The next image felt like a slap: her dinner with Ben Archer months before. The illusion was so real that she slid her arms around the carousel horse’s neck to stabilize herself and found that she was gripping smooth, silky hair. With a rhythmic beating noise, the horse was cantering backward on the platform with its head down. The strange sensation made her sick to her stomach, like when she’d ridden on a train with her back to the front car. She looked around to see that all the animals—the lion, the tiger, and the zebra—were also running in reverse and in unison, like a herd stampede being rewound on film.

The carousel lights flashed again and Ben’s face morphed. Now she saw him on the steps of the old stone Methodist church, shaking his head. She wore the ivory lace dress.

Lara gasped loudly at the next scene. Todd stood in front of her, hazy like he was in the sun; she squinted to see him. Todd. She gasped when she saw his face again. He was like the illusion she’d seen at the gala, but this Todd was in a memory—the scene familiar to her. Up close, after all these months, she’d forgotten so many details about his features—the lines next to his mouth and the blue flecks in his hazel eyes. Perhaps her pain was so bad that she’d had to erase him. And now it felt as though a weak seam had begun to rip again at the fabric of her insides. The carousel lights flashed and the music was loud, but inside the image it was just them. They were in his Jeep with the top down; he was looking at her and smiling. The wind was blowing in her face, stray hairs of hers getting snagged on her recently applied lip gloss. She stared at Todd’s face, so grateful to be seeing it again and ashamed that she’d forgotten the way he brushed his brown hair back with his hand. He was so beautiful.

“Don’t go.” She put her hand out to touch him.

He looked over at her and laughed. “What are you talking about?”