Occult Suspense for Mothers Boxset: The Nostalgia Effect by EJ Valson and Mother's by Michelle Read (2 ebooks for one price) (21 page)

CHAPTER 2

“Jenni, Jenni!” I awaken to the sound of Joe’s voice. I feel his arm around the back of my neck, sitting me up. Olivia is crying.

“It’s OK, Livi, Mommy is OK,” Joe comforts her, with worry in his voice.

My body feels heavy in his arms. I don’t want to get up. I’m afraid that if I do, I will still be here and this reality doesn’t make sense to me. Panic quickly returns. My head is swirling and I can feel my pulse in my eyes. I can’t comprehend where I am or why I’m here. Why is Olivia younger and why is she not scared of this situation? Why are they acting like this is normal?

“Jenni, do you want me to call 911?” Joe asks.

”Yes!” I say, instantly alert. “Call 911!” I grab at his arm and plead with him. “Please, I need help!”

Joe pulls away at my sudden and forceful outburst. Little Olivia is still crying, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Mommy is scaring me,” she chokes through the tears. Joe pulls her close to him.

“It’s OK, Livi. Mommy just fainted. She’ll be OK.” Joe then turns to me, confused and slightly agitated. “Jenni, what is wrong with you?”

I look at my ex-husband, then at mysteriously young Olivia. She is clinging to Joe as he strokes the top of her head. Why are we all in this room together and why do we appear to be a family? And why does she look like she is four years old again? When I saw her yesterday she was twelve! There are so many “why’s” running through my mind, all at once.

As I stare at them, and they back at me, a sudden calm washes over me. I quickly realize that I must pull myself together or I will be hauled off to the looney bin. I fear that if Joe calls 911, they are likely to think I’m schizophrenic, take me away, drug me up and isolate me. Play along, I tell myself.

“I’m OK, Baby. I’m OK,” I say to Olivia softly.

I sit up and hold out my arms for her to embrace me. She slowly slides off Joe’s lap and gently folds herself into me. Her scent and the weight of her body are so familiar to me. Her small feet brush my leg as she climbs into my lap. This is my baby, through and through. She is my Olivia, somehow both who she was before and who she is as I know her now, at age twelve. She is still my baby.

Joe watches me, concerned and unsure, as if I might snap again. “Are you sure you’re OK?” Joe asks warily.

I nod, but I’m thinking to myself, No I AM not OK! I have no idea where I am, but they seem to. They are acting like this is normal, but I don’t know why. My heart feels as if it has broken in two. Why am I here with them? Where is my real life? Where is Michael and
our
daughter Stella?

CHAPTER 3

I am s
itting on the floor in front of them. I feel like an alien or a character from one of those movies where people switch places. When I’m confident Joe and Olivia are reassured and settled, I get up to go to the bathroom -- mostly to confirm who I am. Looking in the mirror, clearly I
am
me, but slightly younger. I lift up the unfamiliar nightgown I’m wearing, one I would never have chosen, and look at my stomach. The stretch marks from my pregnancy with Stella are non-existent. My stomach is flatter, my breasts rounder and more firm. I don’t have the markings of having borne another child as I had yesterday.

I turn around to check between my shoulder blades. “My tattoo,” I whisper sadly.

It’s gone. There is no longer a soft pink lily gracing my bare skin. It begins to dawn on me that I’m not
me
anymore. I appear to be a form of my past self. For a brief moment I feel a slight ping of pleasure, enjoying my younger self’s body, but then a deep pinch in my gut resists the good feelings and reminds me that I am lost.

I can hear
the sound of cartoons coming from the living room and cereal being poured into a bowl. The smell of Rogers coffee, Joe’s favorite, is brewing. It is a smell I’m no longer accustomed to, as my husband...well…I guess my future husband, Michael only drinks a Swedish brand native to his hometown. Instantly I’m stabbed with a longing ache for him. Where is he? I feel panic starting again, but I will it away to avoid another scene.

I feel like a visitor in a place that is apparently my home, judging by the small touches of my obvious decor taste and family photos placed upon a brick mantel and the surrounding walls. I try not to appear out of sorts, but I cannot help but gaze at images of captured moments that I have no memory of. Has this
always
been my life? Do Michael and Stella really exist or did I have a vivid lifelike dream that has me completely confused and disoriented? Am I losing my mind?

