Dream Family

By J.J. DiBenedetto

Dr. Sara Alderson didn’t think she had a problem in the world, when she walked into the office for her first day as a partner in her own medical practice. And then the police showed up and arrested her for a crime she couldn’t possibly have committed. Twenty four hours later, after a horrifying day and night in jail, Sara comes home a different – and completely broken – woman.

Clearing her name is her first challenge, but that’s nothing compared to the task of rebuilding her shattered psyche. And the only way she can do that is with the help of the supernatural dreams, the same dreams that have nearly cost Sara her sanity – and almost got her killed – in the past.

Dream Family is the third book of the Dream Doctor Mysteries.

Other Books By JJ Dibenedetto:
The Dream Doctor Mysteries (all ten books!)

Betty and Howard's Excellent Adventure

The Jane Barnaby Adventures (all three books to date!)

Mr. Smith and the Roach (coming soon!)

Finding Dori (Welcome to Romance)

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.J. DiBenedetto
• Release date: Mar 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301193059

Book preview

A Simple Twist of Fate

(March 20-21, 1998)

I’m just finishing up with Grace Sorrentino. She’s in room 221, just as she is every time she comes in. And, just like the last several visits, she’s doing very well. Your blood tests are perfect, Grace, I tell her, and she gives me a shy smile.

But I still need my shots?

Nice try, I smile back. But don’t pretend you don’t know. Grace shrugs; I guess she had to try. But she’s a smart girl, and she understands that she’s always going to need her insulin shots. I’m about to send her home. One of her father’s employees—a new one this week—is waiting impatiently to take her back to him, but I hesitate. I don’t want to let her go without checking on her mental state. Let me ask you one more thing. Are you sleeping better? Or are you still having nightmares?

Sometimes, Grace says, her smile fading. But less. My father says, when I have a nightmare and I wake up, I have to remember that my mother is in Heaven now, and she’s watching me. He said, she scrunches her face up in concentration, exactly the way Lizzie does sometimes, that my mother wants me to remember her, but she doesn’t want me—uh, not to live every day myself.

I can’t help myself; I picture Lizzie receiving the news that Grace received six months ago. I can see my daughter trying to be brave, Brian trying to console her. I—no, I have to stop. Grace is here, she needs me to focus on her.

I think your father is exactly right, I tell her, giving her a hug. And you know what else I think? She doesn’t. I think you are a very brave young lady. And you can tell him I said that. I ruffle her hair and kiss her forehead; it may not be my place to do that, but she needs someone to do it, and who else is going to?

She hugs me back. I’ll tell him, Dr. Sara.

You do that, I answer, lifting her off the bed and depositing her on the floor. She’s ready to go, I tell her escort—he didn’t even give me his name. Tell Mr. Sorrentino that she’s fine, and to keep doing what he’s doing with her. The man nods in understanding, takes Grace’s hand and leads her out of the room.

I follow, walking them down to the elevator. Then I head back to Laurie’s office to tell her how Grace’s visit went. She’s a tough little girl, Laurie says when I’m finished.

I think she’s going to be all right. I—I don’t know if I would have been at her age. I don’t know if I would be now, if I lost my mother suddenly in a car accident, the way Grace lost hers last fall. And then for a moment, I wonder again what it would do to Lizzie—and the twins—if I were taken away from them like that. Suddenly, without warning. And what it would do to Brian. He would be…

I don’t want to think about that. I know how I’d feel if I—God, I can’t even make myself think it. I have to focus. We were talking about Grace. I wonder about her father, though.

Laurie’s eyes widen. You’re worried about him?

Yes. I guess I am. I know what he is, Laurie. But he’s still a human being. It wasn’t just Grace’s mother that died, it was his wife. No matter what he thought of her—and I saw his opinion of her for myself last year—it still had to be a terrible blow. And even if he didn’t care about her at all—which I don’t believe, despite what I saw in his dreams—Grace loved her. And he loves Grace. It’s hard on him, too. And—whatever he is, whatever he’s done, you’ve seen him with Grace. You see how devoted he is to her. I wouldn’t wish what they’re going through on anybody.

I guess you’re right, Laurie says, not really convinced. She doesn’t know that Paul Sorrentino does have at least part of a conscience left. She doesn’t know that, just before Christmas of last year, I walked into his house, looked him in the eye and made him listen to it. I can’t blame her for not seeing another side to him. But enough about him, I’ve got something else that we have to talk about.

That sounds ominous. What’s up?

