My Deja Vu Lover Read Online Free Page A

should, but then I’d have to go stand on a street corner and find somebody else.”
       He laughed and between kisses he said other things, probably that he loved me, probably that I ought to marry him. I didn’t pay any attention because I knew him too well and he didn’t mean a word of it.
       I did tell him, “I don’t believe a word you say.”
       And he mumbled, “That’s good, because I don’t remember what I said.”
       “Then just shut up and concentrate, Tommy boy.”
       He was warm and familiar and safe and kind and gentle and loving and passionate and finally mind-blowing good.
       Our barricade fell in on us unnoticed.
     
    CHAPTER 3
       We were dressed and watching TV by the time Macbeth brought Cyd home. Tom was stretched out on the couch half asleep, one arm draped around me. I sat on the carpet next to him, leaning back with my head resting against him.
       They had gone out to dinner at some Italian place in the Pioneer Square area that overflowed with atmosphere and fascinating people, Cyd said, waving her arms and doing one-line descriptions of customers and waiters.
       Macbeth said, “The pasta was lumpy.”
       Ignoring him, Cyd continued her chatter while she went into the kitchen, filled two tumblers with wine, then returned. She wore a straight, sleeveless dress that fit under a suit jacket for work, a style of dress that looks wonderful on really slim women like Cyd. Every shiny dark hair on her head hung neat and straight, not quite touching her shoulders. When she moved, her hair swung out. Very jealous, yes, I was. Good thing she’s also such a terrific friend.
       “The clientele is very arty,” she explained.   
       “They dress in Salvation Army rejects,” Macbeth said.
       “We ran into Lisa from our dorm, remember her? Always starting something, never finishing? She’s into reincarnation now. Goes to some hypnotist who took her back to a Gold Rush wagon train memory.”
       “An earlier life?” Tom asked, half-opening his eyes.
       “No, this life, she’s well-preserved. God, Tom. Of course an earlier life. He put her in a kind of trance and she was sitting on a buckboard. Lisa said she could see the other wagons and hear people calling to each other and she even smelled the dust and the horses. She says she knew there was this man sitting next to her and she knew he was her husband and they were excited about the journey, but when she tried to turn her head to see him, the trance ended.”
       The pressure in my ribcage stopped my breathing. The muscles tightened in my neck and shoulders. It was as though I was paralyzed, a mind held captive in an immovable tower. I could feel the man beside me in the car and smell his cologne. I could see my hands on the steering wheel.
       Macbeth leaned down and touched my arm. “April?   Where are you?”
       I shuddered and began to breathe again. “That’s what it was like. I could see and smell and touch, but it was another place and time. Do you think I was remembering another life?”
       “I wish you hadn’t mentioned Lisa and her stupid reincarnation story,” Macbeth said to Cyd. By the way his eyes narrowed, I knew Cyd had told him what had happened to me.
       “Maybe it’s not a story,” Tom said. “Maybe it’s real. Maybe Lisa saw a former life.”
       Macbeth said, “Which history prof taught you that, buddy? Reincarnation is a theory, one more superstition sometimes tied to a religion by people who need a crutch to get through life.”
       “Are you sure?” I asked.
       “Listen, babe, even if it were true, even if they could prove it in a lab, it wouldn’t change anything. You can’t go back and change the past. So what’s the point? Done is done.”
       He was usually right and that was okay because Macbeth kept the rest of us from flying off into self-destruct, well, he saved Tom and me. Cyd had her own built in system. If Mac was sure, then maybe