June, this year
I’m crawling through Sunday traffic on the edge of the city, my nerves on edge, grateful at least for the air-conditioning in the Golf. It’s even warmer today than it was yesterday, and I had gotten a little sunburned on my waterfront walk with Ben. I’d normally turn on some music on a road journey like this — it’s nearly a two-hour drive from New Buffalo to Lake Bluff — but my mind is racing, and I need to focus on my thoughts. I’m not even sure exactly what I’m doing.
But I’m convinced of one thing.
That the answers lie at the Masons’ old house in Lake Bluff. That it has something to do with the basement, or the door, being a parallel-universe portal.
Of course, I’m aware that the house is currently occupied by a non-English-speaking family who definitely don’t want me showing up again, after I intruded on their dinner on Friday evening. But I have to go back and see if I can figure any of this insanity out. Maybe I can get through to the family who live there, and ask some questions. If I can get them to understand me.
Fortunately, Chris is out for the day, golfing with his work buddies. He was all apologies this morning for not spending more of the long weekend with me, promising me that we’d do a hike and a picnic tomorrow, the Juneteenth holiday Monday.
Bless his heart. He’s so well-intentioned. Unfortunately, the thought of a hike and picnic with Chris is deeply unsettling. I have literally no idea what to say to this man. I have no shared memories of our relationship, or — more importantly — our love for each other. And I presume the me of this life does love him, otherwise I wouldn’t have married him, right? I have to hope that, with all the changed life circumstances I encountered, my relationship with Chris grew and blossomed in a way it never got the chance to, in my world.
After all, wasn’t it Ben himself who had persuaded me to end things with Chris, back at Northwestern? And without Ben’s influence in my life, given the falling-out with Bonnie, Chris and I had obviously gone on seeing each other.
Maybe the me in this life really is happy.
I wish I could give her life back to her, and go home.
That’s the other reason I’m going back to Lake Bluff today. To see if that house really is the key to going home, and getting my own life back. Sure, my life wasn’t perfect, given that I’m chronically single and infatuated with a married colleague. But it has Bonnie and Ben in it, and that makes it way better than this version, as far as I’m concerned.
As Chris slept peacefully beside me last night, I was staring at my phone, doing more research. If the house in Lake Bluff is any part of this puzzle, I need to figure out what happened. In this world, Bonnie doesn’t live there — presumably because she has a job at Chicago City Hall, instead of her Lake Forest interiors business. With Ben already living in the city, they must’ve decided to sell the house after they inherited it from their parents. Sure enough, a website offering Illinois property sales history revealed that the Lake Bluff house was sold just under a year later — and hasn’t been sold since, meaning Bonnie and Ben sold it to that family I walked in on.
Which raises another significant question. I know what I was doing there on Friday night — I was there to see Bonnie, and spend the long weekend with her. But the other version of myself, the one who is really married to Chris, must’ve driven there, too. Because when I came out of the house and found myself in another universe, her green Golf was parked nearby, and I had the keys in my pocket.
So here’s the question. What was Married-to-Chris Me doing in Lake Bluff, if she hadn’t been friends with Bonnie in years, and Bonnie didn’t even live there anyways? It makes no sense. She should’ve driven home after work to Chris in New Buffalo, from the Magnolia offices in downtown Chicago. Lake Bluff is in the opposite direction.
What was it that compelled me — her — to drive instead to the Lake Bluff house, that warm Friday night?
Was it some kind of call across universes? An undeniable, intrinsic knowledge that our life paths were about to intersect?
And, if that’s the case, maybe I can make them intersect again, at the same place. Because right now, all I can think about is finding a way home.
The traffic is starting to clear now, and I’m soon heading northward with speed towards Lake Bluff. I take a right exit to drive via Lake Forest, the community where Bonnie — usually — has her store. In the town center, I slow down to double-check whether it’s there in the row of commercial storefronts. Nothing — still just the bagel place.
Okay, then. Time to visit a family who don’t speak English and will probably call the cops on me.
