He put down his beer bottle in midswallow. “Oh, yeah. I finished up the drawings for the remodel on your bathroom. You’re going to love it. Travertine tiles, body sprays in the shower, recessed lighting. All I need are some decisions on the cabinetry, and I’ll be ready to get started.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I pulled pages from the catalog to give you an idea of your options. Doors, knobs, roll-out trays, that kind of thing. I can do all the drawers with a soft close, too.”

“Sure.”

“Take it home and talk to the missus, and then let me know what you guys want to do.”

I almost stopped breathing. “My wife.”

“Right. I can start next week if you want. My job in Oak Park finished early.”

I heard it in my head again: My wife.

“Dylan?” Scotty said, his voice sounding far away.

My wife, my wife, my wife . . .

“Jesus, buddy, you’re white as a sheet,” he went on.

“Scotty, I have to go.”

“Sure. Okay. Let me gather up the plans and catalog, and you can take everything with you.”

I pushed the bottle of beer into his hand and backed away. “No, I have to go now,” I said again. “Right now.”

“Dylan? Hey, what’s up?”

But I was already out the door.

My head throbbed. I felt a tightness in my chest, and my breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. I kept repeating a mantra to myself that this was real, that this wasn’t a dream, but I didn’t dare allow myself to believe it. I didn’t even want to blink, because I was afraid that closing my eyes would take me back to my old life.

I wanted it to be true.

I wanted that more than anything else I’d ever prayed for in my life.

I started walking, but the pace of walking felt glacial. I pushed past people who were going too slowly, ignoring their comments when I bumped into them. Soon I was running. I sprinted north past the park and then into the quiet, leafy streets of Ravenswood Manor. I ran full out all the way until Lawrence Avenue, where I finally had to stop and bend over, gasping for air. When I could breathe again, I crossed the river.

I was only a few blocks from home. This time, I didn’t run. I measured out each step, because I wasn’t sure what I would find when I got to my door. I didn’t want to face the reality of being wrong.

My wife.

I walked through a neighborhood I’d known my entire life. Nothing looked different. The buildings were all the same. I could tell you the names of most of the people behind those doors, and I wondered if they’d led identical lives to what I remembered or whether they’d taken different paths in this world.