If I Could Turn Back Time (29 page)

So what did that mean about me?

“Bonnie,” I said evenly, as if I knew her and I might know this was a joke. “Come on. Have you ever known me to
venture out
on Brendan?” I waited with bated breath. “Ever?”

“No!”

She didn’t even hesitate, or look at me strangely, she just rolled her eyes and said, “Okay, right, but there’s a first time for everything. And you seemed so struck by Joe—”

“Joe?”

“
Joe!
And with your hormones raging and your husband sleeping … well, who could blame you?”

“Did I actually
say
I wanted to sleep with Joe?” I asked, trying to sound like I knew the answer was
no
but secretly unsure of what on earth I might have said to this woman—or why.

Her mouth quirked into a smile. “Okay, okay, if that’s the game we’re playing,
no
. You didn’t
say
you wanted to sleep with him.”

My relief was palpable. “There. See?”

But it was short-lived. “I think your terminology has, pretty consistently, been that you’d
do him
.” She didn’t even look smug. She didn’t look like she knew she’d been put on the spot. It looked for all the world like we’d been playing a tennis game that she was really good at. There was no way to hit at her backhand unexpectedly because she was already ready.

Maybe even left-handed.

“So?” she queried.

“So, what?” That question applied to so many things, very few of which it was feeling like Bonnie could answer.

“So, are you going for it?” She gestured down the hall Joe had taken, out into the garage. “You know this neighborhood is dead right now. You could go out and bang him with the garage door open and no one would ever be the wiser. Except me.” She giggled. “And obviously I’d hold that over your head forever.”

“Of course.”

“Along with all the other stuff.” She smiled. “So you see? You
know
I can keep a secret. Because you’d sure as hell have known a long time ago if I couldn’t!”

In a way this was disappointing news. Obviously I wanted to know what she knew about me. I wanted all the stories, alarming as they might be. I wanted to trust her, like I’d trust a friend, but I didn’t know her at all. I had no reason at all to dive into that relationship.

“You know my friend Tanya?” I asked, thinking I’d have to follow up with a clever and seemingly relevant story if she said yes.

“Obviously.”

What did I do now? “What I mean is,” I stalled, trying to think what on earth I could mean about my best friend, whom this woman in front of me probably knew better than I did at the moment, “you know how she always says to take a chance where passion is involved.”

Bonnie laughed. “
Tanya
said that?”

“Well—”

“That explains the kids and the stuck-like-glue devotion to her husband.”

Now I got it. Tanya was not only married and mothering, but really devoted. It wasn’t that I would have expected anything less from her in any incarnation, only that I thought at this point—in our midtwenties—she would have remained single a bit longer, as she had in my time.

How much had changed?

My thoughts were dizzying. All the questions I couldn’t possibly get answers to. It was one thing when my dad was there to impart wisdom, whether he actually knew the odd situation he was addressing or not, but right now I felt well and truly alone.

“They’re pretty happily married,” I agreed tentatively.

Bonnie shrugged. “That boy of theirs is a hellion.”

“Boy?”

“Her son.” Bonnie looked at me funny. “The one you were babysitting last Sunday. You don’t know two Tanyas, do you?
This is my best friend Tanya, and this is my other best friend Tanya.
” She smiled, but she looked concerned at the same time. “You’re not quite yourself today, Ramie.”

“No,” I agreed. So maybe nothing I thought I knew had turned out the way I’d believed. “I think I should go back to bed and get some rest. Everything is…” What? What could I possibly say that would make sense to this outsider? None of it made sense to me at all, and I’d been living the madness for some time. Though it occurred to me now that I didn’t even know how much time. “I’m just exhausted. You know how it is.” I gestured at my pregnant belly, as if that were the answer.

Apparently it was. “I sure do.” She stood up. “Listen, honey, if you need anything at all, you give me a ding, okay? No matter what time. I’m always there.”

