by Linda Bleser
I had a bad feeling about where this story was going.
“There was an accident,” Bob said, confirming my fears. “The car went off the road and hit a tree. Two of Cassie’s friends died. Cassie survived, but she needed years of physical therapy after the accident and still wears the scars from that day.”
“Oh my God.”
Bob gripped my hand and gave it a brief shake. “It wasn’t your fault. Cassie has learned to live with her physical scars, but you can’t get over the emotional scars you carry from leaving your sister alone that day. You couldn’t forgive yourself. You’ve spent every day of your life since then trying to make it up to her, even though it wasn’t your fault.”
“But if I’d stayed home that night …”
“It’s time to let go,” Bob said. “Stop blaming yourself and move on with your life. You can’t change the past.”
I closed my eyes. Hadn’t I just heard words to that effect? My father’s wife had said pretty much the same thing to me yesterday … in another lifetime.
“Do you think you can rest now?” Bob asked.
“I think so,” I said. It was a lie. I wouldn’t be able to rest until I’d seen Cassie with my own two eyes, but I knew that Bob wouldn’t let me leave the hospital yet. His protectiveness was touching, but my loyalties were to my sister, so I had no qualms about lying to him.
“I’m feeling tired,” I said, feigning a yawn. “I think you’re right. All I need is a good night’s sleep and things will be better in the morning.”
He looked relieved. “I’ll stay here with you until you fall asleep.”
I started to argue, but it was easier to simply lay back and pretend to fall asleep. He ran his hand through my hair in a soothing gesture, and soon I didn’t have to pretend. I drifted dreamily, feeling safe and loved.
*
It might have been minutes or hours later that I realized Bob had left and I was alone. Here was my chance to slip out of the hospital and find Cassie. I gathered my clothes from the small bedside dresser and changed out of the hospital gown. I couldn’t find my purse, but I wasn’t surprised. If Bob had brought me to the hospital, he’d have no reason to even think of grabbing my purse. But without it, how would I find Cassie? I didn’t have car keys or money or any identification.
That didn’t stop me, however. I was determined to find Cassie if I had to walk all over town to do it. No one noticed me as I slipped out of the room and down the hall. I walked right past the nurse’s station without breaking stride.
And then I saw him.
I stopped in my tracks and stared at the doctor walking toward me. “Parker?”
My brother glanced at me with no sign of recognition. I stopped and grabbed his arm. “Parker? It’s me, Jenna.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with honest concern. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
I glanced at his name tag—Daniel Cody, M.D. Not Parker. I took a closer look. I’d only known my brother for a few days, but surely I couldn’t be mistaken.
“I thought you were … you look just like …” Before I could make more of a fool of myself, I caught sight of another familiar figure striding down the hallway. Maya closed the distance between us, then took my arm and steered me away from the Parker lookalike.
“Maya? It is you, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is, dear. Who did you think it was?”
“I don’t know who anyone is anymore. That doctor back there. He’s not Parker?”
“He is and he isn’t.” She guided me back to my room.
“Wait. I have to find Cassie.”
“No, you don’t, child. Your sister is fine. You’ve spent your entire life taking care of her, and now it’s time to take care of yourself. Understand me?”
“But …”
“No buts.” Her voice grew uncharacteristically stern. “You don’t have time to wallow in self-pity. All the answers you need are here; it’s only a matter of finding them.”
Reluctantly I did as I was told, soothed by the familiar voice of someone I’d come to trust. I climbed into bed and pulled the crisp hospital sheet up under my chin. “This would be so much easier if you simply explained everything to me, you know.”
Maya pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. “I could,” she said. “But that would defeat the purpose.”
I yawned, this time for real. “I have some ideas,” I said. “Would you tell me if I was on the right track?”
“I won’t have to.” She brushed the hair from my forehead in a motherly gesture that made me melt into the pillows. “You’ll know when you’re on the right track.” Her smile warmed me. “And you know what you have to do.”
“Watch, listen, and learn, right?” Another yawn made my voice crack.
“That’s right.” She winked. “Might as well get to know that handsome husband of yours while you’re at it.”
The word “husband” pulled me up short again. I’d forgotten about Bob. My husband. As shocking as that was, it felt right. It was as if I’d known from the first time we’d met that we were meant for each other. Was that destiny? All I knew was that even in a world where we’d just missed meeting each other, fate had thrown us into one another’s path again. And I knew with certainty that if we hadn’t met at the House of Cry, we’d have run into each other again somewhere else down the line.
At least I hoped that was the case.
11
The hospital room was real. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that yesterday had all been a dream, there was no disputing the reality of these somber hospital walls. Which meant the rest of it was also real. Remembering what Bob had told me about Cassie broke my heart all over again.
I was still puzzled about seeing Parker in the halls the previous night, however. Was it possible he was a doctor in this reality? But then why hadn’t he recognized me? As usual, Maya had left me with more questions than answers. She seemed to be leading me down a path where I could draw my own conclusions. I had a feeling that the sooner I figured things out, the sooner I’d find myself back where I belonged.
