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  This can’t be happening.

  There is no way you, and everything else, could suddenly change like this.

  No way in hell.

  Wait, wait, wait, oh God, wait…

  A high-pitched keening rose from my throat as I sought my lower belly with a sudden vengeance – no longer did it retain the feeling of a life beyond my own, the small but persistent swelling ache of pregnancy. I was hollow-hipped and empty.

  Empty.

  Oh, dear God, what is happening?

  I sank to a crouch, bringing my folded hands to my lips. Shaking, profoundly terrified, I begged, Please let this be a nightmare. Let me wake up. Let me wake up right now. Oh God, let me wake up right now.

  Nothing shifted, nothing altered. All but feral now, desperate for answers, I leaped to my feet and tore headlong back to The Spoke. Or, what had been The Spoke only minutes ago.

  “Case!” I screamed his name repeatedly, running around to the back entrance where I’d found him once before, pounding my fists on the door, ready to break windows and force an entry. Case had been playing his fiddle on the stage when I’d seen him last and with the tunnel vision of the desperate, that’s where I figured I had to find him now. The murky silence released no clues, revealed nothing. Tears dripped from my chin and clogged my throat. In the course of a fairly eventful life, I had never been more frightened. Something chimed in my memory, stilling my frantic movement. This time, I yelled a different name. “Camille! Are you here? Where are you?”

  I was certain I’d heard my sister screaming for me just before…

  Before it happened, whatever it was. Whatever Fallon had done and Derrick had tried to warn me about. I continued my frenzied trek around the building and almost tripped over her huddled form, falling to my knees and wrapping her in both arms. She lay on her right side in exactly the same position in which I’d awakened, limbs drawn inward, chin tucked down. My breath exploded in bursting huffs, intense relief that she was here, that I was not alone in this nightmare.

  “Are you all right? Can you hear me?” It took effort to keep my voice at least a few notches below outright panic. I smoothed hair away from her ear. “Milla, can you hear me?”

  She groaned and shuddered; the back of her head struck my chin as she jolted to sudden consciousness, catching me off guard. I muffled a cry, releasing her to clutch my jaw.

  “Tish,” she moaned, staggering to her knees. “Where are we? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, Milla, I’m so scared. The last thing I knew I was out here in the parking lot talking to Derrick Yancy.” The words emerged from my mouth like small corks bobbing on ocean breakers. “And then I heard you screaming. I heard Case shouting for me…oh God…”

  We were out of range of the streetlight and her eyes appeared as nothing but two dark sockets, but I knew her features better than my own. I felt her potent fear, her inability to grapple with what was happening. She grabbed my arms and the trembling in her body flowed into mine.

  “What happened inside The Spoke? Do you remember?” I persisted, clutching her coat in a two-handed grip, as though she might just melt away if I released hold.

  “I…we…”

  “Tell me, Milla, please tell me. We have to figure out what’s happening.”

  “It was so strange, so fast…the entire room started to fade away, just disappear.”

  “Disappear where?” I stifled the urge to shake answers from her.

  “I don’t know.” Small gasps punctuated her words. “I tried to…stand up…but I couldn’t…”

  “And then what?!”

  “It was like everything just…went gray and static.” She gulped but then steadied her voice, with effort. “They knew something was wrong at the last second, Tish, but it was too late. Case jumped from the stage, shouting for you…and Mathias…oh God, Mathias…” His name broke her and she covered her mouth, bending forward with the strength of her cries.

  Case. Of course he had tried to reach me but I’d been outside. Camille sobbed, clinging to my ribcage, hiding her face against my coat; I held fast, rocking her side to side, my thoughts shrieking and flapping like a thousand panicked birds startled by approaching hunters. Agony would overtake and cripple us if we let it – and I knew we could not let it, not now. We had to figure this out, had to get to the bottom of it. I wanted my husband with an intense, all-consuming ache, but I gritted my teeth and mustered a measure of calm.