Joe doesn’t say anything
to me, as I pretend to straighten pictures on the wall while I secretly inspect them for any sign of photo editing. He instead focuses on concealing the mess he is creating with pancake batter and bacon in the kitchen.

I gaze upon pictures of our wedding day that I actually
do
remember, and photos of Olivia’s birthdays, Christmases and family camping trips with friends who haven’t talked to me in years in my other life. But they look recent. Are we still friends?

Suddenly there is a knock at the door and it swings open.
I jump, startled by the interruption.

“Hey, Kids! Morning!” My dad shouts out as he comes through the door. Without hesitation I run to him and hug him tight.

“Dad!” I exclaim with relief. He freezes, surprised by my overzealous welcome.

“Nice to see you too!” he chuckles. I hesitantly let go of him. I want my dad to see the fear in my eyes, to tell me this isn’t real, and save me from whatever this is. Instead his expression only tells me that he is confused. It is the same expression Joe wore earlier.

“Grandpa!” Olivia calls, as she runs and jumps into his embrace. In my mind I quietly thank her for distracting them from my odd behavior.

“Hey, Jim. You hungry?” Joe asks my dad.

“Nah,” he replies. “I just stopped by to drop off the weed w
hacker for you. It’s on the porch. Mary is in the car waiting for me to take her to breakfast.”

Mary?
I think. Who the hell is Mary? Where is Nancy, my stepmother?

“OK, no problem. Thanks for bringing that by,” Joe says
, as he refocuses on his task of making breakfast.

“Are you sure you can’t stay, Dad?” I say
, almost pleading. He hugs me again, and holds me tight at his side.

“You OK?” h
e asks, concern on his face. I’m almost on the verge of tears, but I pull it together, as it is obvious he is living in the same reality as Joe and Olivia.

“Yeah, I’m just tired and I feel like I haven’t seen you much lately
,” I respond, covering my distress. Joe and my dad look at me puzzled.

My d
ad chuckles and looks at me quizzically. “We just got back from spending a week together at the coast yesterday,” he says.

I
realize I’m really blowing it. “I know,” I answer lightly, trying to cover myself. “It was just sort of chaotic. It would be nice to wind down and chat.” I hope this reassures him.
 

He nods
in agreement. “Well, we will have dinner at our place soon,” he says, and with that he gives a wave to Joe, a kiss to Olivia and to me a pat on the shoulder as he walks out the door. I surreptitiously peek out of the window to try to get a glance of this “Mary” lady. The sun’s reflection on his old Cadillac’s window makes it impossible to see her face. I only catch a glimpse of white-blonde hair as he quickly drives away.

I instantly miss my dad. I feel desperately alone again, trapped in a place I’m supposed to know as my home, with my first daughter at the peak of her toddlerhood, a husband I shouldn’t be married to anymore and memories of a life that either doesn’t exist or has been going on without me.

CHAPTER 4

I’m grateful when Joe announces he is heading out to his parents’ to help his dad work on his yard. In the old days, that meant he would be gone for hours. For a short while I’ll be able to let my guard down and try to discover where I really am and why. Younger Olivia seems oblivious to her mother’s odd behavior and continues about her day, playing with baby dolls and watching her favorite movie at that age. It is a miniscule gesture of familiarity, and it comforts me.

Later, when I realize
Olivia still takes naps, I put her down to sleep. As she climbs willingly into her bed, I remember how easy she was at that age. My other daughter Stella is spunky and spirited and doesn’t fear consequences as much as Olivia did. I brush the hair out of her big blue eyes. Little did I know when she was that age, that when she got older her eyes would be more green-colored, like Joe’s. At this moment in time her cheeks are still round and her complexion is clear and unscathed by makeup or blemishes. Her chubby hands hold my cheeks as I give her a kiss on the nose while tucking her in. I miss her at this age, and yet here she is.

