Later that afternoon at home, I quickly finished what little homework I had as a gentle rain began to patter at the windows.  I wondered if I should ask my mom, who would be home any minute, about her newest board member.  Of course I should tell her about the creepy note, she’d heard the conversation and could do something about it.  Still, I was reluctant.  

I waited until she was occupied making dinner before I started in on the subtle line of questions I’d crafted.  “Mom, how did you meet that Leo guy?  He seems like an odd fit for your board.”

“Oh, he’s a little odd, but he’s great.  He brings a different perspective and he’s very intelligent.  He came in for one of the classes we offer and then got talking to Charles afterward and it turns out he’s done similar work at a center in Puerto Rico.  He has the time since he’s only working part time right now and it’s been a great fit.  Would you hand me those tomatoes, Annalie?”

I did.  “That’s cool.  Has he told you about what all he did back in Puerto Rico?”

“Yes, he talks about it quite a bit.  Working with single mothers to help educate them, get them jobs, and put them back on their feet.”

“How long has he been working with you?”

My mother stopped chopping tomatoes to eye me.  “Do you think he’s cute, Annalie?  He’s a little old for you, you know.”

I faked sheepishness.  Better she think that.  “I mean, he was just interesting.  You know my xenophile tendencies.”

My mother smiled.  “Well, I still say he’s too old for you and I think he has a girlfriend, but he certainly is an interesting guy.  It seems like he’s traveled quite a bit and I’m sure he’d love to tell you about his travels.  He seems to be a talker.”

I nodded.  “Yeah, maybe I can come by the center sometime and chat with him a bit.”  And confront him about the windshield note.  What would he say then?  In fact, that was just what I would do.  “What days is he there?”

“He volunteers Mondays and Wednesdays.”

“Maybe I can come by after school Monday afternoon and see if he has time.”

“Yes, I’m sure he’d love to talk with you then.”

I wondered what he’d have to say about his creepy note and whether I should question him subtly, or just come right out and confront him in front of my mom. 

That night there were more dreams.  It was getting to where I dreaded falling asleep.  The next day was bright and sunny though, with no signs of the rain or clouds from the day before.  Almost it seemed more sinister to me because I could feel a weight—like a storm pressing in on me or charged air—even with the spring sun shining cheerfully in a cloudless Colorado sky.

“Did you see Kate’s text, honey?” My mom asked as I sat down to a late breakfast of eggs and fruit.

“No, what’s up?” I hadn’t looked at my phone since getting out of the shower. 

“She says she’s come down with a stomach bug and won’t be able to go hiking with you today.”

“Oh.”  My disappointment was plain in my voice.

“But I was thinking,” my mom went on, “it’s been a while since we’ve been out riding and I’m free later this afternoon if you’d want to go with me?”

I smiled at her.  I could always count on my mom to try and cheer me up.  And she was right.  We used to ride together quite a bit when I was growing up, but lately life had gotten busy and we hadn’t been out together in a while.  “Yeah, that would be fun.  I could have the horses ready around three if that would work?”

“That sounds perfect, hun.”

At three I had both of our horses—now a little old and past their prime—saddled and ready.  My mother joined me and we headed out along the dirt road that would take us into the foothills.  The new spring grass looked like it had grown an inch overnight and everything smelled alive.

“How’s your pottery class going?” My mom asked after a few minutes.

“It’s great.  We get to try glazing our things next week.”  My mind strayed back to the note I’d found on my car the day before and I frowned.  I was definitely going to stop by the center tomorrow and have a talk with this Leo character.  Shaking my head, I came back to the present, changing the subject.  “How did you first get into riding, mom?”  I asked as we walked the horses off the road and into the pine forest.  She’d been a decent rider for as long as I could remember and, though we’d only ever had older and very average horses, riding was something we’d bonded over as I’d grown up.

“Oh, that was a long time ago.”  Her hazel eyes took on a dreamy look.  “It was one of the guys I dated that first got me into it.  Before your dad.  I’ve liked it ever since.”

I nodded.  “I guess you got something out of dating him at least.”

She smiled, but it was a sad smile.  “Yes, I definitely did.”

“What’s wrong?  Did you really like him and he dumped you?”

She sighed, looking ahead at the trail.  “He died.”  She gave me a strange look.  “If he hadn’t, I might have lived a very different life.”

“Wow.  I’m sorry.”  My mom seldom spoke of any of her dating experience before my dad and I realized now that I didn’t really know anything about that part of my mom’s life.

She shrugged, her expression relaxing.  “It’s alright.  I’m so happy with you, your dad, and your brother that I can’t regret anything.  It was just a very sad time for me when he passed.”

I nodded, sympathetic, and we rode on in silence for a while.  I became lost in my own thoughts, remembering the dream of the night before.  It had been something about a woman with that same accent who’d been telling me about some strange rite I had to prepare for.  She’d made me get into a painfully hot bath and then explained how important it was for me to have nothing touching my skin—not even dirt—when I “took my place.”  It felt pagan in a rather unsettling way. 