Her eyes brighten, maybe it’s not so bad after all. You remember Tom Carter? You met him at that conference, last winter. I remember. He’s a researcher at the National Institutes of Health, down in Washington, DC. He’s the one who told me about this.

About what?

Laurie tells me. This is the pediatrics office of Dr. Ronald Nedrick, who’s retiring and putting his practice—located in the DC area—up for sale. And, to my shock, she wants to buy it. She lays out the whole thing, and I’m stunned. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. She’s been asking me for months to stay on at the hospital after my residency ends in June. And now here she is trying to talk me into going into private practice with her.

How much is he selling it for? We’ve only got a couple of thousand dollars in the bank; there’s no way this can work.

$450,000. It’s a steal. The office is fully outfitted, he just renovated it three years ago. And we would inherit all his patients. We wouldn’t have to start from scratch. Who knows when we’ll have another chance like this? I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her this excited.

I hate to throw cold water on her, but, as much as I’d love to do it, it’s impossible. If we went in fifty-fifty, I’d have to come up with $225,000. But even that isn’t the biggest roadblock.

We can’t just move down to Washington. Brian and I have a life here. Both our families are here. Lizzie’s in kindergarten, she’s got friends. I can’t uproot all of us. That would be the most selfish thing I can imagine. Brian’s already sacrificed so much for me, how can I even think about asking more of him?

That’s a lot of money, I say, trying not to sound too dismissive, trying to pretend I’m actually considering this.

Laurie’s known me for three years; I don’t fool her for a second. I know it sounds overwhelming. Just think about it. Sleep on it, see how you feel tomorrow. That’s all I’m asking.

I’m not going to want to move away from my parents—or even Brian’s mother—any more tomorrow than I do right now. I will, I say. Really, I add, even though I know she won’t believe it.

Laurie knows me better than I gave her credit for. I spent the drive home working out the possibilities. Washington is only two hours away on the train. That’s nothing. We could set up a spare room so my Mom—or Helen, I guess—could stay overnight whenever she wanted to see her grandchildren. And Brian’s father is a financial wizard; he could help us figure out how to pay for my share of the practice. As for Lizzie, she’d start making new friends before we even unpacked.

It’s all doable. Except that I still can’t ask Brian to do it. I know he could find a new job down there easily, but he really loves where he is now. And his brother only moved back here a year ago. Brian’s still got twenty lost years to make up for with him, and he can’t do that if we move a hundred miles away.

There’ll be other chances to join a practice, or even start my own from scratch.

Which would be incredibly hard. Building a reputation and getting patients in the door can take years, and there’s no guarantee I’d be any good at it. I have no doubt about my abilities as a physician, but as a businesswoman? I really have no idea if I have any talent for that at all.

I’m so lost in thought that when I park the car and get in the elevator, I push the wrong floor not once, but twice. I’m glad none of my patients—or their families—can see me now. They wouldn’t be very reassured to see that their doctor can’t even remember what floor she lives on.

I finally get it right, but I’m still completely preoccupied when I walk in my door. I’m broken out of it by Lizzie; she runs up to me. Mommy! Daddy doesn’t feel good! You have to make him better! She’s concerned, but this reaction is pretty low on her emotional scale. If she were really upset, there’d be tears, her voice would be much higher, and she’d be clutching my leg in a death grip. She’s seen enough with me at the hospital to know what’s serious and what isn’t, and this definitely isn’t.

Still, Brian pretty much never gets sick, so Lizzie’s right to worry at least a little, and she grabs my arm with both hands and begins pulling me towards my bedroom. As I’m dragged along, I glance at the cribs. The twins are both asleep, thankfully Lizzie hasn’t woken them up.

Brian’s lying on our bed. I can see from ten feet away that he’s breathing and his color is normal. As I walk over to him, what he mostly looks like is extremely stressed. His eyes are tightly shut, but I can tell he’s not asleep. Lizzie, Daddy’s going to be fine. I’m going to take care of him. I think I can handle it by myself—why don’t you go play in your room, just for a few minutes, and I’ll let you know when Daddy’s feeling better, OK?

She nods and heads to her room. I kick off my shoes, drop my coat on the floor and climb into bed. Hey, I say softly, running a hand through Brian’s hair. You’ve got Lizzie all upset.

He slowly turns to me, wraps his arm around my waist. It’s just a headache.