I pull up in the same parking spot where I found the Golf less than forty-eight hours ago, leaving my purse and phone on the passenger seat, and tuck my keys in my jeans pocket. Just like last time. With my heart pounding in my throat, I walk up the street to the heavy metal gate that protects the house I know so well.
Shit. The entry code has always been Bonnie’s mom’s birthday, but the other family have lived here for years, so they must’ve changed it. I’ll have to buzz in... but they’ll never let me in. Maybe I can pretend I have a delivery? But then they’ll know I’m a liar, right away. They have every reason not to trust me.
I don’t really know what I’m doing here — I don’t have a plan. I tried to come up with one in the two-hour drive up here, and all I came up with was that I’ll have to wing it, based on what I see at the time.
The metal gate is curved at the top — high in the middle, but low at the sides. If I stand on this rock, maybe I can see into the drive, and figure out if the family is home. Sweating in my white jeans — which are too heavy for the day but I’m wearing them because I’m trying to recreate Friday’s conditions — I clamber up onto one of the large, flat-topped rocks that flank the gateposts. On my tiptoes, I can peer into the gravel driveway.
No cars. Both the black Audi and the red Tesla that were here before are gone. Maybe they’re all out on this sunny Sunday.
I throw a glance over my shoulder in each direction, up and down the street. There’s nobody around in this leafy, suburban neighborhood — everyone’s elsewhere, having fun in the sun.
Now’s my chance.
Emboldened by the lack of cars in the driveway, I step down and give the old entry code a test attempt, in case for some reason they never got around to changing it, or figured Valentine’s Day was a cute code to keep. But no... it doesn’t work. Dammit.
Time to go old-school, I guess. Checking again for any onlookers and finding none, I step back up onto the flat rock. The huge middle hinge of the gate is about at knee level, and if I can get a foot-grip on it, that would probably give me enough purchase to swing my other leg over the top. The drop on the other side... well, it’s not that far down. And I can lower myself slowly. One advantage of being petite — I can hold my own body weight pretty easily.
The execution of my leg swing and drop to the drive isn’t as elegant as I’d imagined, but there’s nobody around to see it, and I manage to make it down onto the gravel without spraining anything.
Now what? The front door will be locked, presumably, and I definitely don’t want to try it. Then again, aren’t I recreating Friday night’s events to try to get home? In which case, it makes more sense to go in via the basement side door.
I step down the sloping lawn on the left of the house, hoping that the family haven’t done a better job than the Masons at fixing this door, which always had a warped frame that stopped it from locking. If they’ve replaced the door frame and the lock, and the whole house is secure, I’ve got nothing. I’ll have to... do what? Drive back to New Buffalo, and live with Chris forever?
I shudder. No. He’s adorable in many ways, but... no. That’s not the life for me.
Determinedly, I give the basement side door a huge yank outwards. To my surprise, it opens easily with a slight rush of air, making me nearly fall backwards.
I’m in. And no alarms are going off, so that’s a bonus. Now, though, I’m just an insane person who has broken into a very nice family’s home while they’re out.
I close the door behind me, blowing out a shaky stream of air. What the fuck am I doing? I’ve honestly lost my mind. How is any of this going to help my impossible situation?
Get a grip. Maybe the act of going upstairs and letting myself back out the front door will be what takes me home? I mean, probably not. But I’m here now, so it’s worth a try.
I step into the basement, past a couch that looks a lot like the one Ben was sitting on, playing the guitar, the very first time I came through that door. My memory is so vivid that strains of music are almost audible in the quiet of the basement.
No, not almost. They are audible. That’s definitely music.
Which means I’m definitely losing my mind. Nobody’s home — how could there be music playing?
Unless — shit — both the parents are out in their cars, but some of the kids could still be at home, perhaps? Weren’t they all too small to leave alone? Maybe there’s a babysitter.
I move towards the bottom of the stairs, where the light is leading the way up to the kitchen. I can hear the music louder now. It’s definitely not my imagination.
And voices. There are voices there, too, in the kitchen. Not even the sound of kids, more like adult voices. Dammit, the family is home. Just because their cars weren’t in the driveway... of course that doesn’t necessarily mean nobody is home. What was I thinking?
