Occult Suspense for Mothers Boxset: The Nostalgia Effect by EJ Valson and Mother's by Michelle Read (2 ebooks for one price) (47 page)

CHAPTER 81

I am more than exhausted when I finally get home from England. The flight home was long and no amount of little liquor bottles could get me to sleep. It’s after 11:00 p.m. when I get to the house. I’m grateful that Joe is asleep in the spare bedroom and Olivia is passed out in her own bed, as I am in no shape to be social.

I gently kiss her goodnight so as not to wake her and tiptoe back to my bedroom to go to bed. I don’t even care about brushing my teeth or washing my face. All I want to do is slip under my sheets, forget all of this heartache and let this pain go.

I keep seeing Michael’s face in my mind as I try to drift off. I see his sad eyes as we parted ways at the airport. I recall the feeling of his breath on my neck as he whispered that he loved me. My young love, so ignorant to the reality of my current life. Sweet and innocent and untouched by hard choices. Unaware of our lost life together that may never come to be after all.

I have one week left until I do the “procedure.” I feel like there is so much to do, as if I’m moving or taking a big trip. But what can I do? I can’t prepare a will, or pack, or stop the mail. But I worry about Olivia. What if I do not make it over to the other side and I slip away mentally? I haven’t given Joe any clue as to what is happening. It occurs to me now that I owe him that. But how? How do I present this information to him? How do I tell him goodbye without
saying
goodbye?

All this time I have been thinking about myself and what happens if this does or doesn’t work, but the one person I really haven’t considered is Joe. If it does work, I wouldn’t have told him
“thank you.”
Even though he won’t remember if I do. I have to keep in mind that when I get back to my real life, Joe and I won’t be the way we are now. We don’t speak much in my other life. And now that I know him in this way, I’m sad that I will lose that relationship. I’m sad that Olivia will be in the middle of it again.

If I don’t get back, I still want to let him know how much I appreciate everything he has done for us. I still want him to know that I care about him. And I need to know he will take care of Olivia and make sure she remembers good things about me and how much I loved her.

“Fuck,” I whisper loudly as I sit straight up in bed. It is going to be a long night. There will be no rest for me. I flip on the bedside lamp and grab a piece of paper and pencil from the nightstand drawer. I try to think of what to write and what approach to take, but I end up doodling circles instead -- a perfect representation of my life.

After thirty minutes of hesitation, I finally jot down the things I think are important, like bank account numbers and authorization for my mother to withdraw those funds if I am incapable of caring for myself. I write my parents letters and express my gratitude and love.

Then I write Olivia a letter. I tell her how much I love her and that I will ALWAYS love her and that if someday I should disappear and be unable to tell her this, to know that I carry that love within me. I find a nice picture of us that was taken at Christmas and place it in the letter. I tell her to always remember the feeling of that moment, of her sitting on my lap with my arms wrapped around her, sincerely happy and smiling at the camera.

Finally I write Joe. I tell him how thankful I am that we have become friends and raised a wonderful daughter together. I tell him that he is a great father and to always let Olivia know how much I love her. And last, I tell him that I want him to find
his
true love and enjoy every minute of the time he has with her.

I find a few envelopes, seal each letter with the names boldly scribbled on the outside and tuck them in the drawer in the nightstand. I remind myself to take them out and leave them on the dining table before I go to Astrid’s on Sunday. And then I pray that they will never have to be opened.

CHAPTER 82

It’s a rough start to the morning, as I only manage to get three hours of sleep before Olivia runs to my room and smothers me with hugs and kisses. Joe wakes up shortly after that and kindly makes coffee before redirecting Olivia to the kitchen for breakfast so I can sleep in.

After lying in bed for thirty more minutes, I force myself to get up and into the shower. All of the nerves and anxiety I felt the night before have awakened inside and are ready to play with my head again.

Once I’m somewhat ready, I shuffle to the living room, kiss Olivia on the head while she eats and get myself some coffee. I notice Joe in the backyard getting out the lawn mower to cut the grass I have let overgrow.

I watch him as he moves methodically in rows until he is satisfied with the job. He puts the mower away, waters the grass and flowers and heads back inside.
“OK, I should head out,” he says, as he steps into the house.

“Oh, OK. Thanks for taking care of that,” I say.

He nods and lets out an “mmm hmm.”

“Hey, do you think we could get together later this week and talk?” I ask him.

