Page 7 of Not You Again
“Well, it’s sort of hardnotto listen, you know?” She talkeda lot when she was nervous, and in general. “And you were both in the hall. The walls aren’t exactly soundproof.”
“Just filled with acorns,” he said.
She couldn’t tell if he was joking, but then he clarified things.
“I know we’re stuck here together, but next time, stay out of our business, please,” Adam added.
“No problem,” Carly quickly said. She’d reached her threshold of Adam for the day, anyway.
Even Adam’s nod of acknowledgment was somehow condescending. But before she could say as much, he slammed the office door shut and robbed her of the honor.
“Asshole,” she muttered to herself.
Carly’s boots crunched along the gravel driveway as she headed to the road that would lead her to town. There were so many things Carly wished she could change about the loop. One, that past her had thought to wear sneakers instead of heavy boots with thick socks. Two, that she’d driven herself to the funeral instead of relying on a car service, which now meant she was stranded every day. And three, Carly wished she’d eaten anything the morning of the funeral so that she didn’t always restart hungry and thirsty.
As it was, Carly had no choice but to walk the mile into town the same way she always did to find sustenance. Main Street and the small stretch of stores connected by cutesy brick facades came into view a half hour later. Carly stepped onto the sidewalk, then nodded at a twenty-something cruising past on a skateboard. She barely registered the Spider-Man costume, but when he ripped the character mask off, held up a pillowcase overflowing with money, and shouted, “I just robbed the bank!” that gave her some pause.
Carly had helped this guy change his bike tire once upon a loop. He’d mentioned that he’d been a librarian. Now hewas a librarian-turned-bank robber. That was the thing about a time loop—it changed who you were. Carly, for example, used to write every day. She’d been an aspiring screenwriter, but hadn’t written a single word since the loop began. She wondered how many more loops untilshetried to rob a bank.
Before she could think too much of it, the clopping of hooves signaled the approach of Lollipop, a very majestic and enormous Clydesdale. Lollipop’s blond mane was braided, care of her owner, Goldie, who rode bareback. If Carly felt a breeze in her dress, then Goldie must’ve been freezing in her polka-dot bikini. The only warm thing on her was her long gray hair, which cascaded across her shoulders and gave her the aura of an aging Lady Godiva.
“Thirteen-hour warning,” Goldie called out. “Get your kicks in while you can, people!” Then softer, and into Lollipop’s ear, “Not you, girl.” She patted Lollipop’s long neck.
Carly wasn’t the only person who kept track of the passing time. Goldie’s hourly warnings had become a staple in the town, especially since no one’s phones worked anymore. And while they were only an hour into the loop, people had already started to indulge their colorful whims: Spider-Man in his costume and Goldie in her bikini.
The sun was bright and unobscured as Carly shielded her eyes with the palm of her hand. In the middle of the road were mattresses stacked up like pancakes, and one by one, people climbed to the top of a ladder and took turns jumping onto a waiting mattress. A drum circle played a vaguely familiar song and passed around a bong that had to be at least three feet tall. Which fed into a crowd of many bodies writhing to the music. It was honestly hard to see through them, which is why Carly nearly missed the golf cart outfitted with holiday lights that zipped so close she had to take a step back.
Every time the loop restarted, the town—and everyone in it—went back to the exact way it was at 10 a.m. on April twenty-third. The mattresses piled in the street would vanish, the golf cart and its holiday lights would be gone and Goldie would restart in what Carly had to assume wasn’t a bikini. But because it all reset, there were no real consequences. With no consequences, the town had become... chaotic.
While most people had found groups that helped make sense of each day, Carly hadn’t. She’d been stuck like everyone else, but she still had no one to really cling to. While she had surface-level conversations with plenty of people, care of her one good deed a day vow, she wasn’t from Julian. She didn’t have the privilege of childhood friends to reconnect with. When she’d come to her dad’s funeral, he’d been the only person she’d known. She was an accidental loner in this place, like her dad had been.
Another thirteen hours to go before they reset. Carly’s hands met her hips, and she took in the street, waiting for some kind of sign. Her gaze landed on the literal sign for Moms Pie House. The diner had a faux log cabin exterior and practically glistened like an oasis in the desert of Carly’s thoughts.
Apple pie. That was the town’s shtick. Rows and rows of apple orchards brought in tourists who came for the apple picking season and the homemade apple pies and apple donuts and cider. Carly could eat apple pie. Again. For the two hundred thirty-eighth time.
The screen door wheezed behind Carly as she walked in. Empty pie tins and discarded tubs of ice cream already littered the floor. Each booth was occupied and the social chatter was only topped by frenetic opera music that blared from the speakers. As the singer reached an ear-splitting crescendo, an elderly man pushed himself up from a booth with the help ofhis walker. He grabbed a canister from the center of the table, pressed down on the top and sent a spray shooting across the room. “Whipped cream fight!” he excitedly hollered.
A kid who couldn’t have been more than twelve grabbed a different can and fired a shot back at the old man.
Carly ducked down to avoid a direct hit. As she did, she spied a litter of puppies in the corner of the restaurant, maybe six of them, excitedly yipping around a small girl. A woman, whom Carly assumed was the girl’s mom, lovingly watched the puppy pile.
“She said she wanted to cuddle all the puppies,” the mom said with a shrug, perhaps feeling Carly’s gaze. “So we are.”
Carly gave her a faint smile. She was hungry, sure, but who was she to just walk past a moving blanket of fur and wagging tails?
“May I?” Carly asked.
The mom waved a hand, as if in blessing. Carly approached the pile and scooped up a little white-and-brown-spotted thing with furry ears. The pup squeaked as Carly held it to her chest. She buried her nose and breathed in the smell of wood chips and kibble. Maybe her bad start to the day with Adam was a blip. Sure, she was still stuck, but she had a warm puppy and a warmer slice of pie on the way. The future was bright—as bright as it could be for the next thirteen hours, anyway.
Then, just as quickly, she smelled urine and felt a wet mark bloom across her front.
Well.
Carly gently dabbed at the wet spot with a clump of napkins, which the puppy then tried to eat. She stroked its soft fur as she made her way to the counter. No one officially worked at Moms Pie House anymore, except for Mom, who neverabandoned her pie ship. What was the point in going to work if everything you did erased a few hours later?
But Moms was one of the few places where you could still get service, as if they all weren’t stuck here indefinitely. Mom looked up and spotted Carly, then brushed her weathered hands across the front of her apron. “What can I get you?” She smiled like she was genuinely happy to see her. So many people in town had lost that spark, but not Mom.
“I’ll take your very best slice of pie.” She hiked the puppy higher and onto her shoulder. “And I think this little guy could use an apple.”
