Billy slipped his arm around my shoulders.

We started walking.

After a while, he looked over.

"You gonna be okay, little brother?"

I thought about lying.

Telling him I was fine. Making some stupid joke so he wouldn't worry.

Instead, I told him the truth.

"I don't know."

He nodded.

"That's okay."

We walked another block.

Then I stopped.

"Billy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for bringing me."

He looked back toward the empty street.

Then at me.

"Anytime, little brother."

I smiled.

And we kept walking.

I don't remember when Billy disappeared. I wish I did. Seems like the kind of thing a person ought to remember, the last few seconds he gets with his big brother.

But I remember the walk.

I remember the smell of rain on the pavement.

And I remember thinking how strange it was that you could spend your whole life missing somebody and then, for one little moment, feel like they'd never gone anywhere.

I've thought about that night a lot.

About Billy. About Paula. About that little bar with the red booths and the old jukebox.

I suppose a person could explain the whole thing away. A dream. An exhausted mind trying to make sense of something it never will.

Maybe that's what it was.

I've had stranger dreams.

Lately, though, I've been having another one.

It starts in a house I've never seen before.

Nothing fancy. Just a little place with a porch and a couple of trees out front. There's a truck in the driveway, some tools scattered across the garage floor, and a dog barking at something that probably isn't there.

I can hear people talking inside.

Somebody's laughing.

And I know that laugh.

That's the funny thing about dreams. You can spend years trying to remember the sound of somebody's voice, and then one night your mind gives it back to you like you heard it yesterday.

I walk toward the house.

The front door is open.

I can smell coffee.

There's music coming from somewhere in the back, playing low enough that I can't quite make it out.

I hear a woman laugh.

Then a man says something that makes her laugh even harder.

I know both voices.

My heart starts beating so hard I can feel it in my throat.

I step inside.

And there's Billy, sitting at the kitchen table.

Older than I remember him.

Gray around the temples. A few more lines in his face. That same ridiculous grin.

He's wearing his old leather jacket.

The cuff is still frayed.

"You gonna stand there all day, little brother?"

I try to answer.

But I can't.

Then somebody comes around the corner carrying two cups of coffee.

It's Paula.

Her hair's a little longer.

There's a bit of gray in it.

She's older too.

That's what gets me.

Not that she's there.

That she got to grow old.

She sees me standing in the doorway and gives me that look she used to give me when I was making a big deal out of something simple.

"Well, come on, baby. Your coffee's getting cold."

And I want to run to her.

I want to grab her and hold on so tight she can't ever leave again.

But in the dream, I don't.

Because somehow I know there's no need.

Nobody's going anywhere.

I walk into the kitchen.

Billy pulls out a chair with his foot.

Paula puts my coffee on the table.

And we sit.

We talk about nothing important.

Billy gives me shit about how long it took to finish my book.

Paula tells him to leave me alone.

Then she starts giving me shit too.

And I laugh.

I laugh so hard I have to wipe my eyes.

Outside, the wind moves through the trees.

Somewhere down the street, a kid calls for his dog.

A car drives past.

And the whole world keeps turning, completely unaware that the three of us are sitting in a little kitchen together.

Sometimes, in the dream, Nick comes by.

He's older too. Doing good. Happy.

He pulls into the driveway, and I can tell it's him before I even see him.

I look out the window and watch him get out of the car.

And for a second, I feel proud in a way I don't have words for.

Because he made it.

Because life went on.

Because all those years I worried about him, he was growing into somebody who could take care of himself.

He comes inside.

Billy starts talking cars with him before he even gets his jacket off.

Paula kisses him on the cheek.

And I'm standing there watching all of it, thinking how much I wish the world had given us a day like this.

Just one.

Nothing special.

Nobody dying.

Nobody saying goodbye.

Just everybody home.

And that's usually when I wake up.

I lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling.

Sometimes I can still smell the coffee.

Sometimes I swear I can hear Paula moving around in the other room.

And for a second, that old ache comes back.

The one that reminds me where I am.

I used to hate waking up from dreams like that.

Now I'm not so sure.

I've been thinking about time lately.

How we measure everything by beginnings and endings. The day somebody's born. The day they leave us. All those little dates we carry around like numbers on a receipt.

March 14, 2005.

October 28, 2025.

I know those dates better than I know my own birthday.

But I wonder sometimes if we've got it wrong.

Maybe time isn't a road that just keeps going until it runs out.

Maybe it's a circle.

Maybe all those ordinary days we thought were gone are still happening somewhere.

Maybe there's a little piece of the world where Billy is still laughing, Paula is still making coffee, and I'm running late because I can't find my damn keys.

I don't know.

I'm just a guy who spent twenty years writing a book about people who refuse to stay dead.

Maybe that ought to tell me something.

I can't prove there's anything waiting for us.

And I don't pretend to know what happens when this is over.

But I like to think there's a place where the people we love get all the years they were supposed to have.

Where my brother grows old.

Where Paula gets wrinkles around her eyes from laughing too much.

Where Pluto sleeps in a patch of afternoon sunlight.

Where nobody has to count the days since the last time they heard somebody's voice.

And maybe, if there's anything to this business of coming around again, I'll find that house someday.

Not tomorrow.

Hopefully not for a long, long time.

I've still got things to do here.

A son to be proud of. Books to write. A few more mistakes to make, knowing me.

But someday.

Maybe I'll turn onto a street I've never seen, in a town I don't remember.

There'll be an old truck in the driveway.

A porch light burning.

And through an open window, I'll hear somebody laughing.

I'll know the sound.

I'll walk up to the door.

And before I get a chance to knock, I'll hear Billy call from the kitchen.

"Get your ass in here, little brother."

Then Paula's voice.

"Hey, baby."

And maybe I'll finally understand what I've been dreaming about all these years.

Maybe I'll realize I was never trying to get back to a particular place.

I was trying to get back to an ordinary afternoon.

With the people I love.

And this time, we'll have all the time in the world.

For Billy and Paula.

If there is a next time, I hope we find each other.

Love, Sean.