Don’t give me that, I scoff. You know as well as I do that you don’t ‘just’ get headaches. Is something wrong? Did something happen at work? He grimaces; it’s definitely work-related. Whatever it is, you know you can tell me. He never holds back from me; this must be bad.

He pulls me closer, but he won’t look at me. I wasn’t going to tell you. I told myself I wouldn’t say anything, I’d just…

And yet it can’t be anything too horrible. It’s not as though he could keep it a secret if he lost his job or something equally awful, and he wouldn’t try anyway. Now you have to tell me, I say playfully. But I don’t crack his mood; he still looks miserable.

He doesn’t answer right away, and I don’t push. He’ll tell me, he just has to sort things out in his own head first. It’s just not possible, he finally says. I should have said ‘no’ on the spot and forgot about it right then, instead of obsessing about it all night.

It’s obvious, isn’t it? They want him to move.

What else could it be? What else could his boss give him a choice about that would be so upsetting to him? It must be a move that he wants—otherwise it wouldn’t be an upsetting choice. And on top of that, there’s probably a promotion and a raise to go with it, too.

I laugh. He does look at me now, and he’s got a sour expression. His thoughts are written right on his forehead—why am I laughing at him? Can’t I see he’s all torn up? That just makes me laugh harder.

What are the odds that he gets asked to pick up his family and move the very same day that I do? That’s a heck of a coincidence, and after everything we’ve been through, right from the first moment we met, I don’t believe in coincidences. And what are the odds that I can guess where they want him to move?

Something, I say, fighting to control my laughter and get the words out, God, when you hear this—something happened to me at work today, too, I finally manage to say. His face goes from sour to puzzled. Do you want to guess what it was, and I’ll guess what happened to you?

For just an instant, he stares at me, his mental gears spinning wildly. Then he gets it. His face lightens. I can see that his headache is immediately gone. The laughter pours out from him like a dam bursting. You’ve got to be kidding me!

His laughter starts me laughing again, and we’re both overcome. Neither of us can speak for a while. When I finally calm down enough to form words again, all I have to say is one thing: Washington?

He starts laughing again, rolling away from me and nearly off the bed. He takes a minute or two to collect himself. Finally, he says, Back when I was in Sunday School, Father Michael used to tell us that God was always sending us messages, if we would only pay attention long enough to hear them. I think we just got one, don’t you?

I didn’t want to ask him, and he didn’t want to ask me. But I think Brian’s right—forget about asking, we’ve been told in no uncertain terms where we’re supposed to go.

The New World

(August 23-24, 1998)

From the day that I came home and Brian and I realized that we’d both been asked to move for our jobs—and both to the same place—everything in my life has felt unreal.

It was five months ago, and that sounds like a long time, but it really isn’t. Not with everything we had to do. It seems like just yesterday Brian and I were sitting in my parents’ living room and breaking the news to them. That should have made it feel real, but it didn’t. There was a whole list of things that should have felt real:

Packing up our apartment.

Facing Brian’s parents, telling them about our plans.

Helping my parents pack, after they decided to sell the house and buy a condo in Washington to stay close to their grandchildren.

Clearing out my old bedroom.

Standing in their backyard, trying and failing to hold back tears as I said goodbye to Lumpy one last time.

Consoling Lizzie during her seemingly endless hours of crying over all the friends she’ll never see again.

Signing the loan papers, obligating myself for $160,000.

Writing that first monthly check for $2,114.78, knowing that I’ll be writing 239 more of them.

The actual move itself.

None of that felt as real as this moment does: hanging my diplomas in my new office. It’s amazing that everything up until now hasn’t made as much of an impression on me as hammering a few nails into the wall.

It seems a little ridiculous to hang up all these diplomas and certificates. But I was told by Dr. Morgan, one of my favorite teachers in medical school, that patients expect it. They think it is ridiculous as well, he said, but if they don’t see it, they begin to wonder, why does my doctor not have a wall full of credentials as other doctors do? Perhaps he has not earned so many? Perhaps he is less qualified than he would wish me to think? I’ve seen enough evidence in the past three years to know he was right.

So up go all the framed documents: my two diplomas, college and medical school; the certifications that I passed my board exams; the certificates for completing each of my three years of residency, along with the one acknowledging that for the third year I was Chief Resident.

I’ve saved by far the most important one for last: my award as Best Mommy in the Whole World, Ever. It’s got handprints from Lizzie, Steffy and Ben, and Brian’s signature below that, just to make it all official. It was my Christmas gift from Lizzie last year, painstakingly drawn in magic marker, and then professional framed by Brian.

