June, this year #3
I mean, Stephen is a great guy, but after trying about a hundred lives — many of which could easily be much crappier than what I’m used to, and some perhaps even scary — surely I’d give up on him and just stick with something halfway decent to live out my days? I can’t keep trying forever, right?
I pull back out onto the road and join the traffic heading towards Lake Bluff. It’s weird, but I almost feel better now that I have the beginnings of an insane, ridiculous plan.
Try to find my life with Stephen, while maybe helping out other versions of me along the way. With the caveat that I won’t do it forever, and may choose to give up when I find a livable life.
And try not to lose my mind in the process.
Within twenty minutes, I’m parked a few hundred yards down from the Masons’ house. I’ll have to sneak in without them seeing that I’m back, less than twenty-four hours after I left them. But at least I know the gate code in this world.
One more really important thing to do before I switch lives again.
Get a message to the Millie who’s married to Rufus to not go back home, and to leave him forever.
Who knows if she will listen to me, or believe any of this?
But I can surely make her believe that Rufus is furious, as it won’t be long before he finds out about the text I sent to Chantel, and he’ll be calling and texting to find out where his wife is.
As if to help me out, the phone tinkles in its floral case. A text from Rufus, as I predicted.
Not an expression of rage. Tight, controlled. Almost scarier.
Where are you? I need to talk to you. I came back home but you weren’t there. Call me asap.
I blow out a big breath, and hit reply.
Hey, I’m out for the afternoon. Didn’t think you were coming home today. What’s up?
The reply is almost instantaneous.
Where are you? We need to talk about something urgent.
I need to send him as far away from Lake Bluff as possible.
If he gets wind of me coming to the Masons’ house, he might arrive here right when a bewildered version of me is left outside the basement door, and take her home to God-knows-what punishment.
I need to make up a story to throw him off my scent.
Sure! I went out today to visit a friend from work in New Buffalo. She needs me right now — boyfriend trouble. Back in time for dinner if you want to talk.
Hopefully he hasn’t put a tracker on my car and knows I’m lying — presumably not, or he’d already be following me here. He’s probably accustomed to a docile, compliant wife, not the rebellious one he got today.
Just one quick reply.
Please make sure you are home by then. I’ll be waiting.
Hopefully he’ll be waiting a long time for his wife to come home. Hopefully forever.
I open the Notes app on the phone, and find countless notes stored within.
Shopping lists, to-do lists, recipes, ideas.
Way more than even I use it for. She probably uses this much more than handwritten lists, as the phone can only be opened by passcode or facial recognition.
It’s probably the only safe place she can record things privately.
There’s a directory titled “Mine” with a series of documents inside it.
Lists of dates, with notes next to them such as “out all night” and then sometimes a woman’s name next to that. Often with a question mark next to the name.
A list of women’s names, with Chantel as the second-last entry, and Nichole — whoever she is — after that. Maybe the set designer?
This world’s version of me has been tracking Rufus’s infidelities.
This gives me some encouragement. Maybe she was already mustering the courage to leave, and was collecting the evidence she would need for a divorce on the grounds of adultery.
I can only hope that’s true, and that what I’ll tell her today will finally sway her.
I open a new note, and title it “!! READ ME!!” so that it appears at the top of her list of documents.
Dear Millie,
This is the most impossible thing I’ve ever written, given that it’s to me from . . . me. I am also Millie. I am you, only another version of you, who has unwittingly traveled into your version of life, and lived it for less than twenty-four hours.
Yes, the multiverse is a real thing, and there are infinite possible versions of ourselves.
But I have no time to go into that now. Just please believe me, and believe this is real.
For example, only I could know about the time I was ten years old and stole the money out of the fountain in Briars Park, and then felt so terrible that I later put it all back plus my savings, then Dad was furious I’d spent all my piggy bank money.
I never told anyone that. Yes, it’s really me. Really you.
I can’t possibly explain how all this works.
I just need to tell you that there are better lives than the one you are living now.
I know that YOU know your husband is a liar, a cheat, and a narcissistic asshole.
I don’t know how badly he has treated you, but I know it’s not good.
I don’t know why you’re still with him, but I do understand his allure, and how he can make you feel like the most amazing person in the world while also being totally worthless and nothing without him. I get that, truly.
But you are strong, and you can leave him. And now you must — he’s really mad at me, and therefore you, as I told one of his mistresses that he was married. He’s furiously waiting for me — you — to go home, and I don’t know what he’ll do. You can NEVER GO BACK.
I’ve packed an overnight bag for you, in the back seat of the Honda, which is parked a little way down the street (in case you read this before you find the car).
Knock on the Masons’ front door — Bonnie should be there, too, she’s staying there this weekend — and tell them you’ve left Rufus.
They will give you safe harbor. Then, for God’s sake, divorce that asshole.
You’ve got a great cache of dates of his infidelities, so I have to believe you were already planning to leave.
I won’t be back. Go live your life, and make it a better one. I wish you all the joy in the universe.
Millie
I close the phone and stuff it in my pocket.
In case she finds the car before she goes to her notes, which is more than likely, I grab an opened envelope and pen from my purse, and scrawl a handwritten note “CHECK YOUR PHONE NOTES ASAP — URGENT!!” and leave it on the dash where she can’t avoid seeing it.
That way she won’t miss my letter and drive home to an ambush.
Now I’ve done all I can for her, and it’s time to fix me. Or, at least, go onto the next version of me — whatever that is.
I lock up the Honda, put the keys in my other pocket, and walk up to the Masons’ gate.
I step up onto the flat rock by the pillar to see if I can gauge who’s home.
Bonnie’s car is there, as it was when I left last night, along with the Masons’ cars and another gray one I don’t recognize.
Probably another guest — maybe Ben. It looks like something Ben might drive.
The flutter of laughter on the breeze drifts towards me. Sounds like there’s a small party on the deck — which makes sense, given it’s such a hot day.
If I’m gonna be stuck in a three-day time loop, cycling through multiverses, thank goodness it’s nice weather. Unless there’s a universe where I’ve managed to affect the weather through some kind of butterfly effect, but I doubt it.
I’m almost chuckling to myself as I key in 0214 into the gate, and wince as it opens with a metallic clang. Hopefully nobody heard. I also need to be careful not to crunch loudly on this gravel drive.
I step across quietly and slowly, jumping the last bit onto the side lawn. As I descend the slope, the voices on the deck are much clearer. Angela and Frank, laughing. Bonnie, excitedly exclaiming about something, her voice high. A low voice, then — Ben’s.
I stop at the door, listening to him. There’s a laughter in his voice, too — I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but I can tell it’s his storytelling voice. He’s on a roll with some kind of tale, and Bonnie is chiming in.
It takes all I have not to abandon my multiverse-seeking strategy, and simply go join them on the deck. I could stay in this world, and leave Rufus myself, divorce him myself. Live this life, where things aren’t so bad, and the Masons are alive, and Bonnie and Ben are my friends.
I let the low rumble of Ben’s voice wash over me. I always feel safe when Ben’s around.
It would be so easy, it’s so tempting, to just go up via the deck steps.
Then another voice. Female, higher-pitched, a little more nasal.
Amber.
Shit. I forgot that Ben’s married to Amber in this version of reality.
Suddenly, the prospect of joining the Masons on the deck is a lot less appealing.
Back to the plan. Anyways, I can’t lose my chance to find that perfect life I’ve been looking for, right? The one I’ve wished for, for so many years. A life with Stephen.
I tug hard on the basement door, and it comes towards me with its multiverse-portal-opening whoosh.
I step inside.