Dreams of Future Past

Devon had crawled into bed beside his dozing wife countless times before. Usually after coming home late from a business trip but in more recent times, in contrition and the spirit of reconciliation for ill-considered words or thoughtless deeds that exiled him to the guest room or the couch.

But this would be the last time and there could be no kissing or making up.

That's because twenty minutes ago, he'd given the go-ahead to shut off the machines that were keeping Rachel, or what was left of her, alive. They would hang tight until the arrival of Rachel's childhood bestie who was flying in from the west coast to say her goodbyes.

He'd received a text from Peg at the airport telling him she was on her way and that she'd beg the Uber driver to step on it. Devon replied that she could take her time. Rachel, who always seemed to have a bee in her bum about both Peg and her husband's annoying tardiness, could bloody well wait one more time.

Devon leaned over and brushed the greying locks back from her forehead and touched her skin. Still warm, blood still coursing through her veins although by now the Hamilton Medical G-5 had more to do with that than Rachel who had already left the building.

Grief suddenly surged through him, like a seventh wave amongst the flashes of memory and the realizations of duties awaiting him and words left unsaid before she'd slipped away from him the previous evening.

Impulsively and gingerly, Devon climbed into the bed and soon realized there was barely room for the two of them, to say nothing of the tubes and wires still knitting his wife to the world. He burrowed in with loving care and he finally stilled, confident that he'd done nothing to disturb the electronic rhythms keeping her life rolling, albeit it with a bitter asterisk.

"There," he whispered finally. "Not exactly the king-size bed we shared last New Year's at the Kapalua Bay Hilton, is it, Rach? We needed our cellphones to say our good mornings."

Rachel didn't answer.

She lay on her back, her head turned slightly toward him, her face strangely peaceful beneath the fluorescent lights. The ventilator breathed for her with a soft, mechanical sigh. Tape held a tube in place against her mouth. Her left hand rested on the sheet, pale and motionless. The wedding ring -- her third upgrade as their stations in life had improved over the past couple decades, was still on her finger. He still wore his original band -- battered and scratched -- and he tapped it against hers.

Devon then enclosed that hand in both of his.

"God, I'm going to miss you."

He said it without tears. The tears had come earlier, in the corridor, in the little family room with the uncomfortable chairs, in the bathroom where he had gripped the edge of the sink and stared at a stranger in the mirror. They had come when the neurologist explained the damage caused by her second and final stroke, and again when the machines got wheeled in and he pretended to understand the nurse's explanation of how it all worked, and how he would make the call to switch them off and allow nature to take its course and finish stealing his woman.

All that information had finally added up to something he could no longer bargain with.

Now there was only an enormous, hollow stillness inside him. He rubbed his thumb over her wedding ring. It was time for him to say goodbye.

"Twenty-five years," he said. "After all that time, and you never did learn how to make a decent cup of coffee."

He paused, glancing at her face.

"Don't give me that look. You know it's true. You used to put so much milk in it that I could practically stand a spoon up in the mug. And then you'd complain that I was a coffee snob."

His mouth twitched.

"You were right about that, by the way."

He listened to the beeps and sighs. The overhead speaker in the hall summoned doctors. Codes of every color alerted the staff to crises big and small. Wandering patients. Trespassers. A phone rang and was answered.

Devon shifted a little closer, resting his forehead against her temple.

"I'll miss your singing in the shower. And your dancing in the kitchen when you thought nobody was watching. You were terrible at both, sweets. The worst. You had the stylings of a refrigerator falling down a flight of stairs."

He waited, as though she might laugh. But then again, she never laughed at his jokes. Best he'd get: "Uh... huh."

He could almost hear that laugh. That was the awful thing about it. His mind kept supplying the things the room could no longer give him: the little snort she made when something really amused her, the way she tipped her head back when she graced him with a genuine gust of merriment. The way she would slap his arm and tell him he was an idiot.

He could see her standing at the stove first thing in the morning in her old Argos jersey she wore to bed, a mortal sin to a man who grew up cheering on the Ti-Cats. The way she held up all 10 fingers, and lowering each of them in turn to indicate the number of seconds he had left to impart a story on a subject she'd determined wasn't worth the time of day -- usually politics, viral video or the Ti-Cats.

He had thought they had forever to collect these moments.

Devon leaned over to kiss her forehead. He would save her lips for the last.

"I'll miss your lists, too. Those endless lists. Shopping lists, honey-do lists, packing lists, lists of things places we needed to visit before we died. I've still the got the itinerary for our anniversary trip to Greece on my phone."

He sighed. "Well, I ain't going without you. Maybe I'll hit that Greek restaurant you like on The Danforth."

His voice caught for the first time.

"Here I am reciting my list to you. Damn you for leaving me with all the empty boxes to check."

He closed his eyes.

"You were always better at living than I was, Rachel. You knew how to make a day count. I was always looking at the next thing, the next job, the next problem to solve. And you'd be there, telling me to put the bloody tablet away and look at the sunset."