I’m rooted to my position at the bottom of the steps, every hair on my body on end, skin prickling. What to do now? Go out the way I came in, and make a break for it, out of the gate? At least I can release the gate from this side. I could be gone before they even realized I was ever here.
A woman’s voice, louder now. “Hey, quit that! I’m cutting you a slice.” A warm voice. Almost familiar.
And in English, with a local accent.
Now a man’s voice, low and gruff. “You want me to bring out the heavy cream?”
“Sure,” the woman says.
This is not the same family. Or maybe that family is also here, but they have some English-speaking guests? Maybe that’s good. Maybe I can still risk trying to get out the front door, and then try to explain myself if I get caught. At least I’ll be understood.
Trembling, I make my way silently up the stairs and open the door to the kitchen, just a crack.
That’s... weird. The walls are no longer the darker taupe of the kitchen as I last saw it, and instead are a rich cream again — just like Bonnie painted them when she renovated the kitchen after buying Ben out of the house. The cabinets are also white again, although a different style than Bonnie’s Shaker cabinets. And... it’s too tidy to be Bonnie’s kitchen. The old-fashioned FM radio on the counter is playing some kind of Spanish guitar music.
Plus, if I was back in my reality, the house would be empty, as Bonnie was delayed at the store.
No, I’m not back home in my own world. I know it, right in my core.
I’m in a new world — one that’s different again.
Which means, I guess, that I’m about to intrude on yet another unwitting family, who happen to have similar décor tastes to Bonnie. Maybe I can just sneak out past them, now that they’ve left the kitchen — they seem to have gone out on the deck.
I open the door wider, and take a tentative step into the kitchen. I’m gonna have to be quick if I don’t want to get caught slipping out of the front door. Although, maybe recreating that action is pointless, anyways, since I’m evidently already in a third universe. Which means, it’s not looking like what I’m doing will take me home to mine.
A loud male laugh booms above me. Yes, they’re definitely all out on the deck, and there are a couple more voices coming from there, too. That gives me plenty of space to creep past the dining area and beeline it out of the front.
I take a few more steps, trying not to breathe, my runners squeaking ever so slightly on the hardwood floor. As I pass the dining area and its window view to the deck, I can’t resist taking a look at the new family who have moved into Bonnie’s home. They sound like they’re having such a great time.
Two adults with graying hair, a man and a woman, have their backs to the window, facing the lake view.
And at the end of the table, standing to reach a pitcher from its center, is Bonnie.
As real as anything, looking fabulous in a red playsuit and wide-brimmed hat.
I let out an involuntary yelp.
I’ve made it home, after all!
This really is Bonnie’s house, she’s merely changed her kitchen cabinets, and she’s tidied up because she had some older guests visiting.
But who are those people? And how did Bonnie get home so quickly?
At my strangled noise, Bonnie looks up, into the house. Can she see me, through the reflection of the lake on the window? She moves her head to each side, as if to try to make me out.
Suddenly, she sees me. She squeals in excitement and puts the pitcher down with a clatter on the glass table. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” she shrieks, raising both hands. She beckons me to come outside, and my feet follow her instructions. I slowly make my way out to the deck, terrified that all this is a mirage, and I’m about to fall through a hole in the universe yet again.
The sun on the deck is blinding, and the heat intense after the cool interior of the house. Bonnie is hugging me, and I’m hugging her back. “I had no idea you were going to make it, after all! Why didn’t you text to say you were coming?” She swats me lightly on the arm. “Never mind, you’re here now. Have a seat, let’s get you a plate.”
What? None of that makes any sense.
Bewildered, I turn to see who her older guests are.
Angela Mason, Bonnie’s late mother, risen from the grave, gets up out of her chair to greet me.
“We didn’t think we’d see you today, honey. What a nice surprise.” She gives me a hug.
Frank Mason is beaming at me from his seat beside her.
Bonnie and Ben’s dead parents.
Here, on Bonnie’s deck.
I try to respond, but no words come out. Instead, I turn to look out at the lake to somehow reorient myself, before looking back to see whether I was imagining them. But the lake is at a weird, tilty angle, like all the water should fall off the edge of the world.
