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  All night her nerves had been like mad dogs in a pen, waiting to charge, snarling and slathering, at anyone foolish enough to come close to the fence. If Tom had come home twenty minutes earlier, he would have stepped right into that pen, but the intensity of her cramps had taken all the oomph out of those dogs now. She was spotting too, but her period was not due for at least ten days. A voice in her head, the one who wore the black hat, told her this was more than a menstrual cycle gone awry. Dull claws ripped through her again and then withdrew. She lay still, waiting for them to return, almost numb in the sudden absence of pain.

  In the lull, she hopped back on the train of thought she’d ridden all evening. Was Tom cheating on her? That’s what Patricia had harped on all this year, but then Patricia didn’t trust any man. This evening, Eddie had been there and concurred with Patricia’s so-called evidence. Maybe it was the fear about her health that had made her vulnerable tonight, but she’d seriously considered the possibility they knew better than she. She didn’t admit that to them, of course. She’d insisted that getting Tom’s new business off the ground was the reason he’d spent less time at home lately. And tonight, like the occasional night before, he was only out schmoozing for work. They’d cautioned her not to be a fool, and she’d laughed. But the parasite of doubt had taken hold.

  5

  June 8

  When Tom phoned Annie the next morning, her voicemail picked up. He hung up without leaving a message. Voicemail was evidence. Jeezus. Evidence of what? There was nothing wrong with talking to her on the phone.

  When he tried calling again around noon, she answered. “It’s Tom,” he said. “Are you working today?” He grimaced. That wasn’t at all what he’d rehearsed.

  “No, I’ve got the day off.”

  “Well, then … would you like to meet me for a drink, or coffee, or … something?” Then, because it was what he’d really intended to say, he added, “I’d like to talk to you about the visions.”

  “All right,” she said. “When and where?”

  “How about the Coach House?”

  The instant he heard her sharp intake of breath, he regretted his choice. Although he favored the pub because he liked its dark, Old English style, he’d forgotten the Coach House was also known locally as the spot for couples to meet when they didn’t want to be seen. From Annie’s reaction, it seemed evident she knew that reputation. The silence in his ear was so complete, he feared she’d hung up.

  “Annie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Or we could meet wherever you want.”

  “The Coach House is fine. You didn’t say when.”

  “Is three o’clock all right?”

  “Sure.”

  After ending the call, Tom stared in panic at the phone in his hand. What had he done and done so casually? Take a deep breath. Okay. No big deal. He was meeting someone in a public place to talk. Just talk. That’s all.

  *

  At twenty after three, Tom pulled into the Coach House parking lot, sure that Annie had arrived before him and hoping she hadn’t already left. Pausing just inside the door to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior, he sensed her presence before he spotted her.

  “Sorry I’m late.” He slipped into the booth, sitting opposite her.

  “That’s okay. I was going to give you ten more minutes before I figured you had better things to do.”

  Tom noted two things—she’d ordered a frozen margarita and her smile made him feel nineteen again.

  “Problem at work,” he said and then paused to order a beer. After the waitress left, he turned back to Annie. “Did I explain being late?”

  “A problem at work, you said.”

  “Yeah. A drywall installer, goofing around, drove a nail through his thumb. Pothead. Reeked of it.” Tom shook his head in disgust. “Anyway, I got delayed by the accident paperwork.” The waitress returned, and he downed half his beer at once, then wiped the corners of his mouth with a thumb and forefinger and lit a cigarette. “Change of subject. We never got a chance to really talk about the visions the other night. I know you said that had never happened to you before, but I wondered if anything like it had.”

  “You mean, do I see ghosts, read people’s minds, talk with the dead … that kind of thing?”

  “Not exactly.” He blew smoke out the corner of his mouth, away from Annie. “Well, sort of like that. Weird stuff.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve led a pretty boring life, actually. Does weird stuff happen to you?”

  “Not as a rule.” The idea that a woman as beautiful as Annie led a boring life momentarily distracted him. He shook it off. “So then, why do you think we’ve had this experience?”

