Occult Suspense for Mothers Boxset: The Nostalgia Effect by EJ Valson and Mother's by Michelle Read (2 ebooks for one price) (22 page)

CHAPTER 6

I manage to make it through a simple store trip. Luckily the grocery store is laid out almost the same as it is in the future. I buy a roast chicken, salad, yogurt and a few staples that “future me” just has to have, but “past me” apparently doesn’t take to yet.

I fumble my way through the checkout, putting in my debit pin for my future bank before realizing I don’t actually know the pin for the bank account that
I’m sure I must now share with Joe. I am grateful to find checks in my purse, something that I rarely use in my future life. Signing one takes longer than it should because I have to stop mid pen stroke to write Joe’s last name rather than Michael’s.

Shortly after we return
to the house, Joe’s diesel truck pulls in the drive. I notice a pile of unfamiliar equipment in the truck bed. I watch Joe shuffle up the walk, his head down. I can tell he is thinking. That is how he always looked when he was deep in thought. It’s an awkward sensation to be thrown back to your past mentally, while standing in it physically. I know how to be married to this man, but not in this year. In my memory, we didn’t make it past Olivia’s second birthday. I brace myself for the facade I must put on.

“Hey, Babe,” he says when he walks in. I hesitate.

“Hi...Hon,” I manage.

He walks towards the kitchen and kisses me on the cheek while he passes. The kiss feels weird. I don’t like it. I feel like I’m betraying Michael. Not only did another man speak to me with affection and kiss me, but this man is my ex-husband. It’s one of the worst types of deceit.
I’m sorry Michael,
I think to myself.

I pull myself through the ordeal of our first evening together by imagining I’m at home with Michael and Stella. I go on about my evening rituals as I would if Olivia were her younger sister of the future. I make an early dinner, bathe her, read her a story and put her to bed. I hug her extra tight this evening, just in case I don’t see this small Olivia again. She is so sweet and pure and this time with her reminds me of how loving she was to me when she was younger.

When I get a moment, I try to call my mom, but there is no answer. After that I try to call Michael’s cell, but I get a message that the number dialed cannot be reached.

I deflate and decide to head out to the living room. Joe is watching a hunting show on TV. I cringe. I hated those shows when we were married and I tolerated them just so I could spend time with him. I’m certainly over that now. I head back to our bedroom and decide to look through my things. I hadn’t paid much attention when I hurried to dress this morning and grabbed the first t-shirt and pair of shorts I could find.

I open our closet doors. Joe’s clothes take up only about one third of the closet. His section is full of his old jeans and a few dress shirts, but other than that mostly sweatshirts and utility wear. I have a couple of nice dresses, two pairs of low-heeled pumps and a pair of flats and tennis shoes -- but nothing special. “This is what I was afraid of,” I say quietly.

In my “other” life, I always joke that had I stayed married to Joe I would have ended up frumpy. I went through the “mom hair” phase when Olivia was a baby and I still haven’t lived that down. I wore plain colored shirts, jeans that were too big and sensible shoes. I was always afraid to be fashion-forward in fear of looking too flashy.

When I was twenty-five I became good friends with a coworker who taught me to dress my age, which was certainly not fifty. She helped boost my confidence and we went shopping together often. I found my waistline then too -- quite a contrast to what is hanging in this closet. Here, everythi
ng I have is mid-rise and safe.

“Seriously, Jen!” I reprimand myself. “You may be stuck in the past, but you are in your past body and you are damn well going to take advantage of it and look good!”

After setting aside more than half of my wardrobe for donation, I decide to shower and call it a night. I am almost to the bed when I feel two strong arms suddenly squeeze around my waist, followed by lips on my neck.

“AHHHH!!” I scream and push away from Joe.

“What the hell!” Joe exclaims, startled.

“What are you doing?” I ask, still in shock.

“You showered so I thought maybe you were in the mood,” he defends.

Jesus,
I think to myself.
This is as far as his foreplay goes?
But I quickly recover.

“Sorry, you scared me,” I reply, slightly embarrassed. He shakes his head and leaves the room, annoyed.