That’s when I manage to say something.
“I think I’m going to fall down.”
Frank springs to his feet, and manages to guide me as I slump into the patio dining chair at the foot of the table. The deck swims nauseatingly beneath me, and I grip the edge of the table to stop myself falling right off the seat.
“I think she’s dehydrated,” I hear someone say — Bonnie, or her mom.
“Pour her some of that ice tea.”
“Here, put your sunhat on her, she needs shade.”
“We need to get her inside where it’s cool.”
“Lord, she’s white as a sheet.”
“She’s always white, Mom. It’s her Irish skin. No wonder she gets terrible sunstroke.”
“Not usually that white, though, sweetie. She’s almost gray.”
“She probably needs to eat something. There’s nothing to her — all skin and bones.” Frank this time.
“Mill, are you okay?” Bonnie has her hand on my shoulder. It’s a little darker now, shadier. Oh, I have Bonnie’s brimmed hat on. “Can you drink some of this ice tea for me? I think you have sunstroke.”
She raises a glass to my lips, and I sip some of the sweet tea and swallow it down. The deck is tilting less now, no longer like a ship in a storm. More like the gentle swell of a paddleboard on the lake. I take a few deep breaths, and look up. Frank and Angela are still there, in person, and definitely not dead.
I open my mouth to speak again, but all that comes out is a sob from right down in my soul, followed by a flood of tears.
“You poor thing!” Angela says, kindly. “You’re in a bit of a state, huh? Come now, slowly, let’s get you inside.”
I let Angela and Bonnie raise me out of my seat unceremoniously by the armpits and guide me into the cool living room. Frank brings my tall glass of tea and a plate with a huge slice of apple pie and a generous pouring of cream, which he places on the coffee table.
“Have you been out in the sun again without a hat?” Bonnie asks me disapprovingly, once my sniveling has subsided and I’ve sipped some more of the tea. “Seriously, Mill, how many times do I have to tell you? Sunstroke, no joke — remember?”
I do remember. We’d driven in Bonnie’s convertible car to this house the very first time I came here, the Labor Day before starting at Northwestern, and I hadn’t worn a hat the whole drive. I had terrible nausea and a headache for the next two days. Since then, I’ve tried to be good — but I hate wearing hats. They always drown me, and they squish my already flat, straight hair.
This time, however, it’s not the sunstroke that has me floored. It’s the resurrected parents. Two people I loved as much as if they were my own family.
Howare they alive?
Unfortunately, I can’t exactly ask them that. “Why aren’t you dead?” doesn’t seem like an appropriate question right now.
Instead, I smile weakly and eat some apple pie. Pretending to get my strength back up is a good excuse not to talk.
Angela sits down gently beside me on the couch. “Honey, sunstroke aside, it’s a treat to see you.” She pats my knee. “How did your plans change so that you could make it here? Bonnie said you had long weekend plans with that handsome husband of yours, and couldn’t make it.”
The fork freezes on its way to my lips.
Chris?
I’m back in a world where this is Bonnie’s house again, or maybe it’s her parents’ house, and yet I’m still married to Chris? How did that happen?
My mind races. Shit. Maybe that means I still have to go back home to New Buffalo after all. But at least I’m friends with Bonnie again. And the Masons are alive. So... that’s better than yesterday. But still not great.
“Uh... no. Turns out he had his weekly Sunday golf thing with work buddies, so he was busy after all. I figured I’d come up here, since it’s such a lovely day. Surprise,” I add, weakly.
Frank gives Angela a weird glance. “But, Millie, it’s Friday. Do you mean he has a Friday golf thing?”
Friday? No.
It was Sunday afternoon when I left the house today.
I look outside at the long shadows on the deck. The sun is way too low for three in the afternoon, which was the time when I got here.
It’s Friday evening, all over again.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. My brain is addled with this sunstroke. Friday. I meant Friday.”
Ten minutes into having the Masons back, and I’m already lying to them.
Frank raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t have him down as a golfer. Doesn’t he have any Friday afternoon classes? Oh, I guess not in summer, when school is out.”
What in the world is Frank talking about? What classes, what school?
