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I thought of Claire immediately.

Claire Elizabeth. Brown hair over one shoulder. Paul's pale gray eyes. The tiny crease between her eyebrows when she concentrated.

Ben. Benjamin Walter. Dark curls. Crooked grin. Leather jacket. Those ridiculous shoes that looked as though NASA had designed them.

Relief moved through me so quickly my eyes burned.

They were still there. My children were still there. Whatever else was disappearing, I still had them.

For now.

I reached across the table and stole one of Kim's fries.

She slapped my hand. “You have your own.”

“Yours are better.”

“They came from the same basket.”

“Yours are crunchier.”

We stayed until the sun shifted farther west and the Terrace grew even more crowded. Students came and went, someone changed the radio station, and Cyndi Lauper eventually replaced Ray Parker Jr. A little boy dropped half an ice cream cone onto the concrete, stared at it in horror, then picked it up before his mother could stop him and took another bite.

When we finally stood, Kim hugged me. The gesture caught me off guard enough that I froze before hugging her back.

“What was that for?”

“You look like you needed a hug.”

She released me, pushed her sunglasses back onto her face, then pointed one finger at me.

“Figure out what you actually want.”

“I intend to.”

“And don't marry anyone because Bitsy already chose the soup.”

“Asparagus.”

“Good. Cucumber would've been a terrible foundation for a marriage.”

I smiled and watched her walk toward Langdon Street, her denim skirt moving around her thighs while one hand lifted as she crossed between two parked cars.

For one strange second, I tried to remember Kim at fifty, but nothing came as I stood there and tried to picture the older version of her.

Had we stayed friends? I thought we had. There had been Christmas cards. Phone calls. Visits, maybe. Had she moved to Chicago? California?

The harder I reached, the less I could find. Fear settled low beneath my ribs. It wasn't only dates and phone numbers anymore. People were beginning to soften at the edges.

I stood on the Terrace until someone bumped my shoulder and apologized.

I was running out of time. Whatever had brought me back hadn't promised I could keep both lives neatly stacked inside my head while I decided which one I wanted. And if my memories were already beginning to fade, I couldn't spend the rest of my thirteen days behaving exactly as I had the first time around and hoping clarity would somehow come find me.

The Rabbit waited where I'd left it, the white paint bright in the sun and the seats hot enough to burn my thighs.

I climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and sat for a moment as Journey came on the radio, then I pulled away from the curb and headed toward Side A.

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