Dream // Van McCann

22. The Life You've Always Wanted

"How old was my mom in those pictures?" Mia asked.

"About 21, 22. Your mum and I are born the same year but she's a month older or summat. That was 8 years ago. D'you have any siblings?"

"No. I'm an only child." Just like your mum and I, I thought to myself.

"I wanted another child but Rafael said no. Under different circumstances, we would," a voice called from the living room and I looked up to see Clara standing in the doorway.

She was still pale from having fainted earlier but the color was slowly returning to her cheeks. She held her head up high to try to remain strong but I could tell my gaze made her nervous. Many years ago, she told me she loved my eyes for how light they were. And many years ago, when we were still in love, I hoped our first child would have her eyes. I looked down at my plate, embarrassed that she caught me asking how many children she has. I've not let go of her just yet.

"How did you find me?" Clara asked. You could feel a shift in the air and Mia looked back and forth between us nervously.

"I've dreamt about your life here. The house you and your parents lived in, the cliffs, and what I thought was your body washing up on the beach. I kept all my dreams and drawings in a journal and realized they were all connected, telling me a story. Someone recognized your house and told me where to find it," I answered. I was certain I sounded crazy. Maybe I am but I've done it. I've managed to find her against all odds.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell the truth, Clara. Aren't you tired of hiding? Do you miss your parents? And what about the woman who actually died? Don't you feel sorry for her and her parents?"

"Mia, go to your room," Clara said calmly. Her daughter knew not to question her and ran out of the kitchen wordlessly. Clara waited until she heard the door close. "How dare you come into my house and say all these things to me! What I do is none of your business."

"And what're you gonna do about it? Call the cops on me?" I asked, standing up. I slowly made my way towards her and she backed away with every step I took. "According to the world, you're dead."

I could see the realization hit her. Despite trying to be strong, she was absolutely powerless against me. That was never my intention, though. I just wanted her to tell the truth.

"Did you read my letters? I had no choice."

"I've read them all. Tell me—what's the worst they can do to you? Your child has been born and Rafael has stayed by your side the entire time. I'll tell you that's the least of their worries."

"My parents wanted me to get rid of my child!" As soon as she said that, Clara clamped her mouth shut, afraid her daughter would hear and then she lowered her voice. "And they didn't like Rafael."

"It's been 8 years, Clara. They've changed. I called your mum a month ago and I asked her what she'd say to you and do you know what she said?" I paused, waiting for her to answer but she stayed quiet, afraid to speak. "She said 'I'd do anything to have her back.'"

At this point, Clara had backed into the wall and had nowhere else to go so she stayed in place, watching me as I moved closer until we were an arm's length away. One look and you could see she was terrified. Of me, her parents, and the whole situation. I never want her to be terrified of me so I took a step back and drew a shaky breath.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me this is the life you've always wanted and I'll walk away. Just like that." My eyes stared into hers and although she was scared, her eyes never wavered from mine. As much as I want Clara to tell the truth, I will never force her to against her own will. I've no idea what pain she went through to choose this path.

I waited and waited but she remained silent. And then I couldn't bear to look her in the eyes anymore so I turned around and grabbed my plate and utensils, bringing them to the sink, and washing them. I dried my hands on the tea towel and looked at her one last time.

"It's getting late. I better get going," I announced. I made sure I had all my stuff before walking out the front door and closing it behind me.

Was it too much to ask hoping that she'd run after me and stop me? I even slowed my pace to give her time but it was clear she didn't plan to when I got out onto the street. The entire walk back to the hotel, I replayed our encounter in my head wondering where it went wrong. But what was I thinking? That it'd be so easy, I could convince her on my first attempt? It doesn't work like that. I'm stubborn and she's equally as stubborn.

Florence wasn't back when I got to the hotel. She was probably out having dinner at some place and I should too before all the restaurants close, but I didn't have the appetite to eat anymore. The urge to call her and ask that she come back was strong but I didn't want to be needy.

In order to distract myself, I took a hot shower and came out feeling slightly better but I knew the relief was only momentary. It was times like this I wish I could smoke weed but being in a foreign country where I didn't understand the laws that well, I didn't want to risk it. Plus I didn't have any on me.

I'm not sure how long I spent lying in bed staring at the popcorn ceiling but eventually, I heard the sound of Florence trying to get into the room. She opened the door and was surprised to see me.

"I wasn't expecting you until much later. How'd it go?" she asked, walking over to the end and sitting down. My eyes went to her and then back at the ceiling.

"I can't do it. I can't make her tell the truth if she doesn't want to," I answered. "I remember being angry and upset, but when I saw her, all of that went away." I will never forget how fragile and sensitive Clara is.

"What happened? Did she say no?"

"She didn't say no but she didn't say yes either. She's still holding onto the past, bringing up how her parents wanted her to have an abortion and how they didn't like Rafael. I don't know how to change her mind or make her see things in a different light, but I also feel guilty pushing her to do something she doesn't want to do. I'm just worried I won't have enough time and this trip will be for nothing."

"Maybe she needs some time to process it all."

"And that's what we don't have. Time. I can't keep coming back to Portugal all the time."

"I feel like I only know half the story. Why don't you start from the beginning?" Florence suggested. I took a deep breath and told her all the details, starting right at the beginning.