He pulled a child-sized golf club out of the basket and let the lid fall, straightening as he turned back around. “Is this for an article?”
Amie shook her head silently, feeling her face begin to crumple. She knew she had to just let it out. But she didn’t know what scared her more: that David might not believe her, or saying the words out loud for the first time.
Seeing her distress, David made his way to the couch, gingerly sitting down on the arm at the other end of it. “What is it?”
Amie took in a slow, shaky breath. “It’s happening to me,” she said, her voice cracking.
David’s brow furrowed. “What is?”
“A time—” She cleared her throat, speaking a little louder. “A time loop. It’s happening to me. This is Day 15. Not counting the original one. This is the third day I’ve visited you since it started. You wear the same gray T-shirt with the mustard stain and the blue sweatpants, and you always have Ella Fitzgerald on, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t …” She hugged the flamingo closer, staring at the floor. “I don’t know what to do.”
The silence was unbearable. Amie instantly wished she hadn’t said anything. Even if he wouldn’t remember it the next day, she hated to imagine what David was thinking of her at that moment. The only thing that kept her from dashing out the door was the row of dominoes that she’d feel bad about knocking over in a hasty exit.
After what felt like a thousand years (she briefly wondered if she’d eventually learn what a thousand years felt like), David let out a soft “Hm.”
Amie’s head whipped over to look at him. “That’sit?” she burst out, her nerves bubbling over. “ ‘Hm’? That’s all you’ve got?”
“Give me a second,” David said mildly, using his thumb to dab at the mustard stain on his shirt. “I’m getting old; I need time to process.”
“Well, you have about …” Amie looked around. “Why don’t you have any clocks in here?”
“It’s close to 5:45,” David said, looking at the window and somehow seeing the time there.
“You have about nine hours to process before the day resets,” Amie finished, slumping back into the couch. “But take your time, I guess.”
“The day resets at two forty-fiveAM?” David asked.
Amie gave him a wary look. “Do you believe me, or are you making fun?”
“I’m curious,” he said simply.
Amie stared at him for another moment, but couldn’t find any teasing in his eyes.
“Two twenty-two,” she said cautiously. “I’ve stayed awake a few nights to see how far I could get. As soon as I see the clock hit two twenty-twoAM, the next thing I know, I’m waking up, and it’s September seventeenth again.”
“Hm.”
“Really?” Amie stood, her voice rising in pitch as she spoke. “You know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything. And you will. You and everyone else will forget everything that happens today. And I’ll just be here, living the same day over and over again until the sun explodes or whatever.Why am I still holding this fucking flamingo?”
“Okay, okay,” David held out a hand as if to block Amie from throwing the plastic bird across the room. “Take it easy. You’re all right. Let’s put down the bird.”
Amie realized she was brandishing the lawn ornament over her head. She lowered her arm.
David gestured for her to sit again. She did.
“Now,” he said, “are you feeling okay? Did you sleep last night?”
“You don’t believe me,” Amie said flatly.
David hesitated, clearly trying to figure out how to make his approach delicate.
“Kid, I’d …liketo believe you,” he said slowly. “It’s just hard to—”
“Can we move past it?” Amie asked, suddenly feeling very tired. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”
She forced herself to smile as David continued looking at her with concern. “Really, I’m fine. It’s fine. You’re right, I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”
David’s brows were knit together with concern, but he just shrugged, sliding off the couch arm. “If you say so. Why don’t you help me with this next section? Take your mind off of things.”
