by Linda Bleser
As it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. “Sure,” she said. “When?”
I glanced in the other room, where Bob had disappeared. He’d been hovering over me since we’d arrived home. I was sure he’d veto the idea of me leaving today. “How about tomorrow?” I asked. That would give me time to convince Bob that I was well enough to be out of his sight for a few hours.
Cassie picked up her cup and placed it in the sink, then came back and gave me a brief hug. “I’ll pick you up about noon tomorrow,” she said. “He shouldn’t be too drunk that early. If he is, we can go to lunch so it won’t be a total bust.”
Drunk? It sounded like my father’s behavior in this timeline was more similar to the one I remembered—unlike the last reality, where he’d found redemption with a new wife and family. Nothing was perfect, no matter which path I followed.
Bob showed Cassie out. They had a whispered exchange at the door that I was sure had to do with me, but I was beyond caring if my behavior was suspicious or not. If everything went right, tomorrow Cassie and I would get the answers we should have been given years ago. And just maybe those answers would put me on the path back to the world where I belonged.
Bob came up behind me and put his arms around my shoulders. He leaned down and brushed his lips across my jaw line. “It was nice seeing the two of you so comfortable together.” His voice sent delicious shivers down my spine. Maybe sharing a bed wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, we were married.
“Know what I’d like to do tonight?”
I was almost afraid to ask, considering where my mind had just ventured. “What’s that?”
“I’d like to take my girl to dinner at our favorite restaurant, then dance with her under the moonlight.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said. “Can I come too?”
He chuckled, and the sound triggered a wave of laughter that started deep in my belly, expanded into my chest, then erupted from my lips. It had been so long since I’d laughed with such unbridled joy that I almost didn’t recognize the sound.
I turned, then stopped when I noticed a familiar cabinet in the corner. “Is this … ?”
“Your mother’s old record player,” he said.
I crossed the room and ran my hands over the polished wood surface of the vintage cabinet. “She never called it a record player,” I said. “It was always her Victrola.”
Bob came beside me as I opened the lid, revealing the turntable. “This must be worth a fortune.” Not that I’d ever sell it in a million years. I didn’t remember what had happened to this record player in my own world, but seeing it now triggered distant memories and filled me with a yearning desire.
“Look,” I said. “Real vinyl records! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find these?”
“Not when you work at a record store,” he replied, searching my face for what I could only assume were signs of remembrance.
I didn’t remember but wasn’t surprised by this revelation. Besides the journals, music seemed to be another constant thread that wove through all of my realities. I opened another cabinet drawer and found stacks of records exactly where I remembered them being kept when I was a little girl. I sat cross-legged on the floor and separated them into piles, old and new. As I revealed one yellowed record sleeve after another, I could hear the old, familiar songs in my head. Lyrics that tugged at your heartstrings. Songs that made you sway to the melody. Music that made you feel.
No wonder I’d strayed so far in the other direction musically. Feeling was difficult. It stripped naked emotions that could break your heart. These old songs carried memories that were better left forgotten. Or were they? Maybe it was time to stop blotting out those memories with noise and chaos. Maybe it was time to remember the things that weren’t painful and forgive the ones that were.
Bob leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll go make reservations for tonight,” he said. “You have some time to go through these records.”
And I did, listening to one after the other. Sometimes putting a record back on the turntable and playing it again just for the sheer pleasure of it. I didn’t even realize I was crying until my tears splattered on the dust jacket of an old Beatles album. But they were good tears. Healing tears.
When Bob came back, I had separated all the albums and records into piles: sentimental, dance music, torch songs, classics, and rock. “These records,” I pointed out, “are just silly. I can’t believe the nonsense lyrics. I am the eggman? Someone left a cake out in the rain? I could write better lyrics than that.”
“I’m sure you could,” Bob agreed.”
“Music should raise you up to a higher level,” I said. “Make you feel something.”
“Have you thought about it?” Bob asked.
“Thought about what?”
“Writing songs?” His eyes searched mine. Was this something we’d discussed before? Did I have dreams of catching my big break in this lifetime as well as the last?
“My mother’s the writer.” The words came automatically, as if denying any resemblance to her made me saner somehow. But that was the old me. Now I understood her better. I could admit that sharing her talent didn’t mean I was destined for the same end.
Suddenly it felt right. Not just writing in my journal or writing poems like my mother did, but combining writing with this passion for music. I could write songs that healed the body and soothed the soul.
Bob took my hand and lifted me to my feet. “Enough records for now. I’ve made reservations at your favorite restaurant, and you only have two hours to get ready.” He smiled like this was a private joke between the two of us.
I only wished I remembered the punch line.
12
Bob was right. The Warwick really was my favorite restaurant. It was an out-of-the-way little jewel of a place with a hearty but reasonably priced menu. I came here often to eat, usually choosing a quiet spot on the deck overlooking the lake. I had no memory of being here with Bob, however. I usually came by myself with only a book as my dinner companion. Now that I thought about it, I always had a book tucked into my purse in case I had to wait in line or spend time alone. Books were good company. Plus they made effective barriers. People rarely approached someone engrossed in a book.