He breathed slowly, trying to hold on to the memory of that sunset rather than the machines around them.

"You were right about that, too."

For a while, he said nothing. He held her hand and listened to the ventilator, hating it for doing what she could no longer do for herself.

He knew a logical decision had been made to shut everything down and acknowledged it was what Rachel would have wanted. He even made an inadvertent quip in describing it to the doctor as a "no brainer." Black humor was his speciality and getting a groan out of the missus was the next best thing to a chuckle.

But understanding something and resigning to it were two entirely different things.

He lifted her hand and pressed it against his cheek.

"Hell Rachel, I'd change a lot of things, but if I could get a do-over for just one, it would've been Tuesday," he sighed.

The fight they'd had at breakfast over her decision to sit out the awards dinner that in the end neither proved able to attend. She knew it was important to him to recognize his team's achievements in bio-medical research as much as he realized how deadly dull she found these things.

"I don't feel good," she said simply at the breakfast table.

"Fuck Rach, would it kill you to put a smile on your face for three ruddy hours?" he asked in exasperation before he wheeled out of the house and drove to work.

His last words to her. Not even the rote "Love ya!"

Just a call from the police two hours later that she was found slumped over her steering wheel in the middle of the Gardiner Expressway. He could even see the traffic snarl from the window from his downtown office, having no inkling that life as he knew it was over.

He stroked her hair again, the blonde strands stoutly battling the incursion of silver and grey which would now never triumph.

"Love ya," he whispered as tears welled. "That's what I should have said. It was a rule, like never going to bed angry, and I just didn't say it."

There were other lists. The ironic one that came to mind now was their ongoing discussion of the "Who's Next?" list, an evolving document over time.

It was inspired by the old Friends TV episode where Ross had a list of five celebrities he could get a "hall pass" to sleep with without penalty, or even having to wait to be "on a break" from HIS Rachel. Devon's approved list was more grounded in reality.

No Isabella Rosselini or Uma Thurman for him -- his wife had determined that his assistant, the bubbly and effervescent Bev, would be at the top of his charts.

Devon pretended to be appalled. Bev was 15 years younger, had a long-standing relationship with a colleague and worst of all, she worked for him, fer gawd's sake. Totally inappropriate -- HR would spit kittens.

Rachel would roll her baby blues. "She's gorgeous, she's bright and she loves your gawd-damned Ti-Cats," she'd recite. "And look at those tits! I'd do her!"

"Well," Devon would sigh, "my birthday IS coming up."

A more awkward conversation would arise whenever Devon suggested placing their mutual and perpetually single friend Peg on the hit parade. Rachel would wrinkle her button nose.

"Nah," she'd say. "That would be weird."

He'd stop asking why, especially after the last time they talked about it.

"She had her shot," Rachel said simply. "Next!"

Back in the here and now, Devon shook his head in disbelief. Rachel's body was still warm. But until that moment it was all a hypothetical exercise.

Number two on the approved list was the cute redhead down the hallway. True, Laura was married and possibly a decade older than Devon, but she was a sweetheart and came across with delicious desserts every now and then. Her old man really was an old man and it was a cruel fluke that Rachel beat him to last rites.

He looked at Rachel's face, searching for some sign that the woman he had loved since the beginning of the millennium was still in there somewhere, listening to Devon unburden himself before she truly departed this earthly plane.

"I will keep all my promises," he said, his fingers tightening around hers.

"You made me promise that if anything ever happened to you, I wouldn't turn into one of those miserable old men who sits in an armchair and waits to die. You said you'd haunt me if I did."

He smiled faintly.

"I believe you, too. You've always had a vindictive streak."

The smile faded, but he kept talking.

"So I'll get my ass out the door. I'm going to carry on. I'll make my own terrible coffee, I'll pick my underwear off the floor and I'll clean the toothpaste off the bathroom mirror. I'll check in on your sister in Calgary and I'll call your mother every Sunday, even though we both knew I wasn't good enough for you."

He swallowed.

"I'll get on planes without carrying a PowerPoint presentation for a conference. Maybe I'll take that trip to Scotland we talked about and go see that little Highland village where your grandfather came from. I'll go there, Rachel. I'll go to that hillside we talked about and look at the sea and I'll be providing running commentary because even though it's completely illogical, I'm going to believe you've set up a network of flock cameras to follow me wherever I go."

His voice became quieter.

"And I'll laugh again. I will reach out, I will reconnect and I will delegate because you're absolutely right, I hired somebody smarter than I am to be my assistant. She's going to get the ball."

He lowered her hand to his chest.

"But right now, I don't know how to do any of this without you."

There it was at last. Not a sob, not a cry, but the bare truth, spoken into the space between them.

"I don't know how to be the person I was before you. I don't even remember who that man was. Forever it's been you plus me and there wasn't a damned thing we couldn't do together."

He lay still, holding her, his cheek against her hair.

"But I'll try, babes. I promise. I'll try because you asked me to, and because you deserve that much from me."

