“In my dream,” Viola said, “I saw myself, and my face was…broken, dead. I had a hole in my forehead.” “Maybe it was a dream about why you married Rafael.” “Not funny,” Terri admonished me. “I think maybe I’d been shot,” Viola said. “Honey,” Terri comforted her, “when’s the last time you had a dream come true?” “I guess never,” Viola said. “Then I wouldn’t worry about this one.” “Best I can remember,” Viola said, “I’ve never before seen myself face-on in a dream.” Even in my nightmares, which sometimes do come true, I’ve never glimpsed my face, either. “I had a hole in my forehead,” she
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