Page 42 of Kiss Slay Replay

We come to the cabins. Each has its own porch, porch swing, rocking chairs, windows with flower boxes brimming with purple impatiens and jolt pink dianthus and red snapdragons…

All the cabins are identical, but I still recognize the one that’s ours. It’s the third down the row. I keep hoping that Evan will change course, pass it and walk on to a different cabin, but no such luck.

Everything looks the same. Is the same. I’m about to hyperventilate.

As we climb the porch steps, I notice there’s a small black “3” painted on the door, and just above it a cast-iron knocker with an intricate carving of a bird. It’s the first real variation from my dream. It’s proof. I reach out to touch it, the relief at my fingertips.

The door swings back, and there’s Cassie. She wears the cutoff sleeveless T-shirt, cigarette pants, fuzzy slippers. Her bleach-blond bob is pulled into that low nothing ponytail.

“Thought I smelled gossip,” she says, drawing me in for a hug. “Come in. Let me show you.”

I trip over the threshold, my foot on fire.

“This is this room…”

I don’t need the tour.

The walls are white shiplap, adorned with framed postcards from the camp’s bygone era. There are leather chairs and couches, plaid blankets, dried flowers in vintage milk jugs. There’s a fireplace mantle but no fireplace, a TV mounted above it. I count three doors, two at the back, and one directly to my left. My room. My suitcase is in front of it. I grab the handle and push it through the door.

Everything about the room is familiar—the twin bed, the clunky wardrobe, the retro alarm clock, the thick burlap curtains.

“Someday my kid will be old enough to bribe with treats, and when I tell you I cannot wait for that day…” Cassie says, leaning on the doorframe, holding up a canned margarita. “You want one?”

“Don’t throw it at me!”

“What? Jesus. Why would I do that?”

“In my dream Luke threw one at my head.”

“A canned margarita?”

“Yeah. I swear. It hit the wall and went everywhere.”

She sighs, walks the margarita to me, and places it in my hand. “You need this.”

I crack it open and take a small sip, then offer the can to her. She accepts, drinks, holds on to it. She sprawls across the bed, knocks back a few more sips. “Sorry. Turns out I need this. But there’s plenty more.”

The bathroom is the same, too. I poke my head in, flip on the light. Exactly the same.

“Willa. Honey. What are you doing?”

“I’m checking something.”

“Come out of there. I’m going to count to five. One…two…”

“All right! Yeesh,” I say, emerging from the bathroom and squeezing onto the bed beside her.

She kills the can. “I didn’t think I’d miss Theo. I needed the break, but it feels weird being without him. You know that feeling like you’ve forgotten something but can’t remember what? It’s almost like that except I’m cognizant that I have a son and that he’s safe with my in-laws. I’m just, like, what should I be doing? And can’t believe the answer is nothing. Drinking! What? Why the face? What’s up?”

“I know you’re going to roll your eyes at me, but I’m still really fucked-up from that dream. And I’ve been having the wildest déjà vu all day.”

“You’re fixating.”

“Yeah, I know but—”

“Is this about the dream, or is it about seeing Ravi again?”

“What’s going on in here?” Evan asks from the doorway. “Drinking already, I see.”