If I Could Turn Back Time (31 page)

I had to laugh. “True.”

“And none of us trusted him with all these pillows around,” he added sagely.

“Thanks for that.”

“To be honest with you,” he began, which was how he always started juicy gossip, “I’m not sure your mom is really all that into him. Like, at all. She talked an awful lot about a guy named Robert. I gather that was your dad?”

A twinge of sadness pierced through my chest. “Yes.”

Sammy nodded. “She kept saying she felt like he was here. At one point she even swore she smelled Aqua Velva.”

“Seriously?”

He crossed his heart.

“Did you? Smell anything, I mean.”

He shook his head and looked disappointed “You know I’m into the woo-woo. But I couldn’t smell a thing except whatever it is they use to scrub down the floors with. Bleachy sort of Pine-Sol stuff.”

“I’ve been smelling that myself. In my dream or whatever it was. Now and then I’d smell this antiseptic scent that wasn’t consistent with where I was supposed to be.”

I had told him about my experience, my dream or whatever it was, and after a few
Wizard of Oz
jokes, he’d finally taken me seriously and grown interested in the meaning of it all.

“That’s kind of cool, actually. Your mind was in a completely different time and place, but your senses were still here.”

“But they were there too. I could smell, taste, feel—it was all so completely real.”

“The sex was satisfying?”

“Sammy!”

“Well?”

I gave a laugh. “You know there’s nothing like teenage sex. Nothing better.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I never had that particular experience.” He shrugged. “Woe is me.”

“No kidding.”

“Back to you, back to you. What else do you remember? Anything else discordant?”

“There were voices,” I recalled. “Sometimes I heard voices that didn’t quite make sense. But I was so tired so much of the time that a lot of it had a dreamlike quality.”

Sammy looked interested. “Wow. I guess that was a clue that you were here. A little bleed-through between your two realities. Did you do anything to, you know, try and change the future?”

“It wasn’t a movie, Sammy.”

“I know, but we don’t know exactly what it
was
, so it’s not a stupid question.”

“It was a dream.”

“Maybe.”

“What else could it have been?”

“An actual alternate reality. A road not taken. A preview of what could have been. Or even, if you buy the business of time being all over the place, maybe even an alternate
future
.” He widened his eyes dramatically and did flouncy things with his hands. “You never know, it might have been some sort of fortune-telling.”

“Okay, or a dream.” But I didn’t like that explanation either. A mere
dream
was so simple, and this had felt so much more profound than that. This
had
shown me the road not taken. My questions had been answered. Was that a trick of my mind or something greater?

Maybe it didn’t matter.

So I answered Sammy the best I could. “It didn’t seem like anything was all that delicate a thread,” I said. “It wasn’t like the movies where you turn right instead of left and half the population disappears. I don’t know about the butterfly effect in general, but it sure didn’t seem to be at play in this case.”

He looked disappointed. “I guess that’s not really all that surprising. If you’re going to believe in fate, you have to believe it’s not so delicate that an extra beer is going to blow it.”

And yet for how many people had that exact thing made the difference? The extra beer, the extra five minutes in one place before hitting the road and either knocking down a pedestrian or missing a runaway train. Sometimes those small things
did
make a difference.

Didn’t they?

“I hate to think the whole thing is meaningless,” Sammy concluded. “Here we were, scared out of our minds that you weren’t going to come back, and you did.” He sighed and shook his head. “After the odds said you wouldn’t, you did. I wish you had something to show for it, other than a head wound.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

About a year before the accident, I’d begun having panic attacks. Not the wimpy, imagined, oh-my-god-I-was-so-scared-I-was-totally-having-a panic-attack variety, but the real deal: The adrenaline surge in the middle of an otherwise relaxing time, or even in the midst of a deep sleep. The kind that paralyzes you and eventually makes you change the route you drive to work, or the time you go to the grocery store, or your willingness to sit in a crowded movie theater.

The kind, in short, that can really interfere with your life if you let it.

