A Winter Dream - By Richard Paul Evans Page 0,43

J.J. Can I take some of these?”

“Take them all,” I said.

“Okay.” She slid the file under her arm. “You’ll see.”

“I can’t wait,” I said, turning back to my cards. “Now who has the queen?”

“Speaking of queens,” Leonard said. “Did I ever tell you that J.J. is a dreamer? He claims he sees the future in his dreams.”

“I don’t get the segue,” Bryce said.

I looked at Leonard and shook my head. “Leave it alone, Len.”

“It’s true,” Leonard said. “That’s how he came up with the BankOne Bank On It campaign. He dreamt it even before he knew we needed it.”

‘That was yours?” Bryce asked. “That was a great campaign.”

“You can tell the future?” Charlene asked.

“No. I mean, sometimes I dream things and they come true.”

“I believe in dreams,” Charlene said. “When I was ten, my mother had a dream that she was feeding my little brother bread. The next day he swallowed a bottle of cleaning solvent. Instead of making him throw up, she fed him bread. It saved his life.”

“How many of your dreams come true?” Bryce asked.

“Most of them,” I said.

“What kind of dreams do you have?” Charlene asked.

“All kinds. The other night I had a dream about the three of you.”

“Tell us,” Charlene said.

I looked into their eager faces. “Let’s just play cards.”

“You can’t tell us you’ve seen our future then go on playing cards,” Bryce said.

“I didn’t say I had seen your future. I just had a dream about you.”

“Am I going to die?” Bryce asked.

“C’mon, guys,” I said. “Let’s play.”

“I knew it,” Bryce said. “I’m dying.”

“We’re probably all dying,” Leonard said.

“My dream wasn’t about anyone dying,” I said. “Come on, let’s play cards.”

“No, I have to know about your dream,” Charlene said.

All three of them had stopped playing cards and were looking at me.

“C’mon,” Leonard said. “Tell us what it was about.”

“All right,” I finally said. “But I’m not claiming to know the future.”

“Have you ever been wrong?” Bryce asked.

I hesitated. “There are a few dreams that haven’t come true.”

“A few?”

“Two.”

“Out of how many?”

I took a slow, deep breath. “Hundreds.”

“Great,” Leonard said.

“That’s precisely why I don’t want to tell you,” I said.

“If it was something good, he would have already told us,” Leonard said.

“We won’t hold you to it,” Bryce said. “Just tell us. Inquiring minds want to know.”

I looked at them. There was no way they were going to drop it.

“All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I know I’m going to die in it,” Bryce said.

I ignored his comment. “My dream took place right here,” I said. “I was sitting at my desk when you all came to me carrying small, robin’s-egg blue boxes.”

“Like Tiffany,” Bryce said.

“Right,” I said.

“I love Tiffany,” Charlene said. “This is a good dream.”

“All three of you asked me to tell you your future,” I said.

“Just like we are now,” Charlene said. “It’s already coming true. Go on.”

“I said to you, ‘Let me see your boxes.’ Charlene, you went first. You handed me your box and I lifted its lid. Inside was a miniature day planner. I said, ‘You will soon return to being Mr. Ferrell’s personal assistant.’ ”

Charlene leaned across the table hugged me. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“It’s just a dream,” I said.

“It’s a good dream,” she replied.

“What about me?” Bryce said.

“You were next. I opened your box. Inside was a pen with an ink refill. I said, ‘You’ll soon return to the agency as a senior copywriter.’ ”

Bryce pumped his fist. “Yes! Does Scott die?”

“I didn’t dream about Scott,” I said.

“It would be an even better dream if Scott died in a fiery car crash,” Bryce said.

Leonard looked at me. “What was in my box?”

I grimaced. “It’s kind of strange.”

“What was it,” Leonard asked.

“It’s a dream, okay? It doesn’t matter what was in your box.”

“It was something bad, wasn’t it? Like a rattlesnake or grenade or something.”

“No, there wasn’t a snake. And it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter. So tell me.”

“Fine,” I said. “I opened your box and it had broken pots.”

“Pots?”

“Yes. Little earthenware pots.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure,” I said.

Leonard looked frantic. “You’re not sure? You knew what theirs meant.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“If the pots are broken, it’s got to be bad,” Charlene said.

“Maybe it means that you won’t be able to hold anything,” Bryce said. “Like money, or a relationship.”

“. . . Or a job,” Charlene said.

Leonard looked even more distressed. “This is stupid. It’s just a dream.”

“That’s what I said.”

Leonard shook his head. “You still have it out for me.”

“I’ve never