  “I’ve been reading about it,” she said, “and I think these visions are past-life memories. You know … like you and I are the reincarnation of this man and woman? I think we might never have remembered those lives at all, but when we met—when we touched—something sparked. Our energies combined or something.”

  Tom nodded. He didn’t know much about reincarnation. He didn’t know much about Annie either. How out there was she? And how crazy was he for even being here? He’d have to think of some reason to cut this short.

  Annie shrugged. “I don’t really know how reincarnation works. That’s just something I read.”

  He looked into her eyes. Suddenly, he felt willing to agree to anything she said. “I think you’re right. Exactly right,” he said with too much enthusiasm.

  “Have you ever had any hint that you had a previous life?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so.” He longed to reach across the table, to touch her hair and feel its satiny weight in his palm. To squelch the impulse, he grabbed his glass and drained it.

  “I read that a lot of very young children remember details, but they forget them as they grow older. Some of them even have birthmarks that match the fatal wounds of the person they used to be.”

  Tom resisted the urge to touch the strange birthmark on his chest, a smooth, pinkish circle about the size of a penny. No sense letting his imagination get away from him. He signaled for refills.

  “So,” he said, “if we were together in a past life, why would we meet again in this life … in different circumstances?”

  Annie didn’t answer right away. He could almost see her mentally sorting through things she wanted to say, but in the end, she shrugged again.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  The problem was, he didn’t have a guess. He’d never given any thought to the possibility he’d lived before. But he didn’t want to end this conversation. He would discuss anything as long as he could sit here with her. Tom stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray.

  “Did they give more specific proof of reincarnation in the books you read?”

  “Oh, yes. They’ve verified names and places, and sometimes actual events that people remembered from their past lives. If only we had more information on the man and woman we saw, we could do that. Knowing their names would be a good st—”

  “Maggie and Jacob.” Tom stiffened, shocked at the words that had come from his mouth.

  “How do you know?”

  “I … until I said the names, I didn’t know them.”

  “But they feel right, don’t they?” She repeated the names as if in reverence. Then her brow creased in a frown. “We could never find records of them with only their first names. I’m sure—”

  “Stout,” exclaimed Tom just as their drinks arrived. The waitress apologized and started to take back Tom’s glass, but he stopped her hand, laughing. “No. I want the beer. Stout is someone’s name I happened to say when you walked up to the table.”

  The waitress walked away, shaking her head.

  “Who is Stout?” Annie asked.

  “I just remembered that,” Tom said. “In the first vision, Jacob turned when he heard a man yell ‘Stout’. That’s when he was shot. His name must have been Jacob Stout.”

  “Wow, that’s great. At
least we have one full name to go on. I didn’t see who shot Jacob. I wonder who the man was … and why he shot him.”

  They fell silent for a minute, trying to remember more from the two short visions they’d shared. Suddenly, Tom realized both his jaw and fists were clenched, and the back of his throat stung with a bitterness that wasn’t an aftertaste from the beer. He was manifesting the rage he’d felt in the vision.

  Annie’s frown returned. “We don’t know where they lived, and we’d have to know that before we started looking for some kind of record.”

  Tom stared off into the distance for a moment. “I can’t tell you why, but I think they lived right here. In Indiana, I mean. Something about the woods, something … familiar. I’d say start looking in this area.” With an arch of his brows, he sought her opinion.

  “Look at my arm,” she said, holding it out to him. “I got goose bumps when you said that! I know you’re right.” She pulled a pen and scrap of paper from her purse and wrote herself a note. “Oh! What about when they lived? I know it wasn’t in the recent past, because you were wearing a fringed buckskin shirt … and the shirt was very long, almost to your knees.”

  Tom paused to light another cigarette before offering his opinion.

  “I’d say it was before 1830, because Jacob was carrying a longrifle, a flintlock. I just remembered that too,” he added, in answer to her questioning look.