My job was a stressful one, but I’d handled it well for years. But in my mid-thirties, out of the blue, I started having panic attacks and the doctor told me to stop drinking coffee. That was the upshot. I didn’t want to take medication, and meditation was just so boring that I made the one sacrifice that seemed the most obvious for someone who was having trouble with heart palpitations. I stopped drinking coffee.

And in so doing, I’d stopped going to one of my favorite haunts, Brewed Awakening, downtown. A nice little caf
é
with a great, colorful, lively space both inside and out. The owner, Miguel, made the best damn cup of coffee you can imagine. Everything you ever wished coffee could be, but which it always fell short of in real life, Miguel brought to beautiful, delicious life. A toasty, roasted savory drink, smoothed by cream and enlivened with just a hint of sweetness.

Brewed Awakening had legions of followers, and it was always crowded. I’m sure no one noticed when I stopped going, but I sure missed it. Admittedly I could have gone in for the decaf, but something was lacking without the caffeine, and I hadn’t wanted to go back and put myself in the way of all that temptation. It was like an alcoholic hanging out in a bar; it would have made my resolution a whole lot harder.

But the day after I got out of the hospital, I decided to defy panic and had Sammy meet me there for a cuppa. Just for old times’ sake. I was not only craving the coffee; I was craving some sense of normality. My sense of identity had been seriously shaken, so I wanted to return to some places where I knew I’d felt happy and sane.

The coffee shop was a small thing, but it felt important.

“I can’t believe you never told me about this place before,” Sammy said, starting on his second cup. We were sitting outside on the sidewalk, the small shade of a palm tree skittering across us as the wind nudged it back and forth.

“I told you about this place a thousand times. I came here every single day for more than a year and begged you to meet me sometimes so I didn’t have to sit here like a loser.”

He waved that away, as if I were missing the point. “You didn’t tell me I
had
to try it.”

“I believe I did.”

He took another sip, then closed his eyes for a moment to relish it. “You should have forced me.”

I laughed at the very idea. “Because it’s
so
easy to force you to do things.”

He gave a conciliatory nod, and took another sip of coffee. “So there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Did any conversation ever start that way and end with laughter and happiness?

Not usually.

“Tell me you’re not terminally ill.” Because that’s how my mind works. If I could burn calories leaping to the worst possible conclusion, I’d be thin as a rail.

“What?
No!
”

“Good.” My relief was genuine. All that angst over him saying he wanted to talk to me about something. This was the kind of thinking that had led me to the anxiety problem in the first place. “Now tell me
I’m
not terminally ill.” I was kidding, but for just a moment it occurred to me that maybe he’d learned of some test result at the hospital that I didn’t know about.

“You’re crazy,” he said, twirling his finger at his temple. “Does that count?”

“Not as news, no.” I took a gulp myself. God, it was good. Almost chocolate, but not quite. A hint of coconut, but that wasn’t quite it. A creamy mouthful that beat the heck out of any hot chocolate I’d ever had, even at Shake Shack in New York City, which tasted like warm, melted ice cream. This was heaven.

I couldn’t believe I’d managed to go a year without it.

Forget it, I’d take up meditation or something so I could return to my daily habit. Ironically, sitting here drinking the familiar beverage was actually
relaxing
.

“Not everything is about you, missy,” Sammy went on. “As it happens, this is news about Tod and me. Good news,” he hastened to add. He knew me well.

“Okay. Renewing your vows?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. It was hard enough to choke them out the first time! For him, not for me. If I offer him the chance to renew them, he might just decide to revoke them instead.”

“You’re not fooling me,” I said. “Not a chance.” Tod and Sammy were completely devoted to each other. Sammy could afford to joke like that because in his heart he could be absolutely certain it would never, ever happen.

Tod was no scumbag.

No
danger of that.

“Okay, okay, I guess he’s going to stick around a little bit longer. But no, we don’t have plans to renew our vows. You know how Tod hates parties.”

It was true. Lucky for me. That was why I’d been able to have Sammy be my plus-one for so many events. Tod was always working and Sammy was bored, so it worked out for all of us.