I’d stayed awake half the night puzzling over possibilities. Right now my biggest clue was the way my life seemed to diverge at the point of Diane’s wedding. In my world I had stayed home with Cassie that night. Consequently, I’d never met Bob. That had also been the end of my friendship with Diane. In this current timeline, however, not only had I gone to the wedding, but I’d met and married Bob. Unfortunately, my sister had paid the consequences for my actions.
It all boiled down to choices. The choice I had made that night—whether to stay or go—had led to two separate realities. It seemed pretty clear cut. But what about the last reality I’d experienced? What choice had my mother made that turned her from a fun-loving, well-balanced housewife to a depressed and suicidal poet? Those were answers I had yet to find. Maybe that’s why I was here.
Using the pin that Parker had given me as a visual aid, I drew a fingertip from the central trunk up to the first fork in the branches. This was where the unknown event that changed my mother’s life had occurred. On one side was the well-adjusted woman I’d just left behind, and on the other was the suicidal mother of my memory.
I followed the path to the next juncture that I was aware of—Diane’s wedding. On the one side I had attended and met Bob, on the other I had stayed home with Cassie. Did every single choice lead to an alternate reality or only the big, life-changing ones? We make dozens of decisions each day. How many alternate realities are there? And if every choice exists simultaneously, then who is to say which one is right and which one is wrong?
I was still trying to wrap my mind around the concept when the sight of Bob walking into my room kicked my heart rate up a notch. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.
“Better.” It was the truth. And seeing him there helped my mood more than I could imagine. I knew instinctively that he was someone I could count on to be there for me when I needed him. W
hen he sat beside my bed and squeezed my hand, I squeezed back. It felt like this was the timeline I was meant to be in—a world where I’d met the man of my dreams and we’d built a meaningful life together. But could I choose this world at Cassie’s expense? And if I didn’t, could I truly be happy going back to my real world knowing what alternate possibilities existed?
Bob held out his hand, palm up. “Look what I found,” he said, holding out a golden wedding band.
I took it and turned it over, noticing the inscription inside. Everwhen. Why did that sound so familiar? Where had I heard it before?
Bob came around and wrapped one arm around my shoulder. “That’s the title of a poem you wrote for me after I proposed.”
Really? How odd. I don’t write poetry. But I knew better than to say that aloud.
“This was my mother’s ring,” Bob said. His arm tightened around my shoulders. “She would have loved you.”
So Bob’s mother was also dead. Maybe the fact that we were both motherless was the common factor that brought us together. I wondered if there was an alternate reality where Bob’s mother was alive. Did he have a Maya as well? Did everyone?
Bob took the ring from my palm and slid it onto my finger. It was a perfect fit. I glanced at him, then away again. It pained me to see the love in his eyes. I didn’t deserve it, and I couldn’t get used to anyone looking at me that way. This world was only temporary. If I became too accustomed to feeling loved, it would hurt too much to lose it all over again.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so. But it’s hard not remembering everything.”
“The doctor said the condition is only temporary,” he said. “If not, I’ll simply have to convince you to fall in love with me all over again.”
I smiled. I had no doubt he’d be able to do just that.
“There’s the smile I fell in love with.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over mine before I could pull away. Or maybe I didn’t really want to. His lips were gentle rather than demanding, casual rather than passionate. It was sweet, and he had no way of knowing that as far as I was concerned, this was our very first kiss.
And like the ring, it was perfect.
“I talked to the doctor, and he said there was no reason you couldn’t be released. As long as you’re sure you’re feeling better.”
“I’ll feel better when I’m in my own home.” I hoped that was the case. At least I could use the concussion as an excuse if I couldn’t navigate the unfamiliar surroundings. Being home would give me more opportunities to find answers.
But going home brought up a whole new set of problems. Would Bob expect me to sleep in the same bed? Of course he would. We were married. I shook my head. I’d worry about that when the time came. For now I just wanted to get out of there, and that meant putting on a good show.
“Yes. Take me home.”
*
Bob made sure I was settled in my room—our room. How strange it felt to know I’d be sharing a room and a bed with a man tonight. Not that I hadn’t shared a bed with a man before, but this was different. This was a marriage bed, and Bob was expecting to share it with his wife, a woman he knew intimately on so many levels. How could I live up to those expectations?
I felt perfectly at home, not only in this room but in the entire house. For some reason I wasn’t surprised to find myself again living in the House of Cry. It was like my soul wasn’t content until it found its way back here.
This life, this house, and this man all felt like home. But how could I appreciate this new world when I was still mourning the last? As much as my soul yearned for everything this reality had to offer, I knew I wouldn’t be happy until I found myself back where I’d started.
Once I was alone, I slipped out of bed and began searching for a diary or journal, anything that could provide some clues to this existence. Writing seemed to be part of my nature, no matter how hard I tried to deny it. It was the one constant that carried through each timeline.