I am reminded why I have always felt that Joe and I should never have married in the first place. We were once good friends, cared about each other, and had fun together, but we married too young and for the wrong reasons. Our differences in perspectives and values became abundantly clear early in our marriage. Even our friendship turned sour as the distance between us grew. What we once overlooked in each other became resentments instead. That resentment had not waned much over the years.

In my current situation I don’t care about fixing this with him. Our marriage doesn’t matter to me anymore. His feelings don’t either. I just want to go to bed, wake up, and have this be one of the most lifelike and surreal dreams I have ever had.

CHAPTER 7

The horrible sound of a buzzing alarm clock wakes me at 6:00 am.
Dammit,
I think in response at the irritating sound. Without opening my eyes I know I am still here. Michael and I use our cell phones as alarm clocks, as they have a more pleasant sound that you can set instead of this nuclear power plant alert sound.

Joe sits up on the side of the bed and rubs his eyes, then shuffles to the bathroom. I turn back over on my side and close my eyes again. I hear a flush and water from the sin
k, then he is back in the room.

“Aren’t you getting up?” he grumbles.

Does he really expect me to get up with him and get him off to work? I stay put.
I’m going to hold my ground this time. During our marriage, I catered to his needs too much, and mine were sacrificed. That is going to change if I’m going to be stuck here.

“I thought you wanted to get into work early this morning,” he says, with a puzzled look on his face, his voice edged with irritation.

I work? Oh crap. I begin to fret. Now I have to learn something else new about myself, like where the hell do I work? I sit up, rub my face and eyes, and prepare for another long stressful day. I can go with the flow when I have to, but 24 hours a day is starting to take a toll on me. Joe leaves the bedroom and goes to the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot. Thank God. Apparently he CAN do something helpful, like Michael would do.

I
few minutes later I hear him head to Olivia’s room and coax her awake. I am noticing that he seems more involved as a father than I remember. Even during dinner he cut up her chicken and got her more milk. I wonder what brought on this subtle change.

I hop into the shower to wash my face and wake up my body, but keep my hair dry to save time. I’m grateful to find a set of hot rollers to add a little style to my limp and unshaped hair. My makeup supply leaves much to be desired, nothing like what I use in the future. It’s an interesting insight into how I cared for myself in the past -- maybe another reflection of putting my needs last. No mineral-based foundation
,
no anti-aging creams, no quality mascara. Just the economy line
for this girl! Oh well. However, I notice my complexion is nicer than the future version of me, so I guess I will have to make the most of what I have at hand.

When I go to get dressed, I have to make do again with what I can find in the closet in the way of work attire. It seems I have a satisfactory pair of black dress pants and a white blouse that is more fitting than the others. I add some color with a pink tank top and settle for the simple black pumps in the back of the closet.

I hear Joe try to open the bedroom door, but I have locked it. He doesn’t have any right to see me naked. “Hey, why is the door locked?” he asks, annoyed.

I quickly rush to open it.
“Sorry,” I grumble.

“You look nice,” he comments, when he sees me. In my mind I look plain and underdressed.

“Thanks,” I say, feeling a little bad that if this is what his version of my looking “nice” is, then what do I normally look like in his eyes?

Olivia is watching a morning show and eating a nutrition-less kid’s cereal at the coffee table.

Oh, hell no,
I say in my mind, my mama instincts flaring. That sugary junk is going out of this house immediately. It’s not a weekend, when special treats are allowed. She is going to school and needs to start her day out right.

“Olivia, would you like some yogurt with granola?” I ask her.

She makes a funny face at me.
“No,” she says, looking disgusted.

I walk into the kitchen and make myself a bowl, then I coax her to take a bite.

“That’s yummy!” she exclaims.

“Now do you want some?” I ask her again. She nods enthusiastically. Mom for the win!

Joe comes out from the bedroom.

“What are you eating?” he asks Olivia.

“Yogurt and ‘nola,” she says proudly, through a mouthful. I smile.

“Oh, really...” he says with sarcasm, raising his eyebrows. “You going to be a little hippie?” he jokes with her.

Smartass,
I think, shaking my head.

“She needs to eat a better breakfast,” I say. “Yogurt and granola has more protein and will keep her full longer,” I defend.