He kissed her forehead again.

"And because I know exactly what you'll do to me if I don't."

A sound came from the doorway.

Devon didn't turn immediately. He had heard the door open, but he had asked for privacy, and whoever had come in would surely understand that he needed another moment.

Then a woman's voice, very soft, said, "You're right. She'd have haunted you, too. Hell, she's already haunting me."

He opened his eyes.

Peg stood just inside the room, one hand still on the door handle. Rachel's best friend since they were eight years old, she dropped everything and came running, like Devon knew she would. She caught the first flight to Toronto. Her coat was still on, her hair windblown and her face a picture of sorrow and worry.

She had clearly been crying. But now she was smiling through it.

"She always said you needed supervision," Peg added. "Someone to make sure you ate properly, hit the gym and stay the fuck out of the office on the weekend. You're going to need an army of finks to keep you in line, mister! I'm just the first to report for duty."

Devon gave a tired, watery chuckle.

"Yeah, well, Rachel was a major league nag," he said, then realizing that was the first time he'd mentioned her in the past tense.

Peg leaned over and gave Devon a peck on the cheek and then crossed to the other side of the bed where she took a seat and touched her old friend.

"There is a fine line between nagging and tender loving care," she said. "She loved you so much, Dev."

Peg's smile faltered. Her eyes moved to Rachel and for a moment the years seemed to fall away from her face. First the little girl, the precocious teen and then the stunning young woman she'd made the mistake of introducing to her new boyfriend.

The man now lying on the opposite side of the bed.

She touched Rachel's shoulder, then bent and kissed her cheek.

"Oh, Rach," she murmured. "You couldn't wait for me, could you, for one last chinwag? You stubborn old cow."

Her voice broke on the last word.

Devon and Peg silently remained in place, the final vanguard surrounding the woman they both loved. Unlike Devon, Peg kept her reminiscences to herself and she regretted their falling out years before, thankfully mended in time for Devon and Rachel's 20th anniversary party where she was the surprise guest. Devon's bright idea.

"I dunno why you guys went your separate ways," Devon said in his call out of the blue. "But it needs to end now. You left a big hole in her heart and as a medical technician I can tell you there's no drug or surgery that can mend that. She needs you and I'm betting you miss her too."

Peg missed Rachel terribly and said so. But she never told him, or Rachel for that matter, why she went radio silent from the other side of the Rockies. For years.

Devon watched as Peg laid a hand over Rachel's. The two women had shared everything, from their deepest thoughts and fantasies, to sweaters, shoes and ultimately, him. Peg had been there in Rachel's formative years, helping shape the woman who had filled his world so completely that he could no longer imagine its shape without her.

He was grateful she had come but he was also terrified.

Because now the end was no longer some distant thing waiting down the corridor. It was in the room with them, waiting patiently beside the bed.

Peg looked at him. "Are you ready?"

Devon looked across at his wife, and touched her face one more time, his fingertips alighting on her lips, their final kiss now moments away.

"No," he said quietly. "But I think Rachel is. I see no reason to prolong this any further. We're both with her now."

He then pressed his lips to hers, careful of the tube, and whispered the one thing he had been trying to say all morning.

"I love you, babes. I always will."

Then he rested his forehead against hers and held her hand. And he asked Peg to fetch the doctor.

But before Peg could rise, there was gentle knock on the open door.

"Hello? Hope I'm not interrupting -- I'm Gabe."

Both Devon and Peg turned and saw a handsome young man with black curly hair and a lab coat, an ID lanyard swinging in front of him as he entered the room. Devon wasn't familiar with him but figured the overnight doctor might have punched out and this fellow had picked up her duties for the morning shift.

"Good morning, doctor," Devon said as he got up and out of the bed, reluctantly releasing his wife's body. "Well, Rachel's best bud is here so I guess--"

The young man waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, sorry Devon, but I'm not the doctor."

Peg squinted at him. The guy was a little young to be a doctor, she thought. "Then, who are you? This really isn't--"

Gabe leaned forward and shook Peg's hand. "I'm actually a friend of Rachel's from when I worked at the city's social services department. She asked me to look in on you."

Devon frowned. He knew Rachel had a legion of friends but never mentioned a Gabe.

"Ah, well, thanks Gabe, but right now we do have some grim business to attend," Devon said, hoping the kid would take the hint.

"Yeah, I know, Devon," Gabe said gently. "And I am sorry if my being here at this moment seems like an intrusion, but if you just hear me out, I think you'll understand."

Peg and Devon, now fully confused, looked at each other before returning their gaze to the stranger, and asking in unison, "Understand what?"

Gabe chuckled and put his hands into his deep coat pockets. "Devon, right now you are lost and have no idea how to carry on alone and can't remember who you were before Rachel entered your life."

Devon's jawed dropped. How could he...

