The Life Intended Read Online Free PDF Page B

like to come with me?”
    I nod, feeling foolish, and after giving me another concerned look, he helps me out of bed. I feel dizzy and disoriented the moment I’m on my feet.
    As Patrick takes my hand and leads me out of the bedroom, I glance out the window in the hall and notice that the dilapidated funeral home that always stood there has been replaced by a little green space with a jungle gym, a yellow slide, and a poplar tree. “Everything’s different,” I murmur.
    “Kate,” Patrick says, his voice hoarse, “what’s wrong with you?”
    I turn to face him, and he’s so close that I can hardly breathe. I move into the space between us, and as I feel his body against mine, I remember with a jolt the way I used to fit so perfectly into the nook between his arm and his chest. I touch his face, and the stubble on his jaw feels so real. “I . . . I’m not supposed to be here,” I say, because I don’t know how else to explain what’s happening to me. The hall flickers and sparks at the edges, and I realize that I’ve again threatened the fabric of this world.
    “Where else would you be?” Patrick looks at me for a moment and then gently turns me around and begins moving us back toward the bedroom. “You know what, honey?” he asks. “Maybe it’s better if I just bring you that ibuprofen. You seem really off this morning. Let’s get you back to bed for a bit, okay?”
    I let him lead me back to the bedroom, because he’s right; I feel dazed and unsteady on my feet. “Don’t leave me,” I murmur.
    “I’ll be right back,” he says as he tucks me under the covers. “I promise.”
    “But you promised me you’d be with me forever too,” I whisper after he’s gone. For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what’s happening. Why does everything here feel so familiar? How do I know, for example, that the ibuprofen bottle Patrick is going to get is the generic brand from Duane Reade, that it’s on the second shelf beside the sink in the bathroom, and that there are only a dozen pills left? How do I know that the shopping list attached to the fridge has ibuprofen written on it, directly below milk, marshmallows, peanut butter, frozen onions, and toilet paper —all in my handwriting? How do I know that when I reach for the lamp on Patrick’s bedside table, it won’t turn on, because the bulb burned out last night? I take a deep breath and just to be sure, I reach across and flick the switch at the lamp’s base. Nothing happens, and I exhale heavily, more confused than ever.
    I can’t shake the feeling that I’m really here, that this isn’t actually a dream at all. But that doesn’t make any sense.
    My heart thudding, I reach for the phone on my bedside table. We still have a landline, I know in a flash, because Patrick thinks it’s safer, just in case we ever need to call 911. How do I know that? I shake my head and dial my sister’s home number. Surely she’ll explain everything.
    But a second later, a recording comes on telling me the line has been disconnected. I hang up and redial, assuming I’ve hit the buttons wrong in my confusion, but the same recording comes on again. I try her cell, but there’s a man’s voice on the outgoing message instead of hers. I’m getting a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if something happened to her?
    “Is Susan okay?” I demand as Patrick walks back into the room. Could this dream world have traded my sister for my husband, one horror for another? “Please tell me she’s okay. Please tell me she’s alive.”
    Patrick’s brow furrows. “Of course she is, honey,” he says, and relief floods through me like a river. “What are you talking about?”
    “I just tried calling her,” I say as I feel myself begin to shake again. I rattle off the digits of her home phone, as if saying them will bring her back.
    He shakes his head. “Katielee, that’s her old number.”
    I stare at him, and suddenly,