He looks at me as if I just spoke a foreign language, then drops the subject.

“OK, gotta go,” he says, grabbing a small lunch box and his coffee mug from the counter.

I begin to panic at the thought of being left behind with Olivia and not knowing where I’m sup
posed to take her for day care.

“Wait, you aren’t taking her with you?” I say following him out.

He turns around w
ith a puzzled look on his face.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “I never take her. And I have to be at the site in 15 minutes,” he replies, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

My panic increases. Where do I take her and
then where do I go after that?

“Right,” I say, trying to calm myself, realizing I need to cover my emotions. But I quickly develop a plan.

“Sorry, I just wanted to get in early,” I explain, hoping he buys my excuse.

“Well, if you leave now, you should,” he says matter-of-factly. He breaks his stare, then kisses Olivia on the head and me routinely on the cheek.

“See you later,” he says as he walks out the door.

I look at Olivia, sitting there so preciously, focusing on her breakfast and kid show, unaware of her mother’s unraveling mind. Thank God!

Then I put my plan into action.

“Olivia, let’s play a game. I want to see what you remember about our family,” I say with a soft tone as I kneel down in front of her. She looks at me intently. She loves games.

“What is your last name?” I ask.

“Harris,” she says proudly.

“What is Mommy’s full name?” I continue.

She thinks. “Jennifer Harris.”

“Good job,” I praise her. ”What is daddy’s full name?” I continue.

“Joe Harris....Joseph Harris,” she corrects herself.

“What school do you go to?” I ask.

“Happy Days Daycare,” she replies with a big grin. Phew! I know where that is.

“What does Daddy do for work?”

She giggles. “He goes up the houses!” She answers, loud and proud.

Hmmm,
I think. “Up the houses... what do you mean, Silly Goose?” I tickle her sides.

“He fixes the roofs!” she exclaims.

AHA! To my surprise Joe is a roofer in this year, just as he is in the future. Odd how he made the same career choice earlier, even weirder that I supported it -- considering the danger.

“Good job!” I exclaim. “Now where does Mommy work?” I inquire.

“Ummm...Sound and Clear,” she says. I am taken aback, but relieved. This is still my place of employment in the future. This I can do!

“OK, Sweetie, great job! Let’s brush your teeth and get going.”

Without hesitation or argument she finishes the morning tasks of brushing her teeth, putting on her shoes and waiting at the door. I laugh to myself when I think of how I have to gripe at her to move faster to get ready to leave the house in the future.

I pass the framed structure of my future house once again on my way to Olivia’s preschool. I feel a pang of sadness. I will have to get used to that if I pass by here every day. I snap back into the reality of the situation as I approach her preschool building. In my future life I drive by here every day on my way to work. I have forgotten that in 2005 it was not yet remodeled, so the school is smaller and appears worn.

We walk in the entrance and I let Olivia lead me through the double doors into her classroom. Artwork and letters of the alphabet plaster the walls. Primary colors and shapes and numbers adorn the children’s work tables. This is different than what she actually had in our other earlier life. After Joe and I separated she went to a private home daycare, and she stayed there until kindergarten. When Stella turned one, Michael and I put her in a wonderful daycare/preschool -- where she thrived. I often wished that Olivia had been given the same opportunity. I guess she has, in this other dimension.

“Good morning!” says a friendly, middle-aged woman.

“Hi, Miss Benton!” Olivia shrills as she wraps her arms around the plump woman’s side.

“And good morning, Jenni,” she says to me.

“Hello,” I smile. I feel weird leaving Olivia here. I don’t know this place or this person. I have to reassure myself that even if I wasn’t familiar with this place or its employees, Olivia feels comfortable here. It is her routine.

I bend down to Olivia’s level.

“OK, Baby, you have a wonderful day and I will pick you up around five.”

“Oh, is Joe not getting her today?” Miss Benton asks.

Oops,
I think. “Oh, that’s right. He will. I forgot,” I reply. “Oh, that reminds me,” I continue. “Has he been picking her up on time?” I manipulatively inquire, making calculations in my mind.

“Oh, yes. 4:30 every day -- like clockwork,” she says with a smile.

“Great,” I respond.