"And you, Peg, are beside yourself with anger that you turned away from Rachel, for years, because of your unresolved anger over losing this guy to your best friend all those years ago," Gabe continued. "Feelings, by the way, that remain unsettled even though everybody kissed and made up at the 20th anniversary party. Am I warm?"

In fact, he was red hot. Peg paled, her face giving away everything.

Gabe crossed the room to the bed and leaned over Rachel. "Now, this lady is about to go, but before that she wants to know that the two most important people in her life can fully appreciate the joy that they brought her."

He then looked at the both of them. "And what they could still mean to each other."

Devon tilted his head skeptically. As a man of science and reason, this was getting a little woo-woo for him. Small wonder his staff called him Mr. Spock behind his back.

"Look, Gabe, I'm pretty sure my Rachel is a little beyond knowing right now," he said firmly. "If you really don't mind--"

Gabe was way ahead of him and started backing to the door. He turned to Peg.

"Do you remember that thing you used to do with Rachel back in high school?" he asked her. "You'd sit across from her on a bed or a park bench or a beach blanket and you'd take each other's hands and close your eyes and for a few moments imagined draining all the worries and cares from the other, doing battle with each other's dragons. And then you'd open your eyes and realize they weren't really problems at all."

Peg's eyes welled. How could he possibly know that unless Rachel told him that most intimate of their secrets? She nodded.

"Peg, she wants you to do that now," Gabe said. "With Devon."

"This is stupid," Devon growled, really pissed off that this interloper was turning his final moments with his dying wife into a Vegas stage show with a mentalist. Next thing he'd have the two of them clucking like a chicken.

But then Peg touched his shoulder. "Come on, Devon. For Rachel."

Devon sighed and glared at Gabe who was smiling almost angelically, almost as though he was hopped up on one of the drugs his lab was testing.

"Fine," he snapped. He stood before Peg and held out his hands theatrically. She smiled and took them.

"So what do I do?" Devon muttered.

"Just close your eyes, Dev," Peg breathed. "You don't have to do anything. Think your thoughts, I'll think mine."

Devon closed his eyes. Anger, remorse, grief, fear coursed through him. He was nearly as tired as he was sad and didn't know if or when he'd be able to sleep peaceably again. But soon he felt himself swaying, almost dizzy and was afraid he might tip over.

He didn't because Peg had him, her hands grasping his firmly. And then he developed the sensation that he was levitating, through the ceiling of the hospital and up through the clouds. With Peg. He could feel the breeze and the sudden chill, even though it was in the middle of summer.

Then the slow descent and a soft landing, the warmth of the day returning. And somehow, his worries and cares had failed to make the journey with him. "Fuck," he thought, "I gotta get into yoga!"

He opened his eyes and there was Peg. They were standing together in a parking lot next to the hospital.

Devon backed away and looked around. "What the fuck?" he spat, trying to get his bearings.

Peg meanwhile was looking down at her unfamiliar clothing before apprehending the shoulder bag that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

"How? What?" she spluttered before tearing open the huge satchel. Devon thought it wouldn't have looked out of place on a rider for the Pony Express.

Peg was engrossed in the bag's contents, her wallet, her cosmetics, her papers. "I don't believe it!" she cried.

"I know!" Devon rejoined. "How the hell did we get here? And where is here?"

It was then that both of them turned to a temporary sign mounted at the edge of the lot indicating a new wing to the hospital was about to be erected on this site. The same building that would contain the wardroom where Rachel was awaiting her demise.

But not today. So the next question was: when?

Peg, wide eyed, then plucked a yellow plastic device from her bag. "Omigod, it's..."

"It's a flip phone," Devon added. "Jesus, what the hell is going on?"

Peg took his arm and together they ambled to the street and hurried to the entrance of the hospital, hungry for answers. Devon then saw a newsbox by the door and it occurred to him that he hadn't seen one of those in a long time. He bent down and peered through the window at the front page of The Toronto Sun and caught the date.

"Saturday, May 12, 2001."

He straightened and looked at Peg. "Isn't that the day--"

"--that I introduced you to Rachel," Peg said quietly. "Yes, yes it was. Is. I think."

Devon's inborne rationality reasserted control. There had to be a logical explanation and Rachel had to be behind all of this, somehow. Like the time she sprung his surprise 50th birthday party in the airport terminal before he could catch that flight to Singapore. She got everyone in on it, pilots, flight attendants and Mounties included. She had a flair for stuff like that and perhaps this was some kind of Rod Serlingesque going-away present.

But the supposition began to unravel. He watched as cars from the early millennium rolled by. Dozens of them. A bus with an ad on the side plugging the hot new toy, Bratz Dolls.

This was beyond even Rachel's cunning. And deconstructing an entire wing of a hospital? That might even stymie David Copperfield.

He closed his eyes and imagined he'd finally collapsed into that sleep he so badly needed and that all of this was merely an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. And speaking of Scrooge...

"For crying out loud, is this some sort of Christmas Carol schtick where we get to meet all the ghosts and mend our ways?" he asked Peg who seemed a little less troubled by the sudden upending of reality.

