“Did you know about the dream he used to have?” “I don’t think so—what dream?” “About you. He’d had it ever since he left home.” “Oh,” Maia says, and Lily can tell this is something she hasn’t heard before. Lily pictures Maia in her familiar living room, puffy-eyed, just wanting something. And surely, she can give her this? So she takes a breath. “In the dream, he was dying—” “I’m sorry—I’m not sure I can do this right now. I thought it was going to be something nice.” “I know it sounds bad, but really, Bees, I think you’ll want to hear. I think it might help.”