“Thanks.” I made a show of stretching and yawning and walking pointedly in the direction of the front door.

She came along. “Do you want me to call Brendan for you? Tell him to pick anything up on his way home?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I’m sure I have everything I need here.”

She gave a bawdy laugh and jerked her thumb toward the back of the house. “With Mr. Hancy Pants out there in the garage, I’m sure you
do
, Ramie. I’m sure you do.”

“Stop.”

She put her hands up in false surrender. “Okay, okay. But don’t blame me for your raging hormones.”

I gave a smile, though I was privately finding her extremely tedious. “Talk to you later.”

She kissed the air next to my cheek. “See ya! Don’t forget to call me if you need anything!”

Even after I closed the door, I imagined I could hear her echo bouncing around the halls.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table and just cried.

There were undoubtedly more comfortable places in the house to go, but this wasn’t my house and it wasn’t my life and it wasn’t my reality and I didn’t know what to do anymore. I just wanted to go home.

But I no longer knew what or where that was.

This wasn’t the life for me. This was the obvious conclusion for the life I’d worked toward. The very things that had made Brendan such a good high school boyfriend—his calm demeanor, his practicality, the way he took things as they came and dealt with them—were the very things that would keep him from moving in any sort of unexpected direction or territory, ever. At least for me. I’d known him too long.

Brendan was the perfect husband for someone who’d lived a wild life, had sown all of her wild oats, and was ready to settle down and truly appreciate the tranquillity he offered. Maybe someone who liked to stay in and watch movies, eat popcorn; in short, someone who no longer wanted adventure and newness and independence.

As bad as these few hours had told me I felt about being married for all time to Brendan, I could only imagine how unfair it was to burden
him
with a wife who didn’t appreciate all the truly wonderful character traits he had, and the companionship he had to offer.

I had been
so selfish
all this time, thinking about what
I
wanted, whether or not Brendan was good for
me
. Did I want him? Did I want to discard him? Had he kissed someone else? How dare he! How dare an eighteen-year-old boy, even for a moment, kiss someone else and see if maybe he was more compatible with someone other than the one girl he’d dated since tenth grade!

How on earth had I thought that that—my fate
and
his—was entirely up to me to decide?

God, I was
such
a jerk!

As nice as things had been between us when I’d left my last high school scene, as sweet and lovable as he was, and even as much as I loved him, it was unconscionable for me to think that the decision for
both
of our futures was entirely up to me.

If I couldn’t get out of this present, now, I might well continue ruining
both
of our lives.

I don’t know how long I sat there weeping, but it was some time before I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and looked up and it was Joe, his face etched with concern. Blue eyes sharp, the white of smile lines showing, as he was not smiling now.

“What’s the matter, Ramie?”

I shook my head.

“Hey.” He knelt in front of me and took both my hands in his. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is.”

“
How?
” Obviously there was no way the two of us were even having the same conversation, but something about his voice was comforting to me. I wanted him to keep talking.

But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in and kissed me on the lips. Tenderly, but deliciously. Skilled.

It felt so good. So safe. And he smelled wonderful. Some familiar combination of woodsy, smoky, and clean. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent, and relished the feel of his arms around me. But just for one illicit moment.

I pulled back. “I can’t.”

“I know.”

“Bonnie thinks the baby is yours.”

He laughed outright. “Now,
that
would be quite a feat.” He shook his head.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, given the fact that you were pregnant when I met you, unless I managed some sort of time travel, I don’t think I’m the father. Didn’t you tell her that?”

No, I didn’t know that. “Of course.”

“Drama.” He smoothed my hair back. “Just like you said. Drama drama drama. No wonder it’s driving you crazy.”

“I think everything’s driving me crazy.” It was hard to breathe. Everything I’d so far concluded from the day I’d been here, I’d apparently admitted to this stranger.

This stranger I’d apparently told my friend I’d like to
do
.

Pregnant with Brendan’s baby, and I was saying I wanted another man.