"No," she said simply. "I think I see what's going on here. And we have a date tonight with an angel who isn't quite an angel yet."

Flustered, Devon held his palms up. "I wish you'd explain this to me. Are we here for a visit or are we relocating permanently? Because if it's the latter, you'll have to excuse me while I call my broker on that flip phone and buy all the Apple and Amazon stock I can afford."

Peg nodded back at the parking lot from whence they materialized. "I have a feeling there's a shit car with your smelly gym bag in the back seat waiting for us over there."

Devon frowned and reached into his pocket, plucking out some keys. "Shit, you're right -- my Pontiac Aztek. Worst decision I ever made. Fer cryin' out loud, you'd think if we were going to do any time travelling we could at least get a DeLorean for a ride."

Peg smiled and took his hand. "C'mon Dev, let's play along and see where this road takes us."

Devon manufactured a growly voice a-la Doc Brown. "Roads? Where we're going, we don't need roads."

They also didn't need a plan. Because it didn't take long for Peg and Devon to figure out that they were merely spectators in an extremely elaborate waking dream.

It was Peg who figured that out first. As they drove out of the lot in the cramped confines of an ugly car that a critic from Time Magazine once wrote couldn't have been hated more if had a swastika on its grille, she knew exactly where they were going even as the man behind the wheel was getting his bearings.

"So where to--"

"My place," she blurted. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Devon looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean? I don't remember where you lived back then. Didn't you have a place in Summerhill?"

"Then why are you heading east to the DVP?"

She was right. Devon felt his right foot push the peddle so he could run the red at an intersection, the ramp to the Don Valley Parkway North a couple more blocks further ahead.

"Turn right here," Peg said.

Devon nodded but he maintained course. "It's like I'm on automatic pilot," he muttered.

"Because you are," she said quietly. "We both are. It's the same reason we can't drive to the U. S consulate on University and warn them about those guys currently enrolled at flight training schools in Florida."

Devon gripped the wheel tighter. "Jesus, yeah. 9/11."

The car moved with the smoothness of an old shopping cart and in the timeline he came from, Devon would palm off this rolling abomination on a co-worker in 2003.

"So... what happens now?" Devon asked as they banked right to the ramp.

Peg turned to him in perplexion. "You mean you don't remember anything about that day?"

He shrugged. "I remember meeting Rachel and marvelling at how beautiful she was even after she'd been crying all day," he said. "And how tongue-tied and nervous I was, afraid of saying the wrong things and saying them anyway. Getting unintended laughs and putting a smile on that lovely face for the first time."

Devon stole a glance at his passenger. Speaking of gorgeous, his eyes soon strayed from her smooth, unlined face to destinations south.

"I know you're looking at them," she snorted.

He squirmed in his seat. Caught perving out at his wife's bestie, in the Twilight Zone, no less.

"Relax," Peg chuckled. "I'm looking at them too. I'd forgotten how humongous my jugs were before I had them deflated in my thirties. My back was killing me and while surgery improved my posture, it also made my phone a lot quieter."

Devon shook his head. "Ah, fuck 'em, you are stacked in so many other categories Ms. Lindley."

Peg tapped his thigh. "Well, good news Mr. Carver, you're going to be getting your hands and lips for that matter all over these puppies real soon... if history continues repeating."

Devon's jaw dropped. They were coming up to the Eglinton exit and he'd flipped the turn signal without a conscious thought. "Uhhh, I don't think so! Peg, we c-can't! Not at a time like this! I'm married, fer chrissakes! You're Peg's best friend! She's dying! Why am I getting a hard-on? How am I going to walk?"

Peg looked over and could see the ratty Levi's that Devon wore way too often in those days were straining to keep his equipment at bay. Her head rocked back and she exploded in laughter.

"Oh, you remember the golden-haired goddess when you first beheld her, but you forget we spent the entire afternoon and early evening that day at my apartment fucking like rabbits," she brayed.

"We ran out of bodily fluids and were late getting to her place. You don't recall any of that? Jeez, Dev, you're such a girl!"

Devon was very much a boy and his heart was thumping as they entered Peg's digs in Scarboro. They rode up the elevator silently and Devon tried averting his gaze. He'd forgotten how striking Peg used to be, a feast for his young, horny eyes. From the first time they met at that party in college, it was all he could do to keep his hands off her.

Soon they were in Peg's cozy place and it started flooding back for the both of them. The bare white walls, the cheaply framed pictures that she never got around to hanging, each leaning expectantly against the wall. The simple used furniture. The Formica kitchen table with a single mismatched chair. Dishes in the sink. A mattress on the floor in the bedroom.

"Martha Stewart, eat your heart out," Peg groaned as she dropped her bag and doffed her coat on the couch.

Dev surveyed the scene and snorted. "Jeez, look at this place Peg, you were such a guy! I think I saw this as a spread in Lousy Housekeeping magazine."