He pauses for a minute. I can tell by his body language this request stresses him. He probably thinks it is more divorce talk, and that tends to put him on guard.
“What about?” he asks.

“Don’t worry, nothing major. I just wanted to go over a few things,” I reassure him.

He sighs. “OK, how about Wednesday after work?” he suggests.

We agree and he leaves a few minutes later, leaving me and Olivia alone together. I watch her from the kitchen as she sits on her knees on the couch, enthralled by her television show. I study her round little face, perfect rosebud lips and big blue eyes. She will only get prettier with age. She will almost be taller than me by the time she is in middle school. We will start sharing clothes at age twelve. And even though she will be in her “tween” phase, she will occasionally cuddle with me on the couch, letting me know that she is still my baby. But today, as she sits there at age five, she will not know these things. She has no concept of the relationship and life we have somewhere
else. Just like everyone else I love.
 

I put my coffee cup down and walk over to where she is sitting. I sit down beside her and wrap my arms around her. She willingly moves into my lap and places her arm across me.
“I love you Mama,” she says. I close my eyes and take it all in. Her scent, her warmth, the weight of her small body.

I look down at her and notice she is looking up at me, smiling. “I love you too, Baby,” I respond. I see the depth in her eyes, the sweet soul behind them. I think of Stella, who may never be. I squeeze her again tightly and close my eyes.
I love you too, Stella….wherever you are,
I think to myself.

Hours later I get enough energy to pick up the house, unpack and start laundry. Olivia plays in the back yard with bubbles and her big pink ball. The house is quiet, which I prefer as I complete my mundane tasks. My senses are over-heightened as I make my way through the day. Every time I eat something, I smell it, and try to enjoy the taste -- savoring what could be the last time I smell or eat that particular food.

Though I’m not dying, there is a sense of finality looming. If I make it over to my old life, I will of course do all of these types of chores again and experience the same tastes and scents, I just won’t be
here
again. I won’t be in this house again. Olivia won’t be five again. I won’t be in this body the way it is now again. If I don’t make it back and I end up like Jesus, none of that will matter anyway. Everything will have lost its taste, scent and possibly, its meaning.

In the evening I make my rounds to both of my parents’ houses. I do my best to act normal and not succumb to the somber undercurrent that I am suppressing inside. I must do a good job because they are happy to see me and want to hear all about my trip.

I head back home around 8:00 p.m. and put Olivia to bed. I’m extremely tired, but my mind is very busy trying to sort out what to do for the rest of the week. I contemplate calling in sick the next day, or for the whole week for that matter, but I know I will get restless if I have too much time on my hands.

After I finish getting ready for bed and locking up the house I flip on my laptop. I prop myself on pillows in the middle of my bed and start to check my email. I hear the chime of an instant message. “
Hey,”
 Michael types. I check the time on the laptop. It’s 6:00 a.m. his time.

“Hi,”
I respond. “
You’re up early.”

“
I just got off the night shift at work. I am about to go to bed,”
he writes.

“
Oh. I am just about to as well,”
I respond.

“I was hoping you would be online,” he writes. “I just wanted to tell you something. I didn’t really respond when we talked in England. I didn’t know how to respond at the time. But what I should have said is I have never met a girl or a human being as sincere as you. What touched me the most is that I have never seen a
person cry because I left them. I've seen sad faces but I've never seen tears, and I’ve never seen tears shed out of pure love, like I did when I left the US. And the other day you showed me that I’m more loved than I've ever felt before in my life by another person. What saddens me, however, is the inevitable fact that we have a distance between us. The distance itself is fine by me, but the time between the times that I get to see you is what makes me sad. On the other hand, I know I can wait for you. I know I want to and I know I will if you want me to. But I'm scared that you will change your mind. I will understand if you do, but it will hurt. But most importantly, I want to tell you thank you for loving me. I love you back.”

I sit in silence for a moment, reading his words over and over again. It is everything I want and need from him. It validates that we truly have a connection. We truly are meant to be together in any scenario.

I have one week until I make my departure from this place. This
morning I was emotionally dragging my feet preparing for the journey. Now I want to break into a sprint.

CHAPTER 83

I have fully accepted mentally, physically and emotionally that this may be it. This may be the last week that I will be here in this time. I have prepared myself for the fact that if I get back home, relationships will be different. People will be different.

