Chapter 4Rafe had always been a dreamer. A vivid one. He could play back a nightmare he’d had when he was four, frame by frame, and still evoke some of the feelings it had roused. Some mornings, the residual emotions he woke up with colored his entire day. Mama had been the object of more than one sour mood because of bad dreams.
He used to blame it all on the fact that he’d had such a schizophrenic life. Nobody else in Chadwick had any idea what it meant to live in the real USA, the overpopulated edges that never seemed to go to sleep, where people were stacked on top of each other and war was a trillion dollar industry. Mama knew, but then she’d gotten them out. As far as he knew, she rarely looked back at those days, except to remind him every once in a while how good things were here.