She shot him a look and checked out the kitchen. There was a bottle of wine on the counter, cheap plonk she'd picked up at the LCBO for their dinner at Peg's that evening. If memory served, there'd be a tray of brownies in the fridge she'd whipped up the night before, salve for Peg's broken heart.

"The double whammy," she said idly as she poked into a closet to reacquaint herself with clothing and sports equipment she'd be sending to thrift shops and landfills in the months and years to come. She fondled some of the hand-me-down sweaters from her bestie that she couldn't bear to part with even though the titty fairy had passed over Rachel's home and visited Peg twice, turning the garments into unfortunate straitjackets.

She turned to Devon who was beyond blushing, aware of what they were apparently about to do. Again.

"She lost her mom and her boyfriend, the same day," Peg said. "A one-two punch. She was in a hospital out of town with her mother when she died and got the call from that fucker I warned her about. Ditched her over the phone. Bastard!"

Devon nodded and in spite of himself, had begun unbuttoning his shirt. "You called me to change our plans for the evening and I offered to join you for moral support," he said.

Peg began unbuttoning her blouse and found the impregnable and uncomfortable Elomi bra that reapportioned her then-boobage for a better look, or leer as the case might be. In a few years she'd retire her over-the-shoulder boulder-holders for lighter gauge undergarments, so it was like a reunion with an annoying old friend.

"We're really gonna do this?" Devon said weakly, his pants giving way to gravity.

"That's the way God planned it," Peg sighed as her jeans, panties and brassiere gave way as well. "Or the devil -- who the hell knows what's behind this?"

They embraced gracefully, as though they were a figure-skating pair familiar with their routine, almost spinning in a dance toward the threshold of the bedroom.

"So I guess we... kiss now?" Devon croaked, even as their lips homed in on each other like capsules docking in space. Flesh pressed, tongues probed.

"Jesus I'm wet," Peg gasped as she came up for air. "You better fuck me quick!"

They fell into bed and Devon mounted her. "I'm on it... in it!" he corrected himself. Then thinking: "Wait, didn't I put a sock on it in those--"

"Oh for fuck's sake, fuck me you fucking fucker!" Peg spluttered and she unceremoniously shoved him inside. So much for foreplay.

"I miss your sweet pillow talk!" Devon wheezed as he began pumping her, kneading her impressive knockers in the process. He remembered friends at the time making snide remarks about his then-girlfriend's endowments, quite out of fashion in the early aughts, the "heroin chic" era when fashion and entertainment icons were largely modest chested.

Peg would complain about the unwanted attention and her aching back but would sheepishly admit their utility in getting breaks at the garage, extra-generous pours at the bar and for receiving polite warnings from cops when she got pulled over for speeding.

"Hello? Play with my nipples! Christ, have you forgotten everything?" she gasped from below.

"Oh yes, right, sorry!" he babbled, freeing a hand to use his thumb and forefinger to roll a rock-hard nipple, pulling then releasing, then repeating. Peg cried out in pain/pleasure, and realized that was the first honest sensation she'd had since she'd arrived in this mysterious dimension, seemingly swaddled in cotton batten and bubble wrap and prisoner to earlier impulses she could barely recall.

But then as now she wanted this man, a man she had released with later, bitter regret. As he plumbed her depths and she writhed in growing ecstasy, she felt all this was less a do-over than a cruel reminder of what she had before she ensured it was gone. A man she'd never been able to replace.

Devon shared Peg's sense of inner alienation while rationalizing he could hardly be cheating on somehow he technically wasn't yet married to let alone gone on a first date. At the outset of this surreal adventure, his lack of agency, especially behind the wheel, had been a little unnerving.

But now he experienced the flipside, the excitement of rediscovering this woman who had all-too-briefly blazed across his sky as a lover only to evolve into a confidante for his wife and a third wheel on ski trips to Whistler. He had no idea what she was going to do next.

He only knew he was about to blow and unlike Rachel there was no question where it was going. Peg felt his warm eruption deep within her and enjoyed her command of his cock. Soon she directed his face to her pussy, knowing his mouth lips and tongue would carry her the rest of the way to an orgasm of her own.

Then they did it again. And again.

So the afternoon passed as the room darkened and all was nearly forgotten about their rendezvous with Rachel to finally close the circle. They lay on the mattress, Devon gathering Peg into his chest, both of them giddy about the bodies they had come to inhabit for a final curtain call.

"I've gone through the motions in the bedroom before, but this was something else entirely," Peg giggled as she touched the very fine hard body lying next to her.

"Damn, we're hot!" Devon chuckled. "Look at those abs! Now instead of a six pack I've got a keg!"

Peg rubbed his tummy, intentionally brushing by his softening cock as she reached for it. A Paul Simon lyric came to mind.

"Why am I soft in the middle now? The rest of my life is so hard, I want a shot at redemption..."

"You still can't sing," Devon said. "Neither can Rachel. But your point is taken."

Rachel. The grim business still awaited.

Peg looked over at the digital clock on her nightstand which she would sell to an old lady at a yard sale before she moved out to Vancouver in 2005.