If I were in a different specialty, I might think twice about putting it up in my office where patients will see it. Honestly, I’d probably do it anyway, but if I were seeing heart patients or cancer sufferers, I would at least consider how they might react. As a pediatrician, though, it seems entirely appropriate to have it hanging proudly next to all my other achievements.

Laurie was in yesterday to get her office ready; it’s right next to mine. I wasn’t sure about putting our names on our doors, but she went ahead and did it. It’s going to take some getting used to, thinking of her as my equal instead of my attending physician. But it’s right there on the doors. The nameplates are the same size and everything. Dr. Laurie P. Kensington, MD on hers, and Dr. Sara K. Alderson, MD on mine. There’s no way to tell who’s more senior, who’s in charge—and that’s exactly how she wanted it.

Everything is hung, the framed photos of Brian and the kids are placed strategically on my desk, it all looks ready for tomorrow. I’m sure I’ve missed something, but I’ve been over my to-do list a dozen times already today, and if I have skipped or forgotten something, I’m not going to suddenly remember it now.

I walk down the hall, past the storage room across from my office, past the exam rooms next to it on the same side, all the way down to the waiting room. Everything looks shiny and new. We repainted the whole office, steam-cleaned the carpeting, had a maid service in to wipe down every inch of the place. It’s all ready for tomorrow, our first day. I just hope I’m ready, too.

My commute from work to home is about a hundred feet. The new office is on the ground floor of an apartment building, the same building we’re living in. I open the door to apartment 831, and the first thing I see is Brian sitting on the floor, playing with Ben and Steffy. They’ve all got little metal die-cast airplanes in their hands, the twins chasing each other around while their father sits in the middle making vroom! sounds to accompany them.

Where’s Lizzie?

Your mother has her downstairs at the pool, Brian answers. One of the very nice things about our new home is the swimming pool behind the building. By itself, it provided a distraction for Lizzie to help her forget how much she misses her friends back in Philadelphia. But being down there so often, she’s also met what seems like most of the children in the building just in the three weeks we’ve been here, and she’s got several new friends already. She’ll make even more when she starts first grade in a couple of weeks.

Brian’s already been working for two weeks himself; his company has offices actually in the Pentagon, so that’s where he goes every day. His commute isn’t that much longer than mine; it’s a ten-minute walk from here, not even worth getting in the car for.

Brian looks as though he’s having a good time with the twins, so I go into our bedroom and change into my bathing suit. I’ll go down and see how Lizzie is doing, and maybe get a little swimming in myself. Before I can get clothes back on over my suit, though, Brian comes into the room and whistles at me. That will never, ever get old.

He closes the door, leaving it just slightly ajar so we can still hear the twins, then he takes me in his arms. Our lips meet, and all thoughts of the pool, or anything else, are forgotten…

I’m brought back to reality abruptly. Mommy! I look down to see Ben clutching my leg, and Steffy’s got hold of Brian’s.

Daddy back! she demands.

Looks like you’re back on duty, I sigh. With three kids, we’re used to interruptions.

We’ll get back to…

Oh, yes we will, I agree. As soon as the kids are asleep tonight. Deal? We’re also used to taking advantage of opportunities whenever they present themselves.

Sara is in the workroom on the second-floor east ward of the hospital. It’s been a year and a half since the last time this happened, but the feeling is unforgettable; she’s in someone else’s dream. But whose?

Colin Jackson, last year her junior resident and now, in his third year, Chief Resident, is alone, poring through a pile of patients’ charts. As Sara watches him, she knows it’s not his dream. She’s puzzled; there’s no one else in the room.

But her confusion is dispelled a moment later when the door is thrown open and a familiar face looms in the doorway: Paul Sorrentino, with his little girl in tow. Grace Sorrentino, eight years old, looks deathly pale, while her father’s eyes are red and he’s pointing at Colin menacingly.

It’s Paul’s dream, Sara is certain. He growls at poor Colin, Why the hell am I paying you? Gracie’s doin’ worse again! I want her old doctor back, Dr. Alderson! She took care of Gracie the right way. You tell me where she went, you understand?

Colin stands, somewhat shakily, and answers Paul. She’s gone on to a private practice. She’s down in Washington, DC now.

I want her back! Grace needs her! Paul bellows. As she listens to him, Sara’s years of medical training assert themselves. She can’t help but notice that he does not look well. There’s a slight yellowish tinge to his skin, and in the corners of his eyes. And she is certain that he looks thinner than she remembers…

I wake up, and my first conscious thought is: I hope he doesn’t track me down. But who? Who would be…?