The hostess greeted us by name. We stopped three times on the way to our table to talk to people who seemed happy to see us. It was a little overwhelming having to keep my happy face on for people I didn’t know, but I didn’t want to embarrass Bob. There’d be no hiding behind the pages of a book tonight.
“Do we know everyone in town?” I asked, only half joking.
“Pretty much,” he replied, pulling out my chair when we finally reached our table. “What can I say, people gravitate to you. I’m just along for the ride.”
“That’s so not like me,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I ordered a glass of wine while I studied the menu, trying to decide between panko-crusted salmon on wilted greens or one of the Italian specialties the restaurant was famous for. “I think I’ll have the eggplant Parmesan tonight,” I said.
Bob wasn’t listening. I saw him gesturing to someone behind me. I turned and gaped when I saw Diane walking toward us. It wasn’t the sight of her that surprised me. I assumed we’d still be friends in this lifetime since I’d met Bob at her wedding. I also figured we’d most likely run into each other again. What caught me off guard was the high round belly that cleared a path before her. She looked about fourteen months pregnant.
I stood and held my arms out, gathering her close in a genuine and heartfelt hug. “Look at you. You’re positively glowing.”
“Yeah, I’m a great big glowing hippo.”
“Stop it. You look gorgeous.”
Her husband, who’d been walking slightly behind, pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Bob pulled out a chair for Diane. “Why don’t you two join us?”
Diane lowered herself carefully on
to the straight-backed chair, leaning back to balance her weight. “Only if you let me sniff your wine.”
“One sniff, then you’re cut off,” I said with a chuckle.”
“Story of my life.” She gave her swollen belly a slow, tender caress. The Madonna-like smile on her face made it hard to take her complaints seriously. “Guess who the final two contenders for godparents are?” she asked.
“Contenders?” Bob pretended outrage. “I thought we were the only ones in the running.”
“That could be why you made it to the finals.”
Bob turned to Diane’s husband. “Are you going to let her get away with that, Dean?”
Dean! That was his name. I wondered if Bob had made a point of using it to help jog my memory. If so, I was grateful. Forgetting the daddy’s name would have surely taken us out of the running as godparents.
The good-natured banter continued throughout dinner. I tried to take a mental picture of this moment. I wanted to remember it forever, pulling it up like a worn photograph to savor when I was feeling lonely. The sun was just beginning to set, turning the sky into a pastel parfait and sending glittering reflections across the water’s surface. Candlelight softened the features of everyone around the table and made their eyes sparkle with merriment. It felt like family.
Bob leaned close. “Hear that?”
I gave a slight shake to my head. “What?”
“They’re playing our song.” He stood up and took my hand. “Care to dance?”
He led me to the small dance floor, where I moved easily into his arms. I recognized the song playing: “A Thousand Nights,” a soft, seductive song filled with yearning. Our song? I’d never had a song before, but this one felt perfect.
Bob drew me so close I could feel his heartbeat. I swayed against him, feeling the sexual heat of his body against mine. Passion simmered low and deep, spreading upward in slow, steady waves. I closed my eyes and let the music seduce me.
A lifetime is too brief,
An eternity too short,
But I’ll start with a thousand days,
And a thousand nights of you
The song ended far too soon. I didn’t want the night to end. I was so comfortable and relaxed with Bob, Diane, and Dean. This was the life I should have had: friends who meant the world to me and a husband I adored. It was my own fault I didn’t have these things in my real life. I’d never learned to love myself enough to let other people close. No wonder I was all alone. I hoped it wasn’t too late to change, because a part of me knew this was only temporary.
I would have loved to accept everything Bob had to offer—unconditional love and support. I wanted to wallow in it, bathe in it, and lose myself forever. But I knew my time here was limited. And even more than the last time, it would kill me to leave this behind. I’d never get to hold Diane’s child or grow old with Bob. I’d go through my entire life wondering who was loving him in my place.
But I couldn’t stay. This life didn’t belong to me. The one I needed to return to was out there somewhere. It might not be perfect, but it was the life I was familiar with. And now that I knew what kinds of possibilities existed, I could take steps to move in the right direction. I couldn’t bring my mother back, but there was peace in knowing that we never really lose the people we love. They’re simply moving along different paths.
What about Bob? Why did we keep crossing paths? Were we meant to be together? Had I promised myself to him in another lifetime? It broke my heart, because I felt myself falling in love with him. Already I couldn’t imagine a life without Bob in it. I wanted this life, the house and home and future children. I wanted to grow old with him.
I wondered in how many lifetimes I’d already fallen in love with Bob and how often we’d just missed meeting each other by seconds or hours or days. I knew one thing for sure. If and when I got back to my real world, one of the first things I was going to do was find Bob and convince him that we were meant to be together. Even if it meant putting myself out there to be hurt. I wouldn’t know until I tried. I couldn’t bear to waste another moment waiting for my soul mate to arrive when I already knew his name.