  “Milla, listen to me.” I waited for a second, until I sensed her paying attention. “There have to be some clues as to what happened. Everything around us seems different, like we’re in some sort of alternate reality or something, but we can’t panic right now. It’s the worst fucking thing we could do. Come on, let’s get up. Let’s find out everything we can, okay?”

  She nodded slowly, using her knuckles to scrape tears from her cheeks, looking exactly like her daughters. It had not dawned on me until just then that if everyone else we knew had disappeared, consumed in the roaring vortex of whatever the hell it was that changed the world as we knew it, her children had likely also been casualties.

  Oh dear God, oh Jesus Christ, no…

  “Come on, let’s go around front where it’s not so dark,” I ordered, helping her to her feet.

  Together we rounded the corner of what had been The Spoke, confronted immediately by the only other sign of human habitation, the small green Toyota with Minnesota plates.

  “Whose car?” Camille whispered.

  “I don’t know. Let me look at you,” I demanded instead, turning her toward the streetlight. “I want to see if you’ve changed. Look, my clothes are different.” I indicated my body. Camille’s outfit had indeed altered and I grasped her left hand to check for the familiar sight of her gold wedding band, an antique ring Mathias had given her, inscribed on the inner rim with the words I am yours for all time.

  She noticed at the same second. “My ring is gone. It’s gone. That means…that means…” She began to buckle and I grabbed her elbows, keeping her upright.

  “Mine is gone, too,” I confirmed. Steeling my nerves against the onslaught of anguish, I looked hard into my sister’s stricken eyes. “And I’m not…” I bit back a moan. “I’m not pregnant anymore.”

  I saw it engulf her face, the absolute need to fall apart, and so I yelled. I hated myself for yelling at her but I could not let her crumble to bits. “No! Camille, no! Don’t do this, please, don’t do this. We have to stick together!”

  “It’s just like my nightmares…oh God oh God…”

  “Camille!”

  “LET GO OF ME!” Her eyes blazed with unchecked ferocity and I obeyed at once, helpless as she fell to all fours on the gravel, hyperventilating before giving way to a wailing, inhuman crescendo of distress. The hair on my nape stood straight and at last I covered my ears, doubling forward into a crouch and squeezing my eyes shut, as though to do so would block out the sound and sight of my sister beyond all control.

  It seemed she would never stop.

  I wrapped both arms around my head and pressed my forehead hard against my knees.

  I could still hear her screams long after the sound finally ceased.

  The town was truly empty this night. No one came running to investigate, no vehicles scrolled past on Main. Even after falling quiet, Camille remained on all fours, head hanging. Feeling at last able to approach, I crawled to her side and sat on one ankle. I wasn’t sure if I should touch her or not; instinct won out and I curled a careful hand around her right shoulder.

  I had almost given up hope when she reached up and grasped my fingers.

  We took stock to the best of our ability. A quick walk to the sign welcoming visitors to town assured us that this was still indeed Jalesville. The population, however, had fallen slightly. This Jalesville boasted no all-night gas station, no drugstore beaming with the cheerful fluorescent lights to usher us within a space where someone worked and might be able to provide additional information. No matter h
ow unbelievable it seemed, we were walking and breathing and existing in an altered time-frame. The most probable theory was based on the only real clue we possessed, which was that Fallon Yancy had done something in the past to transform what we’d known as reality to the current reality.

  But what? And how?

  Back in the parking lot of The Spoke and exhaling with exertion from the walk to the road sign in the chilly night air, we stripped from our coats and searched every last pocket. Camille turned up a key ring strung with three keys, one of which worked on the Toyota beneath the streetlight. Once inside the car we dug through everything, tearing apart the contents of the glove compartment, then a single suitcase and two purses we found in the backseat, assuming correctly that these items were ours. Our driver’s licenses were current; mine identified me as Patricia Gordon and my address was listed as a Chicago residence, not one that I recognized. Camille too possessed our former surname, Gordon, and her address was the same as that of Shore Leave, back home in Landon.

  Ripping through a black leather handbag large enough to fit a couple of volleyballs, I felt a hard, familiar shape and cried triumphantly, “A phone!”