"We're late," she sighed as she rolled off the side and onto her feet.

"We can't ask for a raincheck?" he asked almost pleadingly as he got out of the bed himself.

"Nuh-uh," Peg said, nodding to the shower. "Get going."

Devon turned resignedly and headed to the bathroom. "All good things, right?" he said.

Peg winked at him. "Good news: I get in there with you and give you a blow job."

He clutched his raw man meat and staggered toward the porcelain. "Is this abuse never going to end?" he wailed in jest.

She nearly bounded after him, her rack swaying. "I certainly hope not," she whispered.

It was a little after nine before Peg and Devon rang the bell at Rachel's townhouse in the Annex. In spite of their smiling facades, each felt a deepening dread. Were they merely to play act this sad occasion with pre-programmed dialogue, sadder now for metaphysical reasons?

In the first go-round Peg held Rachel in her arms for hours as tears soaked her blouse. She remembered joking with Devon on the way home that it was a good thing she'd made the costume change, elsewise it would have turned into a wet t-shirt contest.

This place Devon remembered well -- after their whirlwind courtship, he moved in after they exchanged vows at old city hall and they lived there for the first decade. Its proximity to the University of Toronto, where he worked at the time, and city hall a little further south where Peg punched a clock, made it an ideal location. They could walk to work together every morning and often met for dinner and a show in the Entertainment District.

But the townie was old, pipes sprung leaks, a tree root from a centuries-old maple burrowed into their basement, wiring frayed like their tempers and they eventually were ready to abandon their money pit for something a lot newer uptown with a little more elbow room. They moved to their present home in North York, a house that would be a lot quieter and emptier without Rachel in it.

The door opened and they were unprepared for the person who greeted them.

"Gabe?" Again in unison.

The young man opened the door and ushered them inside. "Come in, come in! Good to see you guys! I trust you had an interesting day?"

Peg and Devon looked at each other and blushed. "Yeah, well, you could say it was a blast from the past," Devon answered carefully.

They entered the narrow hallway Devon was familiar with but as he neared the pictures on the wall framing Peg's family photos, he was unable to focus on the faces. Peg stood in front of the large mirror by the door and didn't herself in reflection.

"We are dreaming," she said. Then she held up the bottle of wine. "And I'm guessing if we uncork this, we'll be disappointed with its body, balance and finish."

Gabe grinned and tapped his nose. She got it.

"This way," he said, and they followed him through the living room to the kitchen then out to the back porch.

"Listen, Gabe, we've got a lot of questions and we can only hope you've got the answers," Devon said as they hurried to follow the young man suddenly in a hurry.

Gabe pulled out a gold pocket watch and shook his head. "I'm afraid we're nearly out of time, Devon," he smiled before nodding out into the backyard. Devon followed his gaze and did not recognize the space he found beyond the porch.

The garden he remembered from back in the day was a tiny plot of real estate just big enough for a storage shed, a couple lawn chairs and a barbecue. The expanse of grass and trees now before them was deep enough to practice post patterns and toss hail marys.

And at the very back of it was a young blonde woman.

"She's waiting for you," Gabe said. "She's waiting for the both of you."

Devon swallowed hard and took Peg's hand, tugging at her to follow him.

"I shouldn't," she whispered.

He smiled. "It's my turn to get the plot, Peg. I think there's something she wants to tell the both of us."

Before Peg could step off the porch it disappeared and all that was left was an early evening sky and an orange sunset, with Rachel silhouetted against it. Peg and Devon approached her, tears welling in their eyes.

"Before you can ask, I don't have a fucking clue what this is all about either," Rachel said, the timbre of her voice strong, her flaxen hair catching the light almost like a halo. The vision of beauty that stole Devon's heart all those years ago.

"But this is goodbye," she continued, taking Devon's hand. "I know you're beating yourself up over that little dust-up we had over breakfast a week ago. Well, don't. I know you love me and I have always loved you with my all my heart. We've had our ups and downs, but we went the distance."

She pulled Devon closer and gave him a deep kiss. One to remember.

Rachel then turned to her bestie and took both her hands. "And speaking of ups and downs, Peg, there's a reason I picked this day for the two of you to revisit. To remember what you once meant to each other. And now Peg, I need you to do me one last favor, a big one."

Peg wiped away a tear, a losing battle. "Anything, Rach. Name it."

Rachel backed up into Devon until he gathered his arms around her and held her close. "I'm going to need you to keep an eye on this one. Can you do that for me?"

Peg looked up at Devon who seemed determined to hang onto his wife, even if she was an apparition.

"Rach, I can never--"

"I know he's the reason you disappeared from my life, from both our lives, " Rachel said quietly. "You were mad at yourself for letting him get away but the truth is, you fooled the both of us. You made us believe you had moved on and didn't want him anymore."

"Rachel, please, don't do this," Peg pleaded. "Not now."