A haunting melody ran through my head, remnants of one of the old records I’d played that afternoon. The words had tugged at my heart then and were even more bittersweet now. When I’m alone with only dreams of you, that won’t come true, what’ll I do.
I reached out and grasped Bob’s hand.
He leaned close and whispered, “Are you all right?”
I nodded, blinking away the tears in my eyes. “I’m just happy,” I said.
And that was the absolute truth.
*
It was too early to go to bed when we came home from the restaurant, and I still wasn’t sure how to approach Bob about our sleeping arrangements.
“Do you want to talk more?” he asked. “I mean, you know, go over things you don’t remember?”
“Actually, I’m feeling a bit of information overload. Would you mind if I took a bath before turning in for the night?” I did my best thinking in the bathtub, and it would give me some time to decompress. Plus it would give me a chance to search the house for the secret room. Maybe my time here would be short and sweet. I was worried that if I stayed here too long, I’d never want to leave.
Bob reached for the remote control, then sprawled on the couch. “Take your time,” he said. “There’s a movie I wanted to watch tonight anyway. Unless you need me to …”
I held up my hand before he could get to his feet again. “I’m sure I can manage.” How hard could it be to find bubble bath and a towel? “I’m just going to take a look around, too. See if something might jog my memory.”
Bob glanced up from his channel surfing. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
I left him on the couch and went searching through the house. I should have felt like a trespasser, but I didn’t. I could see my personal touch everywhere, from the color palette to the furnishings to the smallest knickknack. I couldn’t have felt more at home if I’d decorated it myself. Which I obviously had.
I opened doors, more relieved than disappointed when I didn’t encounter the secret room. If I had to be trapped in an alternate life, this was the one I’d choose. I shook my head. No, I couldn’t let myself get too comfortable here. No matter how much I wanted it to be, this wasn’t my real home.
After checking every room in the house, I made my way back to the bathroom. I found a jar of lavender bath crystals beside the bathtub. I adjusted the spray until it was just the right temperature, then poured a generous handful of the bath crystals under the running water. Feeling a bit self-conscious, I turned the lock on the bathroom door before undressing. It was silly. Obviously Bob had seen me naked on plenty of occasions, but I wasn’t quite ready for that level of intimacy yet. I sank into the tub with a deep sigh and felt the tension ease from my muscles.
I closed my eyes and went over the day. I’d spent most of my time frantically searching for clues. It was exhausting and frustrating but better than the lifeless lethargy I’d become accustomed to. For such a long time I’d been numb, living life on the sidelines. I’d prided myself on keeping my emotions in check. Now, as frustrating as it was, I felt alive for the first time in a long time. Life had new meaning, and the future was one of limitless possibilities. It was time I stepped off the sidelines and took control of my own life.
I sank deeper into the tub, luxuriating in the aromatic warmth. My body felt limp and relaxed, as opposed to the tightly strung tension I was accustomed to. It almost felt as if I’d slipped into someone else’s body. Why not? I was living someone else’s life, enjoying someone else’s lavender bath crystals, and yes, loving someone else’s husband. Even though that someone was another version of myself and it was beyond my control, I still felt like a thief.
When the water had grown cool and I could no longer avoid facing reality, I stepped out of the tub and dried off. Since I hadn’t thought to bring clean clothes in with me
and couldn’t bear the thought of getting back into the clothes I’d worn all night, I helped myself to the bathrobe I found hanging from a hook inside the door. It was soft and fluffy and comfortably worn in. That seemed symbolic of the rest of this life. Warm and comfortable but not mine.
I came out of the bathroom and caught Bob carrying pillows and a blanket to the couch.
“Where are you going?”
He colored sheepishly. “I thought, you know, seeing as how you can’t remember and all, that maybe you’d like your privacy for a little while.”
If I hadn’t already been falling in love with him, that chivalrous act alone would have done it.
“You don’t even remember our wedding day,” he said. “I’d feel like a molester climbing into bed with you.”
“We didn’t sleep together before we were married?” I asked coyly.
He raised an eyebrow. “The fact that you can’t remember is another argument in favor of me sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“Can I be honest with you?”
“Absolutely.”
“I appreciate your gallantry more than you know. But the truth is, I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
He let out a long sigh. “Neither do I,” he said.
“Good.” I pulled the robe a little tighter around myself. “Then why don’t you tell me what I usually wear to bed?”
“Nothing,” he said, avoiding my shocked expression. He put the blankets back in the closet and pulled out a cotton nightgown. “Nothing except for this,” he said with a sly chuckle.
I punched his shoulder, then took the nightgown. “Do I usually think you’re funny?”
“All the time.”
He turned and walked out of the room. “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he called over his shoulder. “Make sure you’re decent.”
I laughed but waited until I was sure I was alone before changing into the nightgown. I sat on the side of the bed and stared at the wedding ring on my finger for a few moments, then climbed under the covers with my back to the door.