  I snatched it up and tapped out a pin code – the year I was born – rewarded when the screen blinked to life.

  “Thank God I have no imagination,” I muttered, scrolling through numbers as quickly as my fingers could move, ignoring the many I did not recognize. “Here’s you, Milla, and Clint, and Dad, Mom and Aunt Jilly…here’s Shore Leave…”

  Camille found a phone tucked in the other purse but was having no luck breaching its security code. She peered over my shoulder; both of us already suspected but it still hurt like hell to confirm that my phone contained no contact information for Case, Mathias, any of the Rawleys, or…Ruthann.

  “It’s got to be a mistake,” I said, hoarse and breathless, trying with little success to keep abject panic at bay. “Where are they?”

  “Call Mom,” Camille ordered at once. Her voice was raw and harsh, the way Case’s had sounded after the fire in our barn, the fire that had burned his lungs.

  “I’m scared to,” I admitted. My heart seemed to be hacking shallow trenches between my rib bones.

  “Who else is missing?”

  I examined my contact list a second time, forcing a slower pace, with escalating dread. “Blythe isn’t here, or Uncle Justin or Grandma, or Al and Helen Anne…” And then I froze. My heart skittered and missed several beats. “Oh God, here’s Robbie. He’s…still alive.”

  “Call him later, we have to talk to Mom,” Camille insisted.

  Mom didn’t answer, nor did Aunt Jilly. It was after eleven, which meant it was after midnight in Minnesota, but I tried Clint anyway, hanging up before leaving a voicemail, just like I’d done with both my mother and aunt. I had no idea where to begin with what I had to say.

  “I’ll try again first thing in the morning,” I whispered.

  We scanned the mess we had created in the unfamiliar vehicle that was somehow ours, clothes and shoes and make-up falling all across the floor mats and spilling out into the gravel parking lot. I was so terrified I felt without actual substance, as though constructed of soap bubbles or vacant air. I was near breaking point and my need for Case rose swift and strong, obliterating all logic; I grabbed the key ring from the dashboard and said with authority, “Come on.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jalesville, MT - March, 2014

  MINUTES LATER THE ROAD WEST OUT OF TOWN HUMMED beneath the tires as I drove with a single-minded purpose – that of reaching my home. I refused to conceive of the idea that it would not be there when we arrived. Camille kept silent and I saw nothing but her somber profile from the corner of my right eye as I roared along the narrow gravel strip called Ridge Road, where I had lived since last summer with Case and our animals. Where our old doublewide sat neatly at the base of a soaring, tree-lined ridge, where I fed my horses and chickens and cats and rabbit, where I’d been happier than ever before in life. It would all be there. The cramped, messy, heavenly space I shared with Case; our beautiful brand-new barn, the blueprints for our new cabin sprawled across the kitchen table.

  It took no more than five minutes of driving before I spied the familiar silver mailbox that Case’s mother, Melinda, had stenciled with their last name when she was still alive. Relief fell like warm rain over my shoulders. I ignored the sharp stabs of gut instinct warning me to hit the brake and turn the car around.

  Camille spoke for the first time since I’d started the engine. “Tish, what if…”

  But I couldn’t listen.

  My green and white trailer appeared exactly as I’d left it earlier today but was encased now in darkness, the kitchen light creating a bright square to counteract the night. I saw Case’s maroon truck and additional relief all but punctured my lungs – but my Honda was not parked in its usual spot, instead replaced by a vehicle I didn’t recognize. I cranked open the door almost before I’d thrown the car in park. Case was only steps away.

  “Tish, wait…” Camille jumped out of the car in my wake but nothing was going to stop me now.

  I jogged up the steps and threw open the screen, then tugged at the inner door, heart thrusting through my breastbone. It was locked. Dogs immediately began barking.

  “Case!” I shouted, with increasing alarm. “Are you there? Case, it’s me, I’m home!”

  Two or more people had been talking inside. I heard my husband’s deep, authoritative voice only a few feet from me as he demanded, “What in the hell? Who’s there?”

