy bite that nips into your blood and seeps into your bones. It’s a bit like love. Not worth the pain.
I’d rather stay safe on the sandy shore than dive into the turbulent waters.
That’s what I believed for a long, long time.
And then, I didn’t.
Whether it happened in an instant or whether it was an ebb and flow that washed away everything I knew to be true?
Well, that’s a matter of opinion.
My mum always claimed that someday all my dreams would come true. I always quipped, “I don’t want my dreams to come true. I’d rather stay in real life, thank you very much.”
But that was before I had dreams that were worth fighting for.
It was before Christmas Eve, before the gunshot, before Max proposed, before Buttercup gave me the watch, and before I dreamed.
Now I have one single prayer.
One prayer that crashes against the shore of my heart, beating out a single, desperate plea.
Dream.
Dream.
Dream.
Let me dream of him.
One more time.
1
Geneva is a dream at Christmastime.The end of November ushers in crisp blue skies, brisk alpine winds tinged with the hint of snow sweeping down the white-capped mountains, and the opening of the Christmas markets.
The old sophisticated city adopts an air of childlike glee. Glowing lights, evergreen wreaths, and garlands wind along the cobbled streets of Old Town, eclectic Carouge, and the Marché de Noël. The Christmas markets sparkle through the city and on the shores of the lake. Little wooden stalls dot the markets, brimming with the tempting cinnamon-and-clove scent of vin chaud. The mulled wine mixes with smells of fresh gingerbread and roasting chestnuts. There’s even skating in Parc des Bastions, where Mila and I grip mittened hands as we glide across the ice under the starry night sky.
On the weekend after the eleventh of December, Mila, Daniel, and I celebrate the fête de l'Escalade. In 1602 our Genevois ancestors defended the city and Mère Royaume threw her boiling cauldron of soup on the invaders.
So we join hands and chant, “Ainsi périrentles ennemis de la République.”Thus perished the enemies of the Republic!
