Time of My Life_ A Novel - Allison Winn Scotch [105]
“Jesus Christ!” I scream. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” I clap my hand to my chest.
Henry is sipping from the orange juice container and makes a quick motion to return it to the fridge when he sees me, like a boy whose mom has caught him flipping through porn. He slams the refrigerator door closed.
“And a good morning to you, too.” He surveys me. “Um, maybe you should put some clothes on? Not that I mind, but you know, the neighbors.” He gestures out the window, and I look down and notice, just as I did six months and seven years ago, that I’m naked.
I ignore him. “Katie! Where is Katie?” Panic is filtering through me, and I can do little to stop its flood. I can literally feel it racing through my bloodstream and pour into, over, and on top of my heart.
“She’s with your mother. Jesus, Jill, what’s wrong with you?”
“What do you mean, she’s with my mother? Why the hell would she be with my mother?” I spin around and look for clues to Katie’s whereabouts, like that will somehow intersect all of the missing pieces. I rush into the living room—a newer, less showy living room, I notice, without the gilded lamps or the custom-made couches, but a comfortable living room all the same—and grab a stray pink sock that Katie must have tugged off at one point and that no one noticed until now.
“She’s with your mother because it’s Monday,” Henry says slowly. “Like she’s with her every Monday.”
I hear him, and yet it doesn’t register. “This? What is this?” I wiggle the sock at Henry in a frenzy, my voice reaching a new, unexplored key.
“Er, it’s Katie’s sock,” he says, bewildered.
“Yes! It’s her sock!” I shriek, then begin to sob.
Henry’s eyes grow to the size of globes, and he moves closer, wrapping himself around me, and I inhale his minty shampoo and his menthol shaving cream, a scent that was once so familiar, I stopped noticing it entirely.
“Jilly, sit down. You’re obviously not well.” He eases me back toward the sofa, where we sit, me, naked, him, in a pressed suit, ready for work.
I gasp for air, and Henry rubs my back until my lungs seem to reopen.
“So she’s fine? Katie? She’s fine?” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and look up at him. It’s only then that I notice my solid gold wedding band back on my finger. I roll my thumb over it, back and forth and back again, as confirmation of its existence.
“Of course she’s fine. Why wouldn’t she be? You were just sleeping late and didn’t feel well last night, so I didn’t wake you when your mom got here early to pick her up.”
I nod, though none of this adds up. Going back in time was fluid: I already anticipated the events to come, at least initially. Returning is more jarring because I’ve missed so much; there are too many holes empty and unfilled.
“Okay,” Henry says. “I’m going to call Josie and tell her that you can’t get her at the airport today. We’ll send a car.”
“Wait, what? Why would I be picking Josie up from the airport today?”
Henry stares at me, starts to speak, then stops and stares again.
“For your presentation. You’ve been working on it for months.” He exhales. “Jilly, I think we should call the doctor.” He rises to grab the phone.
“No, stop.” I pull him back down. “I just . . . I’m just a little foggy. Give me a minute.” I chew the inside of my mouth and feign an attempt to look calmer. Then I force a smile. “See, I’m feeling better already.”
Henry gazes at me, unconvinced, then we both jump when the doorbell rings.
“Shit,” he says. “My ride.”
“Your ride? To where?” It comes