  I began crying in earnest, pounding on the scarred wooden surface. “Case!”

  I fell inward, straight onto our kitchen floor, as he yanked open the door. Literally at his feet I stared up at the astonished expression on his face. I didn’t hear Camille’s breathless explanation as she appeared in the doorway on my heels, I didn’t hear the startled exclamations of the woman seated at the table or Case ordering the dogs to get back. I heard only the panic coursing through my veins.

  Case did not recognize me.

  I hardly recognized him.

  Leaner than I’d ever seen him, cheekbones knife-edged and prominent, thick scruff on his jaws and brows drawn inward with confusion. His eyes were bordered by deep shadows. He smelled boozy and I realized he was drunk. Or, was two-thirds of the way there. He wore a threadbare long-sleeved t-shirt and dirty jeans, his steel-toed work boots. His hair was cropped close to his head, severely short. He appeared wiry and menacing and stunned.

  But none of this mattered. He was my Case, my Charles Shea Spicer, and he did not recognize me.

  Reality began reasserting itself, pulling no punches.

  The woman at the table knocked over her chair as she stormed to her feet and stood with fists planted on her hips, firing her words like missiles. “Who is this? What is this about? Case, I swear if you’ve been fucking this bitch I will kill you once and for all!”

  I realized dumbly that I knew her; her name was Lynnette and she’d once been married to Case. He ignored her angry tirade and instead crouched beside me. His eyes were achingly familiar, his beautiful cinnamon-brown eyes with their red-gold lashes, and I lifted to an elbow, desperate to force recognition. He was confused as hell, I could plainly see, but somehow, some way, he had to know me. The awareness between us was too strong to deny. He was studying me intensely, the way a person would a painting that required deciphering to comprehend. His brows drew together, creating a deep furrow between them.

  “Case,” I begged in a whisper, unable to resist reaching for him. My hand fluttered through empty air and alighted on his right knee, closest to me. He was warm and hard, so very familiar, and I wanted to die in that moment, knowing that to Case, in this particular timeline, I was nothing but a stranger – and a crazy one, at that.

  “I knew it!” Lynnette cried, but neither of us looked her way.

  “Please,” I begged, almost soundless, my throat obstructed by pain. I clung to his knee with on
e hand. “Please, it’s me. It’s Tish. I’m your wife…”

  “What…”

  “It’s me. I love you so much, you just have to remember…”

  Case stood abruptly and stalked outside, severing our tenuous connection. Camille darted to the side to avoid being trampled by his angry movements while I scrambled after him, dogging his footsteps to the corral, where Cider was nosing the top beam. Behind us, in the trailer, Lynnette was hollering like a tornado siren but I didn’t care. She was lucky I hadn’t attempted to kill her once and for all. Case increased his pace and I ran to catch up, stumbling in my heeled boots.

  “Stop!” I pleaded, grabbing for his arm. We had reached the corral and Cider issued a friendly whooshing sound, stepping in our direction. Having reached the extent of his escape route Case turned to face me, running his hands over his shorn hair, elbows pointed at the sky, pinning me with a look that combined both incredulity and anger. The glow from the kitchen window highlighted his features and before I knew I’d moved I took his face between my palms, desperate to touch him, to feel his skin against mine. Surely I could override this horror. I knew I could make him remember me, remember us.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, low-voiced and astonished, catching my wrists in both hands. “Who are you? How do you know me?”

  “It’s me, it’s Tish. Patricia Gordon. I know everything about you, sweetheart, I even know your horse. That’s Cider, right there, and we’ve ridden double on her dozens of times, out there into the foothills.” I indicated eastward with a tilt of my head, observing the way his eyes registered both undiluted shock and increasing fluster. I pratted on, believing I was gaining momentum. “I know this is crazy, it seems crazy to you because something is so wrong, Case. I don’t know what’s happened, but somehow everything has been changed. I don’t know how this happened but I intend to find out. I promise you I will find out. Just earlier tonight we were at The Spoke with Garth and Becky, and Mathias and Camille, and then…and then…”