It comes back in a rush. I dreamed about Paul, Paul Sorrentino. He was looking for me. He’s upset because I’ve moved—because I’m no longer his daughter’s doctor. But why should it bother him now? I told him back in May that I was leaving. By the time Laurie and I introduced him to the new team at Children’s Hospital in July, right before our actual move, he seemed fine with everything.

Brian’s just stirring awake, and I have to tell him. Aside from the fact that I need to share this, he needs to know just in case Paul comes knocking on our door in the near future. It’s not as though I’m going to be hard for him to find.

He’s got a smile on his face as he sits up, just like I did when I fell asleep. But it disappears the instant he gets a good look at me.

It’s funny. If we were any other couple, he’d probably assume I’m nervous about my first day at my new job, or worried about our finances, or how Lizzie will do in first grade or any of a hundred other mundane things. But we’re not. I don’t need to say a single word and he knows exactly what’s going on.

He puts an arm around me, pulls me close. What did you dream about?

I’m not really worried that Paul Sorrentino is going to come after me. He just wants what’s best for his daughter, and he’ll see soon enough that the new team at Children’s Hospital can take care of Grace just as well as Laurie and I did.

Still, seeing him dream about me is not something I particularly enjoy. He said, in the dream, I want her back! and as I replay the dream in my mind, I don’t think he was only wanting me back as Grace’s doctor. When I went through everything with the dreams last time, almost two years ago, I remember wondering at one point if he was hitting on me. He was married then, but his wife has been gone now for a year.

No. That’s crazy. He’s just worried about his daughter. That’s all it is. I tell myself that a few more times, and by the time I’m showered and dressed and I go downstairs to the office, I’ve mostly put Paul and the dream out of my mind.

Lizzie comes down to the office with me. Laurie and I discussed it, and, as Laurie said, she behaved herself in the hospital, I don’t see why she’d cause any problems in our practice. It’ll only be for two weeks until school starts, anyway.

It’s eight o’clock when I put the key in the door, but it’s already unlocked, even though we don’t open until nine. I call out, Who’s here?

Sara? Thank God! I need to talk to you, my Mom answers. I walk in and there she is, sitting behind the reception desk already. She looks wiped out, as though she didn’t get any sleep last…

Oh, God. It wasn’t just me, was it?

Lizzie can see just as well as I can how bad Mom looks. Grandma, what’s wrong?

I didn’t sleep well, that’s all, Mom tells her. Why don’t you go to the break room? I brought pastries, and I think there’s juice in the fridge there. Bribery with food—the last resort of the desperate parent (or grandparent). Lizzie looks to me and I nod my approval. Off she goes; it’ll buy us five minutes, anyway.

Mom, did you have a dream last night? I don’t really need to ask.

How did you ever get through this? Now I’m worried. How do you live with what you see? My own eyes are looking back at me, full of fear and misery. It’s exactly what I saw in the mirror, especially the first time the dreams happened back in college.

I sit down on one of the brightly-colored, very comfortable waiting room chairs. What did you see?

It wasn’t even bad. Not like some of the things you told me about, she sighs. But I—I don’t want to see that. It’s not right. She shudders. Was it something about Dad? All the times I’ve had the dreams, I’ve never seen either of my parents, for which I’m very grateful. I don’t say anything; I let her collect herself and tell me in her own time.

I saw Kat, she says, finally. "She was—uh, she was in our house, our old house. She was miserable. It looked like she’d been crying for hours. She was going through every room looking for us. For me. She was so upset, she kept talking to herself. She was saying that we—that I abandoned her. She kept saying that I left her alone, just when she needed me the most."

Kat was pretty upset about our move. She’s my godmother, and my Mom’s best friend, and she doesn’t really have a lot of other people that she’s close to. The dream sounds like about what I’d expect her to be feeling. But I didn’t have to see it. No wonder Mom is so miserable. She probably already felt like she was abandoning Kat, and then to find out that Kat really does feel that way has to hurt.

I can’t think of a time that my Mom has needed help, and I’ve been the one with the answers. But I guess it had to happen sooner or later. I’m sorry, I say. I know how hard it is, Mom. I’ve definitely seen things that I shouldn’t have, things that the people dreaming them would be embarrassed to the bottom of their souls about if they knew I’d seen them.