It turned out that I was right. The journal was tucked into my bedside nightstand. I settled back in bed, preparing to read the story of my life. I felt slightly guilty going through someone else’s personal journal. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I had written these words in another timeline that I was unaware of having lived. To me they were written by someone else who looked like me, sounded like me, but wasn’t me at all.
The writer of this journal had an optimistic outlook on life, in contrast to my sharp-edged pessimism. She saw the silver linings where I only saw dark clouds. I worried about her naïveté. She seemed to be dancing with wild abandon, unaware that the floor beneath her feet was littered with land mines. I wanted to warn her, but what good would that do? Maybe if our roles were reversed she’d feel just as sorry for me and all my dark fears. Maybe she’d tell me to lighten up and enjoy each day as if it were my last.
I thumbed through the pages, rediscovering the moment I first fell in love with Bob, our first date, our first kiss. I learned that he always brought me pink carnations on special occasions. I read about vacations with friends, parties we’d attended, and holidays when our house was filled with laughter and joy. I relived the evening Bob proposed to me on a moonlit beach and felt myself falling in love with him all over again.
Then I came across the poem he had told me about that had inspired him to inscribe the word “everwhen” inside our wedding bands.
EVERWHEN
I loved you when you weren’t mine
And found you in forever time
I’ll stay today, tomorrow, then
I’ll love you still for everwhen
It was sweet and corny and romantic—nothing like my mother’s heart-rending poems. There was a playfulness and a poignancy to it that made me smile. I’d spent my life avoiding the label of writer because it belonged to my mother. I’d been so concerned that I’d inherited her dark side that I never allowed myself to explore the lighter side of my own creativity. Perhaps there were stories inside me as well, and books that were meant to be written.
Books.
My stomach dropped. I suddenly realized why the inscription in the wedding band had sounded so familiar. In my mind’s eye I could clearly see the title of the book Maya had been holding in the library—Doorway to Everwhen.
It wasn’t a coincidence. Everything was connected. But which came first, the poem or the book? Or did they both exist concurrently? Did it even matter? I’d been given this opportunity to find answers to questions that had haunted my entire life and I didn’t want to waste a single moment worrying about minutiae.
*
I was so engrossed in the pages of the journal I barely registered the fact that I was no longer alone. I glanced up and saw Cassie standing in the doorway. Cassie! I gasped, jumped out of bed, and closed the distance between us. I wrapped my arms around her. “Oh, Cassie, I’ve missed you.” I wanted to hold on to her and never let go.
She pulled away, as if uncomfortable with the physical contact. That was crazy, though. Cassie was a hugger. If anything, I was usually the first to pull away.
I studied her, getting my first look at the scars crisscrossing her beautiful face. Even though Bob had prepared me, the sight was shocking. The most severe scar ran from her hairline across her forehead, bisecting one eyebrow and barely missing her eye before disappearing below her cheekbone. The second ran vertically through her bottom lip at the two-thirds point, then across her chin and along her jaw line. It broke my heart to see her face disfigured in this way. But even more painful was what I saw in her eyes. My happy, carefree sister was now guarded. Her smile was the same, but I could see the difference that years of living with looks of pity had done to her. Maybe no one else would notice, but I did. The scars went far deeper than just her skin.
One single impulsive decision had changed her life completely. Did she blame me? From what Bob had told me, I blamed myself. But what I now realized was that it had been Cassie’s choic
e to go out that night, not mine. I couldn’t and shouldn’t take responsibility for her actions.
I ran my fingers through her hair. “I love you, Cassie.” I fought the impulse to say I was sorry. Sorry for leaving her all alonely. Sorry for not being there to stop her from making a mistake that would change the rest of her life. I was sure I’d said those words thousands of times already, and no amount of apology would change anything. I wished I could tell her there were unblemished versions of herself living in worlds where she didn’t have to hide her face from cruel stares, but maybe that would only hurt her more.
She didn’t respond at first. Then she replied in a soft, hesitant voice. “I love you too, Sis.”
I held her close. I’d taken care of Cassie for as long as I remembered. Only now did I realize that a small part of me had also resented her, blaming her for the loss of my own childhood. It wasn’t Cassie’s fault that I’d had to take on an extra burden of responsibility. She hadn’t put me in that position. Letting go of that resentment lifted an unseen weight from my heart. I thought I’d loved my sister as much as I could, but it was only a fraction of what I felt now.
Bob came into the room, breaking up the moment before it could become uncomfortable. “Can I get you girls something to drink?”
“Green tea,” we replied at the same time. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. Then we both started laughing. For as long as I could remember, we’d answered random questions in unison. There was comfort in knowing that some things never changed.
And just like that we were on familiar ground.
The three of us spent the next few hours talking over tea and pound cake at the kitchen table. I tried not to act surprised when Cassie complimented me on the cake. It was very good. I’d have to give myself the recipe.
When Bob left us alone, I leaned close and whispered to Cassie. “I need to talk to Dad. Would you come with me?” I knew I was taking a chance, but I could always pull out the “head injury” card if I had to.
