Chapter 63
Oh, you’re here. Finally,” the other me said with a
disapproving tone.
“Uh,” I said, because
as God (or Laura’s mom) was my witness, I had no idea what to say.
At all.
“I thought I
remembered us arriving a day earlier.” The other me sighed. “But
you’re here now. I guess:”
Laura was looking at
me, and then at me. And I was looking at me, too. I looked the
same—same blonde hair, same red lowlights. Same thirty-year-old
face. I was wearing a steel gray sheath dress with a sharp, square
neckline. No jewelry . . . not Erin’s necklace,
nothing.
No engagement ring,
no wedding ring.
“You look . . .
nice.”
“And you stink,”
Other Me said, opening a drawer and rummaging through it. “Ye gods.
I can’t believe I didn’t take five minutes in one of those time
streams to hose off. The Mississippi River was right there in one of them, and I didn’t take so
much as a quick dip.”
“Don’t be so hard on
yourself,” I snapped back, and Laura’s hand flew up to pinch her
lips. But her shaking shoulders told the story and restored some of
my equilibrium. “So, where are we?”
“Don’t you mean
when?”
“Are you going to
tell us, or do we have more of your stand-up to listen to?” Yep, I
was a real bitch. Times two.
“You’re in Minnesota,
of course. I’m entirely too attached to this part of the world,”
Other Me muttered. “Though I did try to like Hawaii before things
got chilly.” She had taken a sort of computer thingie out of her
drawer—it was flat, like a pad, and only about eight inches tall
and five inches wide, like a Kindle, but complex. No plugs and no
buttons. Now she was sliding her fingers across it, talking to us
without looking up. So rude. “It’s July
third and if memory serves, you’re here to observe, panic, raise a
ruckus, be irritating, ask many unnecessary questions, start a
couple of fights, judge our way of life without suggesting how we
might improve, then depart vowing to save the world. As you can
see,” Other Me said, laying her weird electric-pad computer thing
aside, “you failed. Because I remember being here, talking to me. I
remember you.” She pointed at Laura and finally showed an
expression that resembled warmth: she smiled. “I remember being
dismayed at what I found here, and I remember swearing to find a
way to fix it. As you can see, I didn’t.”
Neither Laura nor I
could think of a thing to say.
“Since you now know
you can’t fix anything,” Other Me said hopefully, “maybe you can
skip all the nonsense and just return to hell. Which reminds me.”
Another warm smile for Laura. “Say hello to your mother for me when
you get back.”
“Okay,” she replied,
wide-eyed.
“I’m kind of in the
middle of things right now,” Other Me said, running distracted
fingers through her fabulous highlights. “But I’ve arranged for a
tour. And for your many pointless annoying questions to be
answered.”
“Well, gee whiz, I
didn’t get you anything.”
“Yes, very
funny.”
The big wooden door
opened and a gorgeous guy poked his head in. “Hi, you rang?
Oh!”
“Yes, they’re here,
finally, could you . . . ?” Other Me was back at work, not looking
up from her thing-that-wasn’t-a-Kindle.
“Sure,” Gorgeous Guy
replied, and grinned at us. “Come on, I’ll give you the
fifty-dollar tour.”
“My mom always called
it the nickel tour.”
“Mine, too!” Laura
said, brightening. “My adopted mom, I mean.”
“Well, inflation,” he
said, and ushered Laura and me back out into the
hallway.