If Only in My Dreams Read Online Free PDF

the years, her grandfather’s death, her breakup with Jason, and of course, her ongoing issues with her mother.
    It isn’t that Clara doesn’t get along with her mom, because for the most part, she does.
    The problem is that Jeanette has never been a rock for her daughter the way mothers are supposed to be—not even when Clara was still a child and desperately needed one. There were countless times, especially right after the divorce, when it was Jeanette who crumbled and Clara who took on the maternal role. It was emotionally exhausting—and sometimes, it still is.
    Of course, things have been better since Clara’s stepfather, Stan, came along. Not perfect, but better.
    Finding out about Clara’s cancer would do her mother in, no doubt about that.
    Which is why she’s not going to tell her. In fact, she’s not in the mood to discuss it with anyone, really.
    “Maybe I’ll skip my appointment with Karen,” she muses to Jesus.
    “You can’t do that. I’m sure she’s worried about you.”
    “She doesn’t know anything about this. I never even bothered to tell her about the lump,” she tells Jesus, watching in the mirror of her location trailer as he coats her lids with smoky shadow that matches her green eyes. “That’s how unconcerned I was about it.”
    “Well, hopefully she’ll be able to help you work through your anxiety. I know my shrink has done wonders with my ostraconophobia.”
    That, of course, would be his irrational fear of shellfish, which he is slowly overcoming with cognitive therapy.
    “Okay, darling… blink.”
    Clara blinks.
    “Again.”
    She blinks again.
    Jesus studies her face with critical dark eyes, stroking his clean-shaven chin—which matches his clean-shaven head. And his clean-shaven chest, as well as anatomical hinterlands he mentioned in one of their too-much-information conversations, the kind that tend to unfold amid hours of mind-numbing between-take on-set boredom.
    There isn’t a whole lot she doesn’t know about Jesus deJesus, including his oft-mentioned conviction that he is the reincarnation of Coco Chanel. This he discovered during a past-life hypnotic regression conducted by one of his many therapists or gurus or whatever he calls that particular member of his New Agey posse of advisors.
    Jesus frequently expounds on the concept that everyone’s spirit, after physical death in this world, is reborn in anew body. The concept has its roots in various religions in which Jesus has dabbled, from Hinduism and Buddhism to Hollywood-chic Scientology and Kabbalah.
    Clara actually read a couple of the books he forced on her, and was unexpectedly absorbed. Of course, she would never admit to anyone—least of all Jesus deJesus—that his far-fetched reincarnation theory makes sense. Nor is she convinced that the legendary Coco Chanel has returned to Earth as a hairless, chubby man who runs away shrieking at the mere sight of shrimp.
    Jesus dabs a bit more shadow on Clara’s lids and reaches for the liquid liner with a flourish. “So how are you feeling overall?”
    “You mean, mentally? Or physically?”
    “Both.”
    “You know. I’m hanging in there.”
    “Hold still. You’re hanging in there mentally, or physically?”
    “Both.” She sighs, holds still, gazes at her face in the mirror.
    At least she looks like her usual self: wide-set eyes, high cheekbones, pert nose, heart-shaped mouth. Jesus expertly masked the shadows under her eyes with plenty of pancake foundation; you’d never know she hasn’t slept more than restless half-hour spurts since the diagnosis.
    How reassuring to see her familiar reflection, considering that she’s been feeling as though she’s temporarily inhabiting a stranger’s body.
    Every time she looks down at that small gauze-covered scar, she glimpses the most innocuous-looking enemy portal imaginable. And she can’t help but wonder whether Dr.Svensen was wrong, whether perhaps her records got mixed up with somebody else’s at