Versions of Her

by Andrea Lochen

  “I think it’s just exhausting being a stay-at-home mom to little kids,” Kelsey said. “Especially since Dad was gone at work so much. Mom probably needed to take a breather every now and then. Just to be herself. Not someone’s wife or mother for a little while. But I know she loved us, and I know we made her very happy.”

  Melanie held the tapestry up for Kelsey so she could duck underneath. “You’re probably right. It just hurts so much, seeing Mom like that. In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so forlorn.”

  “That’s because she was careful to conceal that side of herself from us.” Kelsey pulled the string attached to the light bulb to illuminate the closet. “I brought my letter along. Do you want to read it?”

  Melanie sat down cross-legged on the bench and nodded grudgingly. “Read it to me.”

  Kelsey pulled it out of her pocket. She’d forgone the butterfly stationery and written on a sheet of college-ruled notebook paper instead. “Dear C. A. K.,” she started. “We’re sorry it’s taken us so long to respond. In our time period, one week is equivalent to a few of your years, so there’s unfortunately going to be some lag time in any of our correspondence. We’re so glad you liked the picture. The little girls are indeed your daughters, as you’ve already figured out. And as you’ve probably also guessed, because you’re a very smart woman, your daughters are also the writers of this letter.”

  She sneaked a peek at Melanie, but her sister was staring straight ahead, expressionless, with her palms resting on her knees.

  “We discovered the door behind the Tree of Life only a few weeks ago in our time, and it was quite the surprise, as you can imagine. Since then, we’ve gone inside the closet on a handful of occasions, and with every encounter, we’ve seen a different moment from your life—from your childhood, your teenage years, or your young married life. It’s been amazing getting to witness your memories firsthand, especially since you told us so little about your past. We love seeing you so young and beautiful—you’re still beautiful, of course, but wow, you were stunning as a teenager!—and getting to know more about you, but we don’t want you to feel like we’re intruding because we love and respect you so much.

  “Please know that we aren’t judging you as we view these memories, and we’re not trying to interfere. We’re only trying to understand you better because you mean the world to us. You always have, and you always will. Your daughters—Melanie Jane and Kelsey Ann.” She set the note down on the bench next to Melanie and waited. After a minute of silence, she asked, “So what do you think?”

  “I think it scares me to death—all the doors this opens, all the questions it might prompt her to ask about the future, all the things we can’t admit to her. But otherwise... otherwise I think it’s perfect.” She scowled and stood up. “Now let’s get out of here so we don’t miss the showing. Hey, where did my toothbrush go?” She pointed to the bench where the cardigan was now neatly folded.

  “I have no idea,” Kelsey said. “But the cardigan’s back. When we came in here, it was gone.” They gaped at each other for a few seconds. “What could it mean?”

  “Well, I don’t think my toothbrush decided to time travel of its own volition.” Melanie put her hand on the doorknob. “I think Mom probably took it. Just like we took her cigarettes. We must have just crossed paths with her time traveling.”

  “Oh my God. Really?” Kelsey surreptitiously kissed the letter for luck before following her sister out of the closet. “You think she was in this very same moment, reliving it with us? I wonder how old she was and what she was doing here. And why didn’t we see her?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Oh, F-U-C-K!” Melanie exclaimed, scrolling through all the missed calls, voicemails, and text messages from both Charlene and Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags’ agent. According to her phone’s display, it was 8:02 p.m. They had missed the scheduled showing by two hours. Though they had been inside the time portal for only forty minutes, they had disappeared for about four hours.

  “Why didn’t they just let themselves in?” Kelsey asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, not looking remotely remorseful or concerned. “Didn’t Charlene say she was sending a guy over to put that keypad thingy on the front door?”

  “Yes,” Melanie groaned. “She did. But we weren’t here to put a house key inside it for them, so it’s kind of a moot point. Besides, both our cars were parked out front, and some of the lights were on, but no one was answering the door, so that kind of freaked them out.” She pulled her phone away from her ear and deleted one more message from Charlene, who was icily asking where they were, and why they were choosing to stand up one of the most promising buyers around.