  “I didn’t see your rifle,” she said, “but I caught a glimpse of the one that killed you, and it didn’t look like a modern gun. Was that a longrifle too?”

  “To be honest, I didn’t exactly take the time to examine the gun that was pointed at me.”

  Her eyes widened along with his. His sudden defensive tone had surprised them both.

  To break the uneasy silence that followed, Tom began a story he remembered his father telling him about longrifles and the hunters who used them. He hadn’t thought about those guns in years and yet the details flowed from him as though the topic was his specialty. Annie appeared to hang on his every word.

  Two drinks became three, and they talked on. When Tom started to order a fourth round, Annie declined. “If I drink any more on an empty stomach, you’ll have to carry me out of here.”

  “We can’t have that.” He motioned for the waitress, uneasily aware that the thought of sweeping a soft and yielding Annie into his arms had caused a stir in his crotch.

  They ordered dinner and continued their conversation. At one point, Tom left the table to take a leak, pausing long enough outside the men’s room to make a phone call home.

  “Lindsay, let me talk to Mom.”

  “She’s not here. Remember? She and Patricia have that book discussion thing tonight.”

  He let out the breath he’d been holding, relieved that he wouldn’t have to lie directly to Julie.

  (As if lying to your daughter exonerates you?)

  “Are you on your way home, Dad?”

  “No, I won’t be there for a while.”

  “Well, Mom left a casserole in the fridge. I’m not hungry, but I can nuke it for you when you get home.”

  “I’ll just grab something … with the guys.”

  “Okay. Later. Love ya.”

  Tom clicked off the phone and forced a smile before he returned to the booth where Annie waited. After they finished eating, the waitress brought the check and then Tom’s change, but they made no move to leave. When Tom noticed the waitress directing a look at them, telegraphing her irritation that they were costing her a tip from a new customer, they ordered dessert and coffee and talked on.

  Their words and laughter had woven a web of intimacy around them, but they didn’t touch, not even later in the parking lot, when they stood very close, still reluctant to end the evening. When at last they parted, Tom promised to call her the next day.

  Ten minutes later he called from his truck.

  *

  Reassured that Annie had arrived home safely, Tom said good-bye for the second time that night as he pulled up to his driveway. He pocketed his cell phone, clicked the garage door opener, and sighed with relief when he saw Julie’s car wasn’t there. Neither was Lindsay’s. Evidently she’d gone out after he phoned home. Except for Max, the house was empty. The dog bounded up to Tom in the kitchen but then backed off with a whimper and hung his head.

  Tom squatted and signaled for him. He slunk forward and allowed Tom to scratch his ears. “What’s with you, boy? Don’t you recognize me?”

  At the sound of his voice, Max wagged his tail with such enthusiasm his back paws skittered on the hardwood floor. Tom laughed and gave the dog an affectionate swat on the rump, then held the patio door open for him.

  “Go water the red oak, buddy.”

  As Tom stood outside smoking his last cigarette of the day, his thoughts turned back to Annie and he smiled. He would have to watch that. It seemed he couldn’t help getting a silly grin on his face whenever she came to mind. New rule—don’t think of Annie when you’re home. Simple as that. He was a disciplined person.

  When the dog ambled back to the patio, Tom put his cigarette out and turned to open the door. He froze. Jeezus. Where was his head? He shouldn’t be thinking of Annie at home—or anywhere else. With sudden clarity, Tom saw what a stupid thing he’d done by meeting secretly with Annie today. Again he chastised himself for not being honest with Julie about what happened at the theater Saturday night. The fact that he’d been acting so out of character shook him.

  With Max trailing him, Tom stepped back into the kitchen, closed the door, and took off his boots. It was a habit Julie had ordered him to develop when she chose carpeting that resembled a thick layer of oatmeal spread from wall to wall through most of the house. He’d wanted hardwood flooring throughout, but one glance around revealed few of his preferences visible in this house. Then again, no one had ever accused him of having good taste.

