Her mouth moves to the side as she studies me. Again, I thank whoever’s looking up on me that I wore actual clothes before going to bed. It’s already weird enough that I’m in our lawyer’s room at night and watching her naked legs for a second too long.

“Would you mind?” she asks in a smaller voice, much shier all of a sudden. “That way if I see it again, I won’t have to have to choose who to sacrifice between Moll and May.”

“Sure.” It’s because of me she’s here, after all.

She only seems to hesitate for an extra moment before she jumps off the couch and runs to her bed, the white dog in her arms, the brown one following her there. Meanwhile, I go to the small closet beside the couch to grab a heavy wool blanket. Once she looks comfortable in bed, I turn the lights off, then head over to lie on the couch.

Even though the cabin is completely silent, I would bet a kidney she’s not asleep. Five minutes later, she confirms my suspicions by saying, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure, Wren. Go to sleep. You’re fine.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

She’s been so good to us. If sleeping on an uncomfortable couch is the one thing I can do for her, you can be sure I’d never pass on the opportunity.

I wait until I can’t hear the sheets rustling before I allow myself to fall asleep. And I’m pretty sure it’s the first time in a long while there are no tension lines on my face when I do.

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Wren

Running is one of the only things proven to be able to hold off dementia.

I say hold off because nothing can actually prevent it. Not every form, at least. If someone has the PSEN1 mutation on their fourteenth chromosome, no amount of running will keep them from losing themselves one memory at a time. However, even with the abnormal changes in one’s DNA strands, it’s been hypothesized that running could delay the process. So I run. A lot.

It’s not actually just running. Any physical activity can do. But running is far superior in my opinion. Nothing beats it in terms of taking your mind off things. And this morning, keeping my mind busy is the principal factor that keeps my feet pouncing on the cold ground of the Sonder Hill Main Road.

I still can’t believe last night actually happened. When I woke up this morning, I thought for a second that perhaps I’d dreamed it all, but that hope only lasted for a sweet, short second. Then I remembered everything in too many details, which told me it couldn’t be a figment of my imagination.