“You look tired, Annalie, but you slept until after nine today.”  My mom’s voice drew me back.

I nodded, then stifled a yawn.  “Yeah.  I’ve been having a bunch of weird dreams lately,” I admitted.  “I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and it’s hard to get back to sleep.”  I felt awkward talking about the dreams with her.  My mom was a great listener, but it was embarrassing to be worried about nightmares at eighteen.  I took a deep breath and asked suddenly, “Have you ever had a dream that you felt meant something?  Like, something more than normal dreams mean?”

She glanced back at me from where she was riding ahead on the narrow trail.  “I probably have, but I can’t remember exactly.  What did you dream, honey?”

I hesitated.  “I dream about some foreign culture or something, but in every dream they need something from me.  Like, something vital that means life or death for a whole country or something.  They’re different dreams, but the theme is the same every time.  I know that doesn’t sound bad, but the dreams are all super vivd and people die right on front of me sometimes because I’m not able to do or be whatever it is they’re needing.”

My mother frowned, looking thoughtful as we came out of the trees to a large meadow, lit by afternoon sunlight and I urged my horse alongside hers.  “What do the people in your dreams looks like, Annalie?”

I was taken aback by her question.  I’d expected her to ask something more along the lines of, is there something you feel you need to do in your life, or, have you been stressed out at the thought of moving out of state for school in the fall?  “Uh, maybe I would say dystopian?  Or primitive?  It’s hard to say.  Many of them have weird bleached hair and they all have the same strange accent, like nothing I’ve heard before. They wear a lot of leather, but that’s more like part of their armor when they’re fighting.  I guess they look kind of like Vikings?  But more civilized somehow.”  I struggled to describe the people who populated most of my dreams these days. 

“And all of the dreams are with these same people and they need something from you every time?”  My mom asked.

“Yes,” I nodded.  “I know it sounds stupid.”

She was still frowning, more troubled this time instead of merely thoughtful.  “It doesn’t sound stupid, Annalie.  It sounds important.  When did you first start having this type of dream, do you remember?”

“Sometime last fall.”

“Would you mind if I ask someone I know about your dreams?”

My lips drew into a fine line as I felt a pulse of anxiety.  Why was I so anxious about this, it made no sense!  “I guess so,” I said noncommittally. 

“I could do it in a more general way and not bring you in personally,” she offered.

“Yeah, that would be better.  Who would you ask, though?”

“I have an old friend who used to be very interested in dreams and meanings, things like that.  She might have some ideas.”  She smiled reassuringly at me.  “I do think they probably mean something, if only something important for you.  The dreams are trying to tell you something.  Now it’s up to you to figure out just what that is.”

We rode through the meadow and into the trees on the other side, continuing until we’d ridden to the top of a ridge a few miles to the west.  The sun was sinking lower and we stopped for a few minutes, dismounting to stretch our legs and take in the view—the front range mountains to the west, grassy plains to the east, and the forests between.  In a meadow a few miles off, I could just make out the dark dots that made up a herd of elk grazing. 

“I love this time of year just when things start to green up,” my mom commented, looking out over the landscape.  

I nodded agreement and, after a minute more, asked, “Well, do you want to head back so we aren’t riding home in the dark?”

“Yes, we probably should.  I was thinking of doing spaghetti for dinner, does that sound good to you?”

My mom always made great spaghetti.  “Definitely.”

We turned around and started back, but we must have ridden farther or longer on the way up than I’d thought.  The sunset came quickly and it was growing dark faster than I’d thought it would.  The wind blew restively through the tree branches and I could hear branches creaking and shifting.

“Annalie, let’s go a little faster,” my mom said.  Her voice seemed tense and she’d spoken in a very low tone, almost as if she didn’t want to be overheard. 

I tensed in response myself, urging my horse forward into a trot. “Is something wrong?”

“I’d just rather get home than be stuck out here in the dark.”

Her excuse didn’t quite ring true.  Or maybe I was just suspicious and feeling too edgy these days.  We still had over two miles to go and it was generally a bad habit to allow horses to run the last part of the trip home, but this time my mom ignored this, kicking her mare to a canter in the quickly fading light as we retraced our way through the pines.  I couldn’t help but feel like we were racing more than just nightfall.  My mom never acted this way, what was going on?  We’d ridden together at dusk or even into night before some summer evenings and it hadn’t been a big deal. 

Suddenly we broke out of the forest and back onto the dirt road, just a mile from our house on the edge of town and my mom let her horse gallop full out.  The last mile went by in a blur and when we finally reached our house and the horse pen, both horses were winded frothing.  They weren’t used to sustained running like that at their age. 

“Wasn’t that exhilarating?” my mom asked, dismounting and tying her mare’s reins to the post.

“It was definitely something,” I replied, still confused.  I couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but there was something “off” in the way my mom was acting.  Nevertheless, I offered to take care of the horses while she started dinner and set about unsaddling them and brushing them down.