After I tuck her in for a nap, I rush to get to work on sorting out my new circumstances. What day is it? What month is it? It
could be summer, based on the outside temperature and ample sunshine. If the flowers are blooming, it probably is. But if it really is 2005, I’m not sure we have a computer or the internet for me to do research and orient myself. When Joe and I were married, we weren’t very tech savvy, especially him, so I don’t know what to expect.

As I explore the house, I see w
e appear to have a big screen TV, VCR/DVD combo and what looks like a gaming console, but I’m not even sure if Joe has a cell phone. There is a cordless phone connected to a landline in the living room, but who would I call? I can’t remember anyone’s phone number by heart but Michael’s. In my “real” life, everyone I normally call is programmed into my cell phone along with their names. While walking around the house contemplating, a light bulb goes off in my head. PURSE!!! I have to have a purse!

I quickly begin searching for some sign of my personal belongings. At my real home they are usually at my bedside. Do I put them there now? I hurry back to the bedroom. No sign of
a purse there. I make a 180 degree turn back to the living room, and check on the floor in areas where one might drop shoes and keys. By the door, by the phone…nothing. I gaze around the kitchen, but the counters are clear.

Then I notice a black strap hanging over a dining room chair. YES
! That is what I used to do! I feel as if I struck gold in the ugly black bag hanging at the dining room table. “Why do I have this?” I ask myself out loud. “It is so....boring!” Not my style anymore at all.

I open the efficiently designed zippers and compartments until I finally find an inside pocket. My fingers encounter the cool hard plastic of something about the size of a phone. “Yes!” I say, a little too loud.

I pause for a minute when I realize I don’t remember how to use this type of phone. It is full of buttons and a
QWERTY keyboard. It’s nicer than what I used to have when Joe and I were married, but it doesn’t compare to the touchscreen I am used to. I finally locate the contacts list. Mom, Joe, Dad, the Mary person, Joe’s parents, his brother, his sister, and my friend Kelly.

Kelly! Yes, I’m still friends with Kelly. Phew! Everyone I still know is listed here, and even some who I’m no longer in touch with later on in my life. I check the history. It appears I still call my mother frequently, my dad too, Joe about once a day -- looks like mostly lunchtime calls. Kelly...it’s been awhile, but that is consistent with our pattern in my other life.

The dates in the call log are for July 2005. I search for the calendar feature in the phone. The date is July 31st. It hits me like a truck. It is Stella’s 3rd birthday. Where is she? Where am I? I slump to the floor and begin to sob. I ache for my baby. I want to go home.

C
HAPTER 5

I sit on the floor for what seems like forever, listening to the sound of blood throbbing through my skull. My heart is
wrenching in my chest. Are Michael and Stella out there somewhere in the time that I left? Am I missing in their world? Do they think I left, that I abandoned them in the middle of the night? Are they looking for me? Tears stream down my cheeks and spill onto the floor as these thoughts race through my mind.

The last thing I remember from
my other life, before I woke up in this one, is being angry with Michael right before we went to bed. I didn’t want to talk to him so I went to sleep without saying goodnight. Things between us had been awkward and strained for quite a while. Five and a half years of marriage, seven years together and raising a baby had accumulated into more stress than solace.

What was once a beautiful love story was becoming mundane and stale under the pressures of daily life. I resented him for it and hated myself for being resentful. But I couldn’t exactly explain why. I found myself frequently irritated and bored. In fact, my last thought before I fell asleep the night before I arrived here was,
“Maybe I don’t belong here anymore.”
I meant that literally in the sense of sharing a marital bed with him. The irony of those thoughts is not lost on me in this moment.

Now
I am here in this vortex of reality, living in a past I don’t remember at all. My future family is not tangible. The closest person I have to that life is Olivia and she is oblivious to the life we have somewhere else far away in the future. I regret every ounce of my past resentment and wish nothing more than to be back in that life again. But how will I get back, and if I can’t, how on earth will I survive being here, without Michael and Stella?

The only thing that brings slight comfort to me is that the day and month today is almost the same as it was in the life I seem to have left behind. Time is simply off by eight years and a few days. For some reason that fact makes me feel a little more grounded in my current predicament.

I wipe away my tears. I
deliberately inhale and exhale. I pray that Michael and Stella are safe, that they don’t notice I am gone, or that they are frozen in time and will wait for me to come back. I have to believe this -- it is the only thing that will get me up off of this unfamiliar floor. I have no answers. I have no one to ask questions of. I’m all alone in this.

