“No,” Amie answered. She was getting the hang of this “holding a conversation” thing. “What happened?”
Jess leaned in and in a low voice said, “She died.”
Amie frowned. “What? No. That can’t … how do you know?”
“Someone got it out of one of the cops when they started taping the sidewalk off.” Jess rested their forearms on the counter. “They found her dead this morning.”
“In the bookstore?”
“Apparently. Do you have your rewards card?”
Taking a beat to recover from the conversational whiplash, Amie remembered the card sitting on her kitchen counter. She’d stopped bringing it to the caféduring the time loop, for obvious reasons. “Oh, I … no, not on me.”
“I can look up your account if you’d like.”
“Ah … sure.” Amie gave the barista her email address.
“You’re eligible for a free beverage on your next visit,” Jess announced. “You can use that on tomorrow’s breakfast!”
Amie had a vague memory of Jess saying the same words to her at the start of the time loop, back when Amie still thought thepoints her visit accrued might last into the next day. Finally, the statement was true.
As she slid her card into the reader, her mind floated away from the counter. She hadn’t become completely defamiliarized with the concept of death during the time loop, though it had lost its permanence, as did all other things. Every evening, a mosquito would somehow manage to infiltrate her apartment, and Amie had eventually gotten the killing of it down to a science. But each day it’d be back, blissfully unaware of its impending demise via flyswatter.
But Savannah was dead. Permanently. She wasn’t coming back.
“You can remove your card,” Jess said, breaking Amie out of her thoughts as she became aware of the shrill beeping coming from the card reader.
“Did she, um …” Amie’s brain raced to gather her thoughts enough to create a coherent sentence. “Savannah. Was it a medical thing, or …?”
“Not sure.” Jess printed out the receipt and handed it to her. “I think the cops are considering murder. You want your bagel toasted, right?”
Amie blinked at them. “Uh … yeah.”
“Great. It’ll be ready for you at the end of the counter.” Jess pointed at the pickup spot. “Have a great day!”
“Thanks, you too,” Amie replied automatically, drifting away.
Dead. Savannah is dead. Savannah might’ve been murdered.
She obviously hadn’tlikedthe woman. But she had a terrible feeling in her stomach, something akin to guilt. Amie had wanted so badly to be free of the time loop. And as soon as she was, this woman died. If the time loop had continued, Savannah would have still been alive.
Don’t be silly.She looked at the ceiling of the coffee shop, trying to regulate her thoughts.This isn’t your fault. Just because she would have continued living the same day on repeat doesn’t mean she would have lived any longer.
Her logical thoughts did little to appease the queasy feeling in her stomach. She hoped the bagel would do a better job.
The walk home started out easier than the walk to the café, and Amie felt a confidence returning to her stride. That is, until she was faced with a quartet of joggers heading in her direction. Amie stepped off the curb to get out of their way. She leapt back onto the sidewalk as an ambulance barreled down the street, choosing that moment to turn the siren on. Tea splashed onto her shirt, and she almost crashed into a man pushing a stroller.
“Sorry, sorry,” she apologized to the man, stumbling back as she kept a death grip on the paper bag in her hand. She might not make it back to her apartment in dry clothes, but she was determined to protect her long-awaited blueberry bagel.
As Amie stepped back, she felt her left sneaker hit the pavement softer than the right. She winced, slowly looking down.
Dog poop.
Amie sat at the kitchen table, damp hair wrapped in a towel. She gnawed on her bagel, which had gone chewy as it waited for Amie to shower. But absence makes the heart grow fonder, so despite the toughness, it was still a very good bagel.
Unfortunately, Amie was barely tasting anything as she absently ran her finger over the cover of her planner, which featured the green-and-pink waves of the aurora borealis. Sighing, she flipped the book open. Tasks from earlier in the week were crossed out with straight, crisp lines. Plans for the rest of the week that she’d written over two years ago were penned in neat, careful letters.
The ink was too fresh. She felt like she should have been blowing dust off of the thing. The planner had sat untouched on her desk for ages, all of its boxes for the different days rendered purposeless in a life that was the same date on repeat.