  I am SO sorry, Charlene, she texted. We were in the middle of a family crisis. Is there any way we can reschedule? For ANYTIME tomorrow or Thursday or any day this week, for that matter. Please let me know. I promise we’ll be ready this time.

  If Kelsey’s headstrong impulse to go into the time portal at the worst possible time had just cost them the sale of the lake house, Melanie was going to strangle her. But even as Melanie articulated that thought, she knew she was just as responsible as Kelsey. She had recognized just how irregular the time flow was inside the portal, yet she had still gone inside with her sister, accepting the risks. Yes, primarily to make sure Kelsey didn’t bungle anything up, but also, if she were being honest, because she didn’t want to miss a single glimpse of her mom, no matter how painful it could be.

  “Well, if they want to see the house that much, they can reschedule, right?” Kelsey poked her head inside the fridge, and Melanie stuck out her tongue at her turned back.

  Of course Kelsey could be blasé about the missed showing because she didn’t want the house to sell. She wanted to keep living in a fantasyland where they could forever keep the lake house for free and continue interacting with their deceased mother. And she has the gall to accuse me of running from my real-life problems? What does she have to say for herself?

  No one else in the world could strike a nerve in Melanie quite like her sister. Is running away from your problems and your husband and hiding out here how a real, responsible adult acts, Melanie? Like a tuning fork banging against cold hard metal, Kelsey’s words, even her glances, could send a sharp clang reverberating right through the center of Melanie’s very being. I’m not running away, Melanie thought vehemently. Kelsey didn’t understand the first thing about miscarriages or infertility or marriages, even. But maybe... just maybe... there was a germ of truth in her sister’s rash diagnosis of the situation.

  “Oh, sure, they can reschedule. Easy peasy,” Melanie said, heavy on the sarcasm.

  “Good,” Kelsey said, intentionally ignoring her tone. “I’m starving since we apparently missed dinner. What are you going to feed me?”

  “I think the better question would be: What are you going to feed me?”

  Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in Kelsey’s car, eating sloppy cheeseburgers over paper wrappers spread across their laps. In the back seat, Sprocket wedged his snout between their seats, sniffing hopefully. Melanie watched the bustling activity of the hamburger stand’s crowded outdoor seating as she chewed a french fry and tried not to think about the fact that Charlene still hadn’t called or texted her back. Should I try her again? Did the first message not go through? She didn’t want to exacerbate the situation by having Charlene think she was ignoring her.

  “Why did Everett come by today?” she asked. “What did he say to you?”

  “He forgot his tubing cutter,” Kelsey said. “It was behind the sump pump, I guess, so you wouldn’t have noticed it.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Melanie raised her eyebrows.

  “No. He also wanted to know why I hadn’t responded to his texts or calls. I thought about being polite at first and just telling him I’d been busy with work, which isn’t even a lie, but then I realized I didn’t have anything to lose by telling him the truth. So I told him that as a rule, I don’t date gu
ys who already have girlfriends, and I explained how I had figured it out. He was completely taken aback. He said he was living with someone but a female roommate, not a girlfriend. Then he asked me if I’d consider going out on another date with him—a real date this time—now that I knew he was legitimately unattached.”

  “And what did you say?” Melanie asked, sneaking a french fry to Sprocket.

  “I said sure,” Kelsey said, a tad shamefaced. “But I told him he’d have to come to Bartlett for it.”

  “But what about Josh?”

  “If he asks me out again, I’ll go, and I’ll see if the click develops. And if not, we’ll just go back to being friends. Hey, that’s my malt! If you wanted some, you should have bought your own.”

  Melanie smiled and wiped her mouth on a napkin. “I just wanted a sip.”