“I definitely don’t feel sane at all,” I said.

“You are the most sane person I’ve met.” He looked earnestly into my eyes. “You’re in a tough situation and you’re handling it like a champ. Give yourself some credit.”

“But—” I touched my lips with my fingertips, then looked at him. “We…” I didn’t know the end of that sentence, so I just looked at him with a question in my eyes.

“We met a little too late,” he supplied. “And we’ve been nothing short of heroic in containing our impulses. Ramie, I admire your will to show your child responsibility and loyalty. But when was the last time you were truly happy?”

“I honestly don’t know.” It was devastating to hear that things were so bad in this now that he could say that to me.

“You told me you couldn’t even remember what real happiness felt like.”

“I said that?”

“You know you did.”

“That seems like such a betrayal to Brendan.” I hesitated.
Was
it? He was my husband. Why was I so unhappy?

“You said that too,” he said, a small smile touching his lips. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“And you?”

He gave a dry laugh. “Sometimes I feel pretty damn unlucky to have met you,” he said. “A month earlier, and we might have had a different story.”

My hand went to my abdomen.

He put his on top of mine. “You’re going to do great no matter what. It’s inevitable.” He kissed me on the forehead, then stood up. “Your husband and your child are the luckiest two people on earth.”

“God help the rest of you, then.”

He laughed. “We’ll survive.” He rumpled my hair, then cupped his hand to my cheek. “I’m here, Ramie. No matter what you need, you know I’m here.”

“Thanks.”

I didn’t even know his last name.

*   *   *

I WENT UPSTAIRS
to the bedroom I’d awoken in a few hours earlier. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself there, but it had to be more comfortable than the kitchen.

Besides, I didn’t want to run into Joe again. Our conversation, as comforting as he might ostensibly have been, had made me distinctly
un
comfortable.

Had I fallen in love with this Joe? How heinous. Ridiculous. This me didn’t have a history I knew of or could remember, so she didn’t feel real. I didn’t believe I was feeling her feelings or thinking her thoughts the way I’d felt with eighteen-year-old me, because she didn’t truly exist to me.

Once in the bedroom, I started searching through the bedside table for some clues about my life. I had always kept a diary, I even had one still, although it was pretty abbreviated, so there was every reason to expect that this Ramie had one too, but it wasn’t in the usual place.

I tried the closet, looking up at the top shelf, behind my folded jeans. Jeans I supposed I was probably looking forward to fitting in again. Everything was very neat and tidy, I kept meticulous order, just as I did today. But the diary, if it existed, simply wasn’t where I expected.

I even checked under the mattress. The most clich
é
d of diary hiding places. Honestly, I half expected to find it there, but there was nothing.

I sat down on the bed heavily and looked at the room around me, feeling hopeless. What if this was where I stuck? What if, now that I’d landed here in this apparently unlived life, I could never get out? Was this my new existence, like some experiment I had to make better?

I lay back against the pillows and cried again. I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I was lost, far more lost than I’d been a few days ago.

There had to be a clue somewhere.

I no sooner had the thought than something told me to open the bedside table drawer again and feel behind it. Sure enough, there it was. A small leather diary.

I opened it randomly and started to read:

 … to his office Christmas party. It was the same as last year. And the year before. And the year before that. And everyone wanted my recipe for grape jelly and chili meatballs, which I took this year, and last year, and the year before, and all in all it felt as if I had been written by Charles Dickens, only instead of getting the ghosts at midnight, all I got was heartburn from Millie Krantz’s deviled eggs. Which she also brought last year and the year before, but which I’d remembered as much more delicious than they actually were.

My life is in a rut.

Not a great Christmas, I gathered. I flipped through the pages and read some more:

I was watching
Oprah
today and people were talking about how they “only” had sex once a week. Some were once a month. Not one of them said they literally couldn’t remember the last time, but if I’d been on I could have said it.