I won’t know Mary any longer. My grandparents will have passed away and Nancy will hopefully be alive. Joe will be in Idaho with his family and we will not be friends anymore. At any moment, you can make a small decision that changes everything. Sometimes you might still end up where you were going in the first place, and other times you might not. Any step in a different direction might not only lead you to a different destination, but also force someone else towards another. All of this reminds me how fragile life can be, and how we are all connected.

Though I’m scared about what will take place during the process of trying to cross over, I am more terrified by the thought of not making it. Therefore, I’m determined to fight and push until I get to where I belong.

Tonight is the night I am supposed to talk with Joe. Though I have mentally gone over and over in my mind what I will tell him, I know that it will not be taken lightly. Besides Astrid and John, Joe is the only other person that I will have told the truth to about how I got here and what I believe my life is to be.

I begin shaking with nerves as soon as I hear his truck pull in the driveway. He hesitantly agreed to take Olivia to his parents to have dinner with them so we could talk in private. I’m certain he is worried this will be a discussion about selling the house, child support or custody. Maybe the truth will actually be a relief for him…but that is doubtful.

I sit in silence as I wait for him to knock on the door. “Come in,”

I call in response to his knock.

He opens the door and glances around the room, until he sees me on the couch. “Hi,” he says.

My palms are beginning to sweat and I am having a hard time concealing my anxiety. “Can you sit, please?” I ask.

He frowns a bit, curious at my behavior, but he complies and sits in the armchair nearby me. “Everything OK?” he asks, concerned.

I clear my throat. “Hold on,” I say. I get up and go to the fridge, grab a beer, pop the top, take a swig and then bring the bottle out to the living room. “Here. You are going to want this,” I say, handing it to him. He awkwardly takes it and watches me as I make my way to sit down again.

I try to swallow the knot in my throat and take a deep breath. “I know what I’m about to tell you will sound absolutely crazy,” I carefully disclaim, “but I need to let you know that on Sunday something is going to happen that will change everything.” Joe stares at me, beer in hand and mouth slightly parted, wanting to speak but unsure of what to say.

“I am leaving,” I say.

Joe shakes his head a bit in confusion.
“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, I
may
be leaving. I’m going to try to leave, but something may go wrong, and then it will be bad, and you will need to take care of Olivia,” I nervously spit out. His jaw drops a bit. I can tell he thinks I am losing it. I collect myself and try to slow down and explain it better. I move closer to him and place my hand on his knee. I look into his eyes in hopes that he will see I’m telling the truth. “Joe…almost a year ago I woke up...and I wasn’t in my life,” I say.

“Oh, seriously!” he exclaims, jumping up. “Are we going to get into this crap? Jenni, we are already divorced!” He looks at me with a mix of anger and shock, then turns away.

I shake my head.
“No, no, that is not what I am trying to explain,” I reply. “Please, Joe, let me finish,” I plead.

He turns around to look at me. He doesn’t want to stay, but he will hear me out. He takes a drink of the beer and sits back down. I try a different approach. “The day that I passed out, I was in shock because I woke up next to you. But the night before I was somewhere else. I was in the year 2013. I came from a life where I was remarried and had another daughter and Olivia was older,” I say.

“OK, now you are really freaking me out,” he interrupts, looking nervous.
 “Are you on drugs?” he asks, searching my face intently with his eyes.

“Dammit, please listen,” I say, clenching my fists and holding back tears of frustration.

Joe looks at my hands, which are now trembling. “OK,” he reluctantly complies. I can tell he believes he needs to keep me calm. He is afraid I am having some sort of episode again.

I realize I can’t tell him anything more. He isn’t going to believe me. I don’t know how to change this up so that he gets it. I place my head in my hands. I’m slightly bouncing my legs up and down while I try to think. I am now wishing I hadn’t said anything at all. Then it comes to me. “I need you to go with me somewhere,” I say quickly, sitting up straight.

He shakes his head. “Jen, I don’t think that is a good idea. I think we should stay here until you are calm,” he states firmly, but clearly afraid.

“No. Please listen. It won’t take long. It will help me explain this better,” I plead with him again.

He sits quietly for a moment, contemplating my request. Then he nods in agreement. “OK, but I am driving.”

I hurry to his truck and wait for him, but he is slow to get in. I know he is trying to make sense of my behavior, but he won’t be able to. Nothing about this situation is logical. I give him directions to where I want him to go. He keeps asking where I’m taking him, but I just reply with, “You’ll see.”