  In the past, she’d enjoyed listening to her sister talk about her dating exploits. Melanie hadn’t dated much before Ben, and sometimes she wondered if she had missed out on some important rite of passage—the awkward approaches in bars, the flirtations, and the walk home in yesterday’s dress. Other times she suspected that if she hadn’t met Ben, she would still be single, that no one else could possibly have made her so happy while also putting up with her particular brand of bossiness. It made no sense that her sister hadn’t found someone yet. She was so much more low-key than Melanie. She was cute and spontaneous and huge hearted. She was an excellent cook, when she got around to buying groceries, and she even liked watching sports.

  But listening to her talk about her dates on the phone three hundred miles away was a different experience from watching the dates unfold and meeting the guys up close and in person. Melanie suspected that Kelsey had edited the stories over the phone for her benefit—made them pithier, more upbeat, often ending with a kind of punch line. Seeing Kelsey in the raw—the aftermath of her night with Everett, the way she’d looked when she declared she didn’t believe in the concept of soul mates anymore—was hard for Melanie to watch.

  “Well, my vote is for Josh,” she said. “And don’t blame me if I slip up and accidentally call Everett ‘Ernie’ the next time I see him.” She watched as one of the hamburger stand employees—a gawky yet handsome boy in a white paper hat—delivered a tray of food to a table full of giggling adolescent girls.

  “His laugh isn’t that bad,” Kelsey said, but she sounded dubious.

  “It’s pretty bad. Hey, was there something you wanted to talk to me about earlier?” Melanie glanced down at her cell phone again for the thousandth time, willing Charlene Hallbeck’s name to pop up on her screen.

  “No.” Kelsey slurped loudly on her malt straw. “It was nothing important, anyway.”

  BEN WASN’T ANSWERING his phone. For the last two hours, Melanie had been alternately texting and calling him with no response, and she was starting to stress out. It was a Tuesday night. Where could he be that he doesn’t have access to his phone? Even if he was at a Cleveland Indians game, he usually still sent her texts. Maybe something had happened to his phone. She typed an e-mail from her laptop. Is everything okay? Call me ASAP please! I love you! It was late, but he couldn’t be sleeping already. He hadn’t texted her good night, which was their custom.

  She was trying not to let her imagination fly to the morbid place it had earlier that afternoon when Charlene kept calling. Unfortunately it was flying to other worrisome places instead. Maybe he was tired of her and her need for space. Maybe he’d decided to retaliate by taking his own break from her. It didn’t sound like something Ben would do, but then again, their limits had never been so tested before.

  She couldn’t hear Kelsey moving around next door anymore, and Melanie wondered if she was asleep. She checked her phone again. No new calls, voicemails, texts, or e-mails from Ben—or Charlene, for that matter. Maybe something was wrong with her phone. She set it down on the nightstand with more force than she’d intended. It connected with the edge and fell to the floor with a clatter. When she bent to pick it up, she hit her head on the bedframe and dropped it again.

  Dammit! She was just so frustrated—frustrated with Ben for making her worry, frustrated with Kelsey for giving Everett a second chance and guilting Melanie about selling the lake house and causing them to miss the showing and having the nerve to suggest she was the one being an irresponsible adult. But most of all, she was frustrated with her mom for smoking down by the lake and pitying herself when she had everything Melanie wanted—two beautiful, healthy children who adored her.

  She rubbed the back of her head, which was throbbing, and reached for her phone. It had fallen pretty far under the bed, and as she grabbed for it, her fingers touched something flat and rectangular. It was the Midwest Living magazine that had started her off on the whole demented, down-the-rabbit-hole journey. It must have slipped out of her suitcase when she first arrived. She stared down at its glossy cover and headlines—The 10 Most Romantic Lake Retreats, The Year’s Hottest Gardening Trends, 7 Sensational Summer Salads—before throwing it in the trash can with a satisfying thump. But no—it wasn’t the magazine landing in the trash can doing the thumping, because there was that noise again. Thump, thump. It was coming from downstairs. Kelsey must have gone down for a glass of water.

