Page 60 of Seven Days in June

“Anyway,” continued Mr. Josh, who Audre had forgotten was in the room, “Shane Hall is my favorite author. And I have a manuscript that I’d kill to get in his hands. I have it on a thumb drive. Do you think if I gave it to you, you could pass it to your mom?”

And then, for the first time in her school career, Audre let go.

“Quick question, Mr. Josh,” she said.

“Yes?”

“WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCKSHIT IS MY LIFE?”she wailed. Then she apologized. And burst into tears.

Chapter 15

Dream House

FOR TWO CYNICAL SKEPTICS LIKE EVA AND SHANE, THE DREAM HOUSE, UPONentrance, was a bit too earnest.

DREAM HOUSE RULES

Welcome to the DREAM HOUSE. No smoking, vaping, eating, drinking, cell phone use, picture-taking, talking above a whisper, touching, or exchanging of bodily fluids permitted. This is a safe space, don’t make it weird. Please store valuables in a locker.If you’re in a PRIVATE room, feel free to close the door—but there are no locks.Each person is assigned a freshly washed pillow and blanket (via our eco-friendly laundry service!), please toss in the linen basket when you’re done. When your hour is up, your Sleep Guide will give you a gentle nudge. Please do not strike the Sleep Guide, he/she/they is/are simply doing his/her/their job.

And what’syourjob, you ask? To do three things: Relax! Restore! Recharge!

“And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” —Hamlet

Upon entry, a gazelle-like Sleep Guide handed them freshly laundered plush pillows and blankets. Assuming that they were a couple, she led them toward a private room. Tucked in the first two floors of a classic Edwardian brownstone, the warren of rooms was, indeed, a soporific sleep chamber. Silence was optional, so some light whispers could be heard above the soft, ambient, hard-to-place tonal soundtrack. The smoky-sweet scent of incense wafted unobtrusively through the halls, each room bathed in darkness except for the drowsiness-inducing images projected on the walls. One room seethed with gently pulsing blue dots. Another room glowed burnt sienna, thanks to a crackling bonfire projected on the wall; it was so realistic, Eva almost felt the toasty warmth as she walked by.

People dozed on the floor, lying on massive body pillows, their skin glowing in different colors. In one room, a woman snored softly. A guy in an ill-fitting suit lay next to her, lips murmuring a soundless chant. Or prayer. Maybe he was reciting the lyrics to Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts.” Who knew? The point was, he was relaxed.

Eva couldn’t imagine dozing off within the next hour. Sleep called for five milligrams of Ambien, an ice pack, a painkiller shot, and her white-noise app. But the trippy-hippie vibewassoothing. Damn near sublime. The best part was that it was an unexpected twist. Like Alice toppling down the rabbit hole or Dorothy nodding out in Oz’s poppy fields. When she set out to see Shane this morning, she definitely hadn’t imagined ending up in a hazy, hypnotic fun house. At 2:50 p.m.

With her daughter, her career, and her life in tatters, Eva had no business wasting an hour in this place. But here she was, lost to the world. It felt like what happened here didn’t count in real life.

And then there was Shane.

She wasn’t ready to say goodbye again. She was aching to make their afternoon last. There was no way to pretend that her day with Shane, though platonic, wasn’t the biggest thrill she’d had in forever. It was so easy. Scarily so.

Eva felt a jolt in her personality around him. Shane was pulling her back to her real self; all the goofy, random, raw, dark moments she usually hid were on full display. And he drank it all in. The give-and-take of luring him in and allowing herself to be lured: God, it was exhilarating. She’d forgotten the way they existed in each other’s space. That old current was still there, buzzing in the air between them.

Eva was dizzy with it, wanted to suck it into her veins. She felt daring and flirty—jolted awake after too many years of being afraid to feel anything. And if she never saw Shane again after today, she’d be fine. Today was enough.

Stay tuned for this and other lies on Fox News at eight, she thought.

When they arrived at their room, Eva spread their blankets on the matted floor, Shane fluffed the pillows, and they lay down. And that was when two cynical skeptics became very, very sleepy.

Eyes feeling heavy, Eva glanced around the cozy (if borderline-claustrophobic) room. It was the size of a modest walk-in closet. Neon lights readingNIGHT NIGHTdecorated the ceiling, pulsing a low, hazy violet-blue glow. Four beats on, four beats off, like a heartbeat. The color turned their skin a surreal, soothing violet.

Eva turned to face Shane, fluffing the pillow under her cheek. He lay flat on his back, one hand tucked behind his head. She watched him watching the flashing words—soon his lids shuttered, his lashes resting on his cheekbones.

“I need a room like this in my house,” he murmured.

“Where’s your house?”

“Well, yeah, I need to get one first.” He opened his eyes, turning his head toward her. “I could never decide where I wanted to stay. Before I started teaching, I’d move twice a year. Nairobi, Siargao, Copenhagen, anyplace near water. Laos. I went on a motorcycle trek there once. Vietnam has the most dramatic terrain. Jungles and mountains and waterfalls. Technicolor-green grass. You feel like the topography’s happeningtoyou. Did you know over there they call the Vietnam War the American War?”

“As well they should,” said Eva, cozying her cheek into the pillow. “What’s your favorite place?”

“Taghazout, a shipping village in Morocco,” he said, no hesitation. “A nine-year-old kid taught me how to surf there.”

“Your life sounds made up, I swear.”

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