But there are things I’ve never seen, too. I don’t want to tell Mom the truth. All the times I’ve had the dreams, all the terrible things I’ve seen, things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, I’ve never seen someone I love dreaming about me and blaming me for hurting them.

But how do you… Mom stops herself, looks away from me. I’m sorry, Sara. I know you’ve been through a lot worse. All the things you told me about, you and Lizzie both, and here I am complaining about—I’m just being childish, she says.

I get up and open the little half-height door on the side of the reception desk. Come here, Mom, I say, embracing her. I pat her head, exactly the same way she’s done to me so many times. You don’t have to be sorry. It’s OK to be upset about what you saw.

Lizzie picks this moment to return from the break room. Mommy, what’s wrong with Grandma?

I didn’t want her to know, but she’ll figure it out on her own if we don’t tell her. Grandma had a dream.

I remember! Grandma has the same dreams we do.

Mom lets me go, picks up Lizzie and sits her on the counter of the reception desk. I don’t want you to worry, honey, she tells Lizzie.

I’m not worried, Lizzie says brightly. Mommy knows what to do. She always knows. When I had scary dreams about Billy, the son of our former Congressman, last winter, Mommy fixed everything. If you had a scary dream, you have to tell Mommy, and she’ll make it better.

It wasn’t a scary dream, Mom says. It was just sad. I saw Aunt Kat, and she was sad because we moved away.

Lizzie considers that. I miss Aunt Kat, too. And Grandma Helen and Grandpa Ben, too. But Mommy says we’re still going to see them. They can come on the train to visit us, and we can go and visit them. Mommy said not to be sad, Grandma. Remember?

I did indeed. Mom puts on a brave face for Lizzie’s sake—I can see through it, but I don’t think Lizzie’s quite that advanced yet when it comes to reading people. I hope not, anyway. You’re absolutely right, Lizzie. Your mother did say that. She kisses Lizzie’s forehead. Besides, as long as you’re here, how can I be sad?

I certainly agree with that!

I still need to talk to my mother about her dream. I don’t like what she heard Kat say—when she needed her the most. What’s going on with her that’s so bad?

As far as I know, Kat’s in good health and her business is doing well, so I don’t see why she’d need my Mom now more than she ever has before. It could just be an exaggeration—dreams are hardly always literal, after all. But on the other hand, I’ve only ever had the dreams when something serious is going on. My subconscious knows when it needs to be on alert, and there’s no reason to think that my mother is any different.

And I did have a dream myself last night. I’d love to tell myself it’s just random, but I can’t lie to myself. It’s not. It isn’t just a coincidence. Something is going on. Something serious. We need to be prepared for—well, for God knows what. It could be absolutely anything.

But all that will have to wait until later. I’ve got a full day of patients today, my first day as a private physician. They should start coming through the door any minute. I give my office a final once-over, and everything’s as it should be. I know that Laurie’s next door doing the same thing.

I walk down the hall, looking in each room for anything out of place, anything wrong, and I don’t see a thing. The x-ray room is pristine, and hopefully won’t be needed today. The two exam rooms are clean and fully supplied. Joanne Tunney, our medical tech, is checking over the combination lab and supply room. It’s her first day as well; she only got her certification three weeks ago, and she’s the first person Laurie and I hired on our own.

Kenny Abbott, our nurse, is in the break room eating one of the croissants my Mom brought. Kenny was here under Dr. Nedrick, and we saw no need to replace

Reviews for Dream Family

[sheiladeeth_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Dream Family is the fourth novel in author J. J. DiBenedetto’s Dream Series, and it’s the darkest one so far. It’s also the deepest and most hauntingly real, making it a great addition to this family-oriented story that goes from strength to strength.Sarah has always seemed such a strong, determined protagonist. Readers might imagine she can conquer every mountain, as might she. But now she starts to crack under the strain. Falsely accused, stripped from all she holds dear, she spirals into a depression that threatens to overwhelm everyone around her. Dreams that once called her to help others might hold the answer to how she can help herself. But maybe these others need help as well. And maybe in helping others she’ll find the right path.Several mysteries intertwine in this novel, with just enough hints for readers to guess the answers before Sarah does. But the novel’s more than mystery, and more than tragedy. In the midst of it all, Sarah will learn more about herself, in sickness and in health... and in dreams as well.Great characters and relationships lift the novel above tragedy, add humor and pathos, and set the scene for more to come in the series. I really enjoyed this one and just wish I hadn't waited so long to read it.Disclosure: I was given a free ecopy and I offer my honest review.