  Melanie poked her head out into the hallway and was surprised to see Kelsey’s door still closed. From the hallway, the thumping was louder, like someone knocking on the back door. At one o’clock in the morning? She tiptoed to the turret room to look outside, but the roof precluded seeing straight down to the porch, and all she could see was a truck she didn’t recognize parked next to Kelsey’s car. Oh my God. Who could it be?

  Maybe someone needed help—a neighbor or a passing motorist. But on the off chance that it was a rapist or serial killer, maybe she should grab a knife from the kitchen. Or maybe she should get Kelsey and Sprocket up—there was strength in numbers. Man, she watched way too many home invasion stories and murder mysteries on Dateline.

  Melanie stood at the top of the stairs, gripping the newel post, and took a deep breath. The thumping had stopped. Oh, good. She wouldn’t have to pretend to be brave. But the thought of going back to bed without knowing if the person was still lurking outside seemed futile. She wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink. Descending the stairs as quietly as possible, she was trying to decide which window had the best vantage of the back porch, when she thought she heard her name being called, not coming from upstairs but from outside the door—a male voice. Every inch of her skin prickled, and her heart rocketed toward her throat.

  “Melanie?”

  It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

  “Mel? Are you up? It’s me!”

  She threw the door open, nearly hitting the man on the other side. “Ben?” Her husband was standing on the porch, looking rumpled and tired and even more handsome than she remembered him. She let out a shaky laugh and collapsed into his arms. “Thank God it’s you! You scared me half to death. What are you doing here?”

  “I was trying to surprise you, but the drive took a lot longer than I expected. I thought I’d get here around eleven and you’d still be up. Then my cell phone died, so I couldn’t even call you. I thought for sure you’d call the cops when you saw the unfamiliar truck or come out here wielding a knife when I knocked. But I didn’t know how else to alert you I was here. I was this close to sleeping in the truck tonight.”

  “You were this close to having a knife wielded at you,” Melanie admitted, resting her face against his neck. His skin smelled clean and spicy, like shaving cream.

  “I figured. I’m so sorry I scared you. Maybe we should have a secret knock in the future.” He clucked out a rhythm with his tongue.

  “Hmm... something to consider. But in the meantime, why don’t you tell me whose truck that is and why you drove nine hours instead of flying? I would’ve happily picked you up from the airport, you know. And why are you here in the middle of the week, anyway? I thought we agreed—”

  Ben lowered his head for a kiss, a
nd suddenly, she forgot all about her unanswered questions and her earlier scare, with his hands wrapped around her waist and his mouth pressed against hers. It had been over two weeks since they’d last kissed like that—longer, truth be told, since they hadn’t been doing much kissing before she left either—and it made Melanie wonder how she’d survived so many days without access to his lips and tongue. We should do this more often. Every day. All day. Kissing had become a chore probably around the same time that sex had, but it suddenly felt like something they had just invented.

  “I’ve missed you,” Ben murmured into her hair. “No one steals the sheets from me at night or demands I buy low-sodium turkey bacon, and I can set the AC to whatever I like.” He maneuvered them inside the house and shut the door. “It’s been awful.”

  “At least you’re still shaving,” she teased back.

  He rubbed his chin and smiled. “Did this just for you, darling, right before I left.” He scoped out his surroundings and let out a low whistle. “The pictures really didn’t do this place justice. It’s stunning. Hey, is your sister staying overnight? I thought I saw her car. I hope I didn’t wake her.”

  “I doubt it. She’d be down here right now if you had.” They headed into the kitchen, where Melanie switched on the lights and poured him a glass of water. Ben stretched out his long arms and legs and explained how he had borrowed his brother Shaun’s truck so that he could drive the outdoor table that Melanie had sanded and stained to their house in Ohio. And any other furniture she wanted to keep, he added.