I’d looked up Chris’ profession during my LinkedIn research, too, and it said he’s in pharmaceutical sales — which makes total sense. Nothing about taking any adult education classes, although maybe he chose not to put that on his profile.
Bonnie laughs. “Yeah, Mill, I’m with Dad on that one. Rufus really never struck me as the golfing type.”
Rufus?
She said Rufus, not Chris.
They think I’m married to Rufus. Oh my God.
I’m now in a world where I married Rufus, and the Masons are alive, and Bonnie and I are still friends.
Maybe we’re still friends because I ended up marrying Rufus — because he and I somehow got together legitimately, rather than continuing our illicit affair.
I look down at my left hand, which is gripping my plate of pie. On my ring finger are a glitzy, slightly ostentatious engagement ring — a large stone surrounded by tiny ones — and a wedding band in a white metal of some kind.
The room is swimming again, so I try not to think about it, and focus on finishing my apple pie while Angela and Frank go outside to clear the table. Bonnie’s expression has softened, and she’s looking more approving. “I’m happy to see you eating that, Mill. I swear, you’re getting so thin.”
She’s right. My wrists are tinier than I’ve ever seen them as an adult.
“I’ve lost weight,” I say, dumbly, looking up at her.
“No kidding. Not that you really had much to lose in the first place.” Bonnie holds her hand out to take my plate, but doesn’t stand with it. She pauses, her eyebrows pinching with that look she gets when she wants to say something serious. She studies my empty plate for a moment, then lifts her eyes to me. “Mill... I know you don’t like talking about your marriage, but... I guess it feels like you’ve been stressed for a long time now, and I don’t think it’s just about work. So, when you’re ready to open up to me, I’m here.” She gives me a pointed gaze, eyebrows raised, and gets up to go into the kitchen.
Stressed?
Yeah, just a little. I don’t even understand what universe I’m in.
Apparently one where I’m married to Rufus, the impossibly handsome professor I had an affair with when I was twenty. Which, at the time, in my youthful stupidity, had seemed thrilling and intoxicating — at least to start with. Now, it just seems super sleazy that a professor would sleep with his adoring student while cheating on his partner. Not to mention a really terrible and dumb thing for me to do.
I rise on unsteady legs, and follow Bonnie into the kitchen. Rufus aside, I’ve got to figure out how her parents are alive and well, and currently laughing on her deck. Or, I should say, their deck, since this is evidently still their house. I need to find out what happened the night they died — or didn’t die, apparently.
I lean against the counter, watching my best friend stack the dishwasher.
“Hey,” I say, attempting nonchalance. “I was thinking on the drive up here about that night at the Va-Va-Voom Diner — do you remember? When we had the fight with Ben about Amber.”
Bonnie pauses, still bent down over the plates, her blonde curls obscuring her expression. “Sure,” she says, slowly. “I mean, vaguely. Like, we both told him that she wasn’t right for him, and he got all shitty with us about it, something like that?”
And then he stormed out and left us, so your folks had to drive on icy streets to the diner to pick us up, and that was when it happened.
“Yeah,” I reply. “He got pretty mad about it. Didn’t he walk out in a pissy mood and abandon us there?”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so.” She straightens up and looks at me, eyebrows quizzical. “I mean, I think he might’ve done, but then came back inside, because I would’ve been staying at his place that night? I don’t really remember — it was years ago. Why do you ask?”
I turn away, pretending to busy myself with putting the bread back into the metal bin, hiding my reaction to this news. This tiny but universe-altering adjustment in our timelines.
He came back. In this life, he came back. We never needed to call the Masons to pick us up. They lived.
I breathe through my racing pulse. “Oh, I dunno,” I lie. “I was just thinking about him and Amber, and trying to remember that night — our come-to-Jesus talk with him about their relationship. We were such meddlers.”
Bonnie laughs, and resumes cleaning up. “Yeah. Not that it made much difference, given they’ve been married... what? Four years now? And they seem... okay. Maybe not deliriously happy, and she and I will never be close, but whatever. She’s fine, I guess.”
He married her?
Ben ended up actually marrying Amber?