  Normally, he’d wait up for Julie, but damn he was exhausted. As he climbed the stairs, stripped, and fell into bed, he replayed bits of the evening’s conversation with Annie. His skin crawled when he remembered how she’d referred to him as Jacob. Why had he misled her by seeming to agree about the reincarnation thing? He certainly wasn’t ready to accept that he and Annie had been Jacob and Maggie in some previous life. And even if they were having flashbacks of previous lifetimes, so what? That had nothing to do with his life now. The first chance he got, he would tell Julie everything.

  *

  After Annie said her last goodnight to Tom, she hung up the phone and turned to find Kate watching her from across the room.

  “You were talking to a man!”

  Annie smiled. She couldn’t seem to quit smiling tonight. “So what if I was? It’s not the first time.”

  “Well, it’s the first time in ages.” Kate flopped down on the couch. “Start talking, and tell me everything.”

  “He’s just a guy I had dinner with.” Annie started toward her bedroom.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Kate jumped up to follow her. “If he was just some ordinary guy, you wouldn’t be floating six inches off the floor.”

  “I met him at work. No big deal.”

  “Omygawd. He’s not one of those kids you work with, is he?”

  Annie shot her a look. “Come on, Kate. I’m not so desperate I’d rob the cradle. Give me a little credit.”

  A bathroom connected their bedrooms, and Annie entered it from her side to remove her makeup. Kate flung herself down on Annie’s bed, making it clear she wouldn’t leave until Annie talked.

  “I’m waiting,” Kate called to her. “Who, what, where? Tell me all the juicy details.”

  Annie kept her waiting while she undressed, slipped on a nightgown, and washed her face. She was brushing her hair when she stepped back into the room. “Tom. His name is Tom Cogan. He’s in construction—”

  “Ooooo, a tanned, muscled bod. So hot.”

  Annie turned away quickly to hide the flush that warmed her face. “We ate dinner together,
that’s all.”

  “And construction guys make good money.”

  “Look. He’s just a nice guy, and I enjoy talking to him.”

  “Hey, don’t act like you never notice what a man looks like, and don’t even try to pretend you never consider how much money he makes.”

  “Oh, Kate. I didn’t mean it like that.” Annie sighed. She wanted to keep her relationship with Tom like a locket lying under her shirt, held warm and secret between her breasts. But she’d shared a lot of life with her baby sister, most of it bad, and not sharing this good part seemed selfish.

  Annie laid the brush on her nightstand and divided her hair in thirds. As she started braiding, she opened up to Kate. “He is handsome. He is tanned. And he does look like he’s in good shape—although I haven’t seen that for myself,” she added, anticipating Kate’s next question. “He’s got this great voice, deep and”—Annie closed her eyes for a moment, remembering—“it stirs something inside me when he talks.”

  Like a delighted child, Kate hugged her knees to her chest. “He sounds perfect. Tell me more.”

  Spurred on by Kate’s excitement, Annie propped a pillow against the headboard of the bed so she could sit facing her sister. “There’s something Tom and I have in common.” She hesitated, not sure how Kate would react. “When we met at the Cineplex, something really weird happened to us. Remember the dream I told you Sunday morning about the man dying in the woods?”

  “Yeah, it really creeped me out.”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly a dream.”

  Once Annie started talking she didn’t stop until she’d told Kate all of it. All, except that Tom was married.

  Kate listened wide-eyed until Annie finished and then gushed, “That’s so beautiful. Like destiny or something. You lost each other in a past life, but now you get a second chance. It’s so romantic.”

  It did sound beautiful and romantic—and simple—when Kate said it, but then Kate was missing a key piece of the story.

  “So, when do I get to meet him?”

  “I don’t even know when I’m going to see him next.” In one swift motion, Annie swung her legs off the side of the bed and started aimlessly rearranging things on her dressing table. The warm glow she’d retained from earlier in the evening had vanished. The cold light of day had dawned at twenty-seven minutes past nine.