After ten minutes of driving we pull into Astrid’s driveway. Before I even knock, she opens the door. I’m about to give her an explanation, but she raises her hand up to stop me and looks past me at Joe, who hesitates behind me.

“You must be Joe,” she says to him kindly. I then realize she knew we were coming. “Come in, please,” she says politely. She catches my eyes with hers and smiles reassuringly.

“Thank you,” he says and follows her inside.

When we walk in, he looks around the room to take in his surroundings. I can tell that
he is feeling out of place and wants an explanation, as he looks back at me with questioning eyes. Astrid gestures for us to sit down in the living room. She sits across from us silently. She closes her eyes for a minute and takes a deep breath. Joe watches her in bewilderment. I know she is visualizing.

A moment later she opens her eyes and smiles at Joe. I can see his body relax a bit. Astrid has a way of calming a space. I’m confident that I made the right decision bringing him here. “Joe, would you like to come with me for a moment?” she asks him.

He looks at me. “It’s OK,” I tell him.

He lets out a somewhat irritated sigh and follows Astrid into her reading room down the hall. I remain still and struggle to hear what they are saying. Unfortunately for me, her window air conditioner is drowning out their voices.
I opt to sit in silence and pick at my nail polish. After an hour I decide to go to the kitchen and get a glass of water. I take my time getting the glass, ice cubes and then water from the tap. I stare out her back door and admire Astrid’s lavish garden. She has many talents.

As I return to the living room, Joe enters at the same time. His shoulders are slightly slouched. He looks all at once a bit exhausted, confused and surprised. Astrid follows behind him and looks at me. She gives me a slight nod, letting me know that he will listen now.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, as she heads toward the kitchen. Moments later I hear the back door of her house shut.

I sit down on the couch again. Joe seems as if he is still trying to comprehend what just took place with Astrid. He finally slumps his thin frame into the armchair and rubs his dark hair for a moment, as if he is trying to sooth his brain.

After a few minutes he looks up at me. “OK, tell me,” he says.

For the next hour I carefully tell him my story. He listens intently as I explain how I woke up and found myself with him and Olivia and apart from my life and my family that were eight years in the future. I tell him how I thought I was crazy and that I went to see my therapist, but that she wasn’t helpful. That I searched for Michael and found nothing. How I decided to see Astrid when I got desperate, and how she and John believed me and tried to help. I tell him that the day I passed out at work was the day I met Michael, and what happened to me when I saw him.

I promise him that I wasn’t unfaithful. I explain that I tried to make our life work, but I didn’t feel it was right. I tell him I couldn’t remember everything about my life with Michael until John came back with the tapes and I heard my sessions. I tell him once that happened, my memory was fully restored, as well as my emotional ties. And I assure him the only reason I was quick to split up with him was because of Astrid. She knew that he had another life and a true love out there too. She didn’t feel it was right to prevent
him
from still getting that, even if I didn’t.

When I am finished I sit quietly, allowing him to digest everything I have told him. He has been gracious enough to listen without interrupting me. I at least owe him the courtesy of giving him time to think before he responds. Joe lifts his eyes to mine. “She was right,” he says, his voice breaking.

My eyes get wide. “She was?” I ask.

Joe gets a slight smile on his face. There is something he isn’t telling me. He moves from the armchair and sits next to me. He is nervous, but happy. “I believe you,” he says. “I believe you because she knew something that no one knows.”

I look at him curiously.
His smile widens. “Jen, I’m in love,” he says.

I smile and laugh with relief.
“Oh, Joe,” I say, gently touching the side of his face. “That’s wonderful.”

“There’s more,” he says, meeting my eyes. He takes a minute to tell me.
“She’s pregnant,” he says nervously.

I am stunned. I begin to cry. Joe quickly moves in to console me. He thinks
I’m upset. I motion with my hand that I am fine. “No, Joe, I’m happy for you,” I say through tears. I am relieved, happy and grateful. “Can I just ask you a question?” He nods.

“Who the hell is this girl?” I say laughing, as I wipe tears away.

He looks down and laughs nervously. “Oh, uh….it’s Rachel,” he admits. Without thinking I dive to grab him. I’m hugging him so tight he is almost falling over. “Whoa, whoa!” he says bracing himself.

“You’re not mad?” he asks.

I look at him for a minute. I study his face. He is also so young and innocent in this situation. He isn’t bad, he isn’t cold. He is just another person trying to survive and be happy in this game of life. He deserves this happiness and he deserves me being happy for him. “Absolutely not,” I answer.