Oh, fuck.
Still, I married Rufus, apparently, so I’m not one to judge.
This is all wrong. My knees wobble again, and I pull myself onto a stool at the end of the counter, watching my best friend wipe up crumbs around the toaster.
A rush of need to be honest with Bonnie washes over me. I have to tell her. I have to tell Bonnie what’s happening to me — I can’t go through this alone. And we swore we’d always tell each other everything, no matter what, once we’d made up after the whole Rufus thing at Northwestern. I can’t go back on that now.
“Bon?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
I blow out a big breath. “This is going to sound totally nuts, but... I’m in the wrong life, Bon. I don’t know how it happened, and I know it’s impossible, but I walked through your basement door, and then found myself in a life where I was married to Chris, my old boyfriend from the Notables, and you and I weren’t friends anymore. Then I did it again and found myself here, in a life where I’m married to Rufus, and you and I are still friends, and your parents are still alive.”
She stops wiping the counter at this, but doesn’t look up. Her perfectly smooth brow furrows.
I press on. “In my real life, I’m single, and your parents died in a car crash that night we were at the diner. That’s why I nearly fainted outside, Bon. I haven’t seen your parents in six years. I’ve been to their funeral, with you and Ben. We buried them. And I haven’t seen Rufus since we ended our affair at Northwestern.”
Bonnie turns to me, her face scrunched inscrutably, a blue sponge still in her hand.
“Mill... what are you even talking about?” She shakes her curls. “The sun really has gotten to your head. You’re talking cray-cray.”
“I know it sounds totally impossible. It is impossible... but it’s also true. This is not my real life. I’m not really married to Rufus. Not in the... reality where I’m from.”
She puts the sponge down and comes closer, examining my face. She can always tell if I’m lying to her — or to myself. She places a damp hand over mine on the quartz countertop.
“Mill. I don’t... Look. I’ve been worried about you, for a while now. You always refuse to talk about it but, girl... I know things with Rufus aren’t good. And I don’t know where all this weirdness is coming from today, but it’s clear you’re struggling with life right now, and with what’s really happening. You could even be, like, disassociating.” She squeezes my hand, her gaze flitting between my eyes. “We all love you, and we want you to be okay. I think... maybe it’s time we got you some help. Right? Will you let us help you?”
Help?
I don’t even know what “help” looks like, when you’re an apparently delusional person who believes they’re from another reality. But it could very likely involve a mental health facility, and I’m not about to do that. Not willingly.
Although, maybe I should. Maybe this is all a delusion. I mean, that would definitely make more sense than the reality — or realities — that I seem to be living. Maybe I do need professional treatment.
Still, I won’t go down that road without a fight.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Bon. I just... I don’t know what’s gotten into me. This sunstroke has me all over the map. I’m tired and confused, is all. I need to get myself home.”
I slide off the stool and give Bonnie a shaky hug before she can say another word. Her body tenses for a second, as if bracing herself to argue, then relaxes beneath my tentative squeeze. She’s clearly thought better of it — at least for now. I know the last thing she wants is to have to give me some kind of mental health intervention, and now I’ve given her a temporary reprieve from that duty.
“If you’re sure,” she mutters into my ear.
I pull back, giving her a weak smile, and she turns away, struggling to meet my eyes. We may still be friends in this life, but there’s clearly a rift between us that I can do nothing about. And it seems to have a lot to do with my marriage.
I check my pockets and pull out new, different house keys, and a Honda car fob. In my back pocket is an Android phone in a floral-print case.
A new house, a new life, a new timeline. Some good things in it, like the Masons being alive and Bonnie being my friend, again — and several that are not so good.
One, Bonnie doesn’t believe me. And why would she? What I’m telling her seems impossible. Unhinged, even. No, I’m on my own here. Nobody would ever believe this story.
Two, I have a new husband to go home to. Again.
And there’s no clear way of getting back to my real home. My real life. I’m not sure I’ll ever get back there again.
My stomach churns and lurches, and a flood of thick saliva washes the back of my throat. I lean over the side of the counter, and throw up apple pie, cream, and ice tea into the Masons’ trash can.