I rifle through the rest of my wallet, finding one credit card, a bank card to the same bank that I still bank at in my futur
e, a bulk store membership card and an appointment reminder card. It’s set for Tuesday and it is for a family counselor. What? We are in marriage counseling?

“
Dr. M. Fetter, Marriage and Family Counselor, appointment reminder 3:30, Tuesday August 2nd
,” the appointment card reads. Great, so now I have an appointment with a shrink and I have no idea why we have been going there. What I am supposed to say, IF I even decide to show up?

I dig through
my purse a little more and find a pair of car keys. “Yes!” I exclaim in a loud whisper.

Now I feel a hint of freedom. I guess I’m not really a prisoner after all. I may be stuck in 2005, but at least I am stuck as me. That means I can drive, shop and everything else I’d normally do all the while pretending to be the old Jenni.

I tiptoe into little Olivia’s room and rouse her. She grumbles. I smile as I re
flect that she will still be hard to wake up when she gets older. She loves her sleep.

“Baby,” I whisper to her. “Mommy needs to go to the grocery store. Can you get up?”

She sits up half asleep and I pull her out of bed. She rests her head on my shoulder. She is heavy, but I’m enjoying this. I am reminded that you never truly know the last time you will hold your child. If you realized that the next time you rocked your child, pushed their stroller, or carried them would be the last, you would find a way to make it linger longer.

I slip on her sandals, while wondering if I need to bring a diaper bag. No, she is four, she is potty trained. I am not used to leaving the house without extra supplies in tow. I make it out the front door and lock up the house. I see an older Honda sedan in the driveway. This pleases me, because it is not just any Honda, it is
my
old Honda. Nothing fancy, just a standard model, but when we got it, it felt new to me and I loved it. Seeing it again lifts my spirits.

I put Olivia in her booster seat, then climb into the driver’s seat.

“Hello, old friend,” I say.

“Who’s your friend, Mommy?” Olivia questions.

I smile to myself
at her innocence. “The car, Baby, that’s all,” I reply.

She giggles, as she finds my response funny. I push the button to blast the AC on and slowly back out of the driveway onto the unfamiliar street. I still have no idea where I apparently live.

I find the nearest exit to a main street. As I pull up to the stop sign, I look to my left and quickly orient myself. It seems that we live about a mile away from my future house. Coincidentally, to my left happens to be Stella’s future daycare. But the car in the driveway is not that of Stella’s teacher. Instead there is a minivan and a pickup truck. This confirms that Stella’s playschool is not there yet. My heart sinks as I turn left and slowly pass the house. Would Stella ever go there? Would she ever even exist?

I now know exactly where I am. We must have bought a house in the older subdivision down the street from my
dad’s manufactured home. The houses here are all ranch style, with large lots. Some are kept up. Others are run down, with old cars in the driveways and overgrown lawns. However, it appears we try to maintain ours well.

I turn right onto the main street, heading towards my future house. This part of town is older, so everything looks pretty much the same. It is still a rural side of town, with hay fields and homes inter-mixed. As I approach the stoplight my heart begins to race. I feel as if I can’t get to my future house soon enough. The light turns green and I proceed straight through rather than turning left at the light to enter the shopping center. I then pass the other entrance into the shopping center.

“Mommy, this isn’t the way to the store,” Olivia chimes in from the back seat. Smart girl knows the way to the store
. I should have figured as much.

“Oops! Mommy isn’t thinking. I passed it,” I say, playing dumb. I hope that excuse will work so I can pull into the private road that leads to my
real
home. As I prepare to turn left, I abruptly stop.

There is no complete driveway. The houses are still in the process of being built. Only frames stand on the small cul-de-sac that will eventually hold five homes. The road is
just dirt and gravel, so I slowly drive in and pull all the way to where our house is supposed to be. I put the car in park and stare. My future home is not here. My future family is not here. Nobody lives here.

My heart sinks again. I hold my breath to fight back tears.

“Mommy, where are we?” Olivia asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply, with a lump in my throat and a deep ache in my heart.