Free The Year We Turned Forty by Liz Fenton Page B

“I’ll just stop and ask for directions like they did in the old days.”
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    When Claire had first woken up with an intense pounding in her skull, she reached for the aspirin she always kept in her purse, but her bag wasn’t there. She gasped as she felt movement beside her, her stomach twisting in fear. Had she slept with someone last night? No, she wouldn’t have done that to Jared. But the last thing she remembered was standing in Blair’s dressing room, squeezing her friends’ hands tightly, sure they’d pop their eyes open moments later, their feet still firmly planted on the golden carpet, shaking their heads at their gullibility. As she adjusted to the darkness in the room, she started to swivel her head slowly to see who was lying next to her, her heart thumping so hard she was sure whomever was beside her could hear it. She’d felt something catch inside her as she took in Mason’s profile.
    Was she really back here?
    The last time she’d seen him had been a few weeks after he’d given her the ultimatum regarding Emily, when he’d come back to retrieve his things from her house. Their conversation had been brief and distant, like two strangers on an elevator discussing which floor they needed to get off on. And that had been it.
    And now he was back in her bed, snoring softly. She looked at him again, taking in the dimple in his chin and his slightly crooked front teeth, just visible between his lips. He hated them, but she thought the flaw gave him character.
    She slipped out from under the floral comforter and looked at it with fresh eyes. Why had she ever thought a pattern that looked like her grandmother’s curtains had been a good idea? And then it hit her. Emily .
    She was about to see her daughter as a young girl again, with braces and dots of acne sprinkling her forehead. She felt a surge of excitement as she hurried to Emily’s bedroom and flung open her door. Then she heard herself scream. She’s not here.
    â€œWhat happened?” Mason materialized at her side, wearing only a pair of white boxer briefs.
    Claire looked away quickly. “Where is Emily?” She started shaking and ran her hands over her bare arms. Had traveling through time screwed up her life in such a way that she wasn’t Emily’s mom anymore? But Emily’s room was still the way Claire remembered it. A pink-and-turquoise-blue-striped comforter covered her four-poster bed. A High School Musical poster was taped to the wall. A CD player sat on her nightstand with a stack of discs a foot high next to it.
    â€œYou said she was at your mom’s?” Mason’s statement came out more like a question and Claire felt herself start to breathe again. She hurried back to her room and searched for her cell phone. She needed to see the date, to be sure this was really happening, that it wasn’t some terrible dream. She did a double take when Mason walked over and handed her a silver Nokia phone with a tiny screen and a small keypad, the skin between her eyes creasing as she stared at it.
    â€œAre you okay?” Mason studied her face.
    Claire nodded dismissively and pressed a button.
    â€œYou’re acting like you’ve never seen that thing before. Which is funny, because you had it glued to your hand last night!” He laughed. “Do your clients ever give you a moment of peace? Or your mom, for that matter? She must have called three times to update you about Emily.”
    Claire was hit with a memory of the night she’d first slept with Mason, also their first date. It was the same evening Jessie had Lucas. Claire had left the hospital and called him after listening to the sweet voice mail message he’d left only hours after the party, asking her out.
    And Claire had thought, why not call him? Emily was at her grandma’s. And he was so cute—tall and sturdy with deep dimples and soft brown