"He was the love of your life," Rachel continued. "Just as he became the love of mine. You saw me at my lowest ebb, today, and introduced me to a man who could make me laugh and forget my troubles. You always came to my rescue and you made the biggest sacrifice ever."

Peg crossed her arms and sniffled. "You were perfect together. Anybody could see that."

Rachel lifted Devon's arms and kissed his hands before backing away. She smiled at Peg. "Remember that time you loaned me that cute red sweater with the beads?"

Peg had to think for a moment and then gasped out a chuckle. "Oh yeah, you gave it back to me with a pull and shot spots on the sleeve!"

Rachel was now backing away through tall grass and released that gust of laughter. "That's right -- now we're even! And Devon, you take care of our Margaret. She's the best woman I know."

Tears streamed down Devon's cheeks and he fell to his knees, Peg taking him by the shoulders. "I love you, Rachel!" he cried as the wind gathered and the sun descended. And Rachel was gone.

"Take my hands, Dev," Peg said, getting down on her knees to face him and pressing her forehead to his. "Close your eyes and remember Rachel. And I'll do the same."

Before he closed his eyes, Devon touched her face. "I don't suppose you'd be wearing a pair of ruby slippers you could click together?"

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, but with any luck we'll be back in our Toronto soon," she replied.

Then all faded to black.

"Mr. Carver?"

Devon started awake and found Peg slumped against him on a bench in the hall outside of Rachel's room at the hospital. He gently shook her from her slumber. He looked up to see he was being addressed by a short woman in a blue smock with a stethoscope around her neck.

"I'm Dr. Dorothy Gale," she said quietly. "I've taken over from Dr. Harris for the day shift and I see that your wife's friend has obviously arrived, per your note. But I have to tell you that I just looked in on Rachel and I'm afraid she's passed, on her own. I know you wanted to say goodbye--"

"We did, doctor," Peg piped up. "In our own way. We know she's finally at peace."

The doctor nodded. "I am very sorry for your loss. You can have a few minutes with her now."

Devon and Peg got to their feet and shook the doctor's hand. Peg looked at Devon warily who seemed shaky on his feet.

"Are you okay Mr. Carver?" the doctor asked, taking his elbow.

"I-I dunno," he said, turning pale. "I'm a little dizzy."

"Take a seat," Dr. Gale ordered as she and Peg steered him back to the bench. "You probably haven't slept for days."

"I'm fine," Devon insisted. "I just need a minute."

The doctor looked at Peg. "I'm going to need you to keep an eye on this one," she said, startling Peg. That's what Rachel said to her. Or so she thought.

Before Dr. Gale could go, Devon touched her sleeve. "Doctor, can you ask Gabe to come and see us? I'd like to have a word with him if I could. He came to see us this morning."

"Who?"

"You know, the counsellor guy, curly black hair," Devon added.

Dr. Gale frowned. "We don't have anybody here named Gabe, Mr. Carver. We do have a grief counsellor on call today, but her name is Nancy. And I haven't seen her."

Devon turned to Peg who raised her hands helplessly. "You were there -- the guy said some wild stuff and then..." His voice trailed off and he realized he sounded like a candidate for the hospital's psych ward.

So he shut up. "Don't mind me, doc."

The doctor smiled and touched his shoulder. "You need some rest in an actual bed, not a bench in a hospital. Can you ensure he gets home Ms. Lindley?"

Peg smiled and nodded. "It's been a rough ride," she agreed. "Thanks doctor."

They waited a moment before Devon groaned and got to his feet for a second time, finally achieving liftoff. Peg took an arm and walked with him into the room where they found Rachel in the bed, her hair brushed by a kind nurse, the tubes and wires gone and the mechanical apparatus removed from the space.

They stood there for a moment beside her before Devon bent down and kissed his wife for the last time, her lips now cool. She was gone.

In a few minutes they were in the parking lot and Peg seized the keys, Devon in no shape to drive. She kept looking at him for some sign that he too had experienced the same wild, waking dream that she had. But he didn't say a word and remained quiet as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Peg reached over and took his hand. "I'm sorry, Dev," she said. "But I'm here for you. I'm your friend too."

Devon smiled and covered her hand with his. "I know," he said. "You've known me longer than Rach."

Peg swallowed. "That's right. We've been through a lot together. We'll get through this, too."

"It doesn't seem real," he murmured. "None of this does."

Then he turned to her. "Have you ever had a dream and you came up with a great idea or the answer to a tough problem and then you wake up--"

"--and it disappears? Yeah, been there. I don't know what's up with that."

They sat there quietly.

"Devon... I remember Gabe," she said.

Devon shot her a look. "Yes, right after you arrived! And it was like he knew everything about us."

She nodded. "Yeah. That actually happened, Devon."

Peg held his hand again. "Look at me, Devon. Do you remember anything else? Think!"

Devon leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes. Peg watched as his face betrayed a range of emotions, ending in peaceful recognition. His eyes fluttered open and then he smiled.

He took her hand. "Peg, I remember everything."

-30-