In his dream, he gives Assumpta, who he understands is his wife, communion. She accepts the wafer in her mouth a little clumsily, since it’s been quite some time, and he blesses her, thanking God for the fact that, at last, she’s welcoming his grace.
He wakes up feeling truly rested for the first time in weeks. For a few moments, at least, he doesn’t slightly dread the return of awareness, having to crack his eyes open to the knowledge that he’ll find himself confronting something that’s been pushed further and further into his consciousness, forcing the conflict he sees no way of resolving.
And then he remembers. Assumpta. Communion. Himself as husband. And Father Clifford. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
He imagines sharing the details of the dream with Assumpta. He can hear her laughter, see the angle at which she’ll tilt her head. “Ah, Peter, if you’re going to be dreaming of feeding me some bread, I’d rather you’d dreamt of me eating a nice baguette,” she might say. “That dream has a better chance of coming true. Maybe even by tonight.”
And now he’s well and truly awake, yet caught in the lure of another impossible dream. But today he can’t stop smiling. There will be a way.