“All right, I’m listening,” I said. “What’s really up?”

“Do you remember what we talked about on the boat … that day?” Sammy asked carefully.

No question
which day
, obviously. “We talked about a lot of things. Lisa being pregnant?”

“Yes, and … Tod and I adopting.”

“That’s right! I remember that.”

“Well, what I didn’t tell you then was that after talking about it for ages, we started the official process last year.”

“You
did
? Sammy, why didn’t you tell me?” I felt awful. I was such a shitty, self-centered friend that he hadn’t even felt like he could tell me the biggest thing in his life. “I think it’s wonderful!”

“You do?”

To be honest, inside I felt a twinge. In my head, I’d recently been pregnant. Admittedly I’d had mixed feelings about it, but not all negative. It had reinforced the necessity of the right life partner. I could only imagine the joy Lisa was feeling, but right here, right now, I could
see
the joy Sammy was feeling.

It was written all over his face. His eyes were alight; his face was flushed; he couldn’t stop smiling. Part of that might have been Miguel’s coffee, of course, but, all joking aside, this was the look that any prospective parent
should
have.

Lucky kid.

“Of
course
I do!” I assured him immediately, enthusiastically. “Just because Lisa’s uterus made me question my own doesn’t mean I’m not thrilled for her, and for you, and for
anyone
who gets to take that step when they really want it.”

“But your thing with Brendan—”

“Was a dream! Or a warning. Or something completely unrelated to this.” I was jealous. He was right; my miserly little heart was finding a way, deep inside, to make this about me. “Please. Tell me all about you. You said you started this a year ago, so I guess that means there’s been some movement?”

“Yes. We are traveling to Ethiopia in a couple of weeks with a group of other new parents to pick up our son, Abera.” His eyes filled with tears. “That means
he shines
.”

He had my full attention now, and soon I was crying too. The way he felt, the way he was expressing himself, was the way a person
should
feel about marriage and family. This was his whole life. These people were everything to him. Work was just a means to support the happy home he was building.

“Tod’s work schedule isn’t letting up very soon, so I’m not going to, you know, be able to hang out and play so much anymore. Probably won’t be any more champagne on yachts for a while.”

“Of course! You’re going to be Mr. Mom. I’ll go over to your place and we’ll drink champagne from sippy cups.”

“Or coffee.” He raised his cup to me. “You’ve created a monster here. I may never be the same.”

“It’s good stuff.”

He smiled, then leaned over and gave me a hug across the table. “I love you, sista. Soon you’re going to have it all too.” He kissed my cheek. “I know it. I have a feeling.”

I was glad he was hugging me, because the tears began to flow freely. “Don’t worry about me,” I said, with what I hoped was convincing bravado. “I’m so happy for you, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

He drew back and looked at me. “Thank you, my friend.”

I sniffed quickly and hoped he didn’t notice. “So when are we going shopping for baby things?”

“As soon as we have Abera. I haven’t wanted to put the cart before the horse, you understand. Bad luck. That’s why we didn’t tell anyone about this until we had a pickup date.”

I nodded. “Everything will go smoothly, I know it.”

He touched my lips and pointed at the sky.
From your lips to God’s ear
.

“Gotta fly,” he said. “Talk soon!”

I blew him a kiss and watched him very nearly float down the sidewalk to his car.

It wasn’t the coffee. It was happiness. I wondered what that brand of happy felt like.

But as I gazed down the sidewalk where he’d just been, I realized I
was
genuinely happy. It was good to see my friend so excited, and, for that moment, that was enough for me too.

My father (or my dream subconscious?) had reminded me that everything happens for a reason. Absolutely everything. So maybe time and place
did
matter after all. But maybe not to an exacting degree; perhaps fate gave us more than one chance at the right time and place.

But, as Benjamin Franklin pointed out, God helps those who help themselves.

I’d learned that companionship was really important to me. More so than I’d ever admitted, to myself or to anyone else. So it was time I took matters into my own hands.