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She had to be at least eighty there. Maybe older. She’d always tried to keep a good skin regimen, using makeup with sunscreen in it and making sure to thoroughly wash her face each night with the goal of having fewer wrinkles appearing later and avoiding skin cancer, of course. Age aside, though, that scar was so unique to her that there was no way it could have been anyone else, which either meant that she’d had a moment where she’d been transported to the future, or she needed to see a therapist about some very realistic hallucinations.

It had been a week since that day, and while the pool was finished and the fence was about to be put in around it, she still had no name for her puppy because she’d been unable to focus on anything other than this vision and had hardly slept at all since it had happened. Unable to put the case and the object out with the trash but also unable to press that damn button again to verify her experience, Violet felt like she had no idea what to do with herself.

Work had been piling up. Meetings went on without her being aware of what they’d discussed. Her assistant had been moving things around for her when she needed to take a longer lunch or go home early. Even though it had only been five working days so far, people were starting to notice because it was so unlike Violet to not be totally present at work. After all, she had nothing else in her life to be present for. Sure, she had a dog now, but she also had a dog walker walking him twice per day. Then, she’d get home around six, take him out andlet him run around the backyard with her standing there close by, and they would play with his new favorite toy before they’d eat dinner together.

“I’m going to take off. You should get out of here, too,” she said to Courtney as she exited her office with her bag slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, okay.” Courtney looked at her computer screen, and Violet knew what she was doing.

Her assistant was checking the clock because it was just now five, and Violet typically stayed until at least five-thirty or six.

“Puppy?” Courtney asked. “Does he have a name yet? You can’t keep calling him ‘puppy.’”

“I don’t. I’m still calling him Little Guy,” she replied. “So, no.”

“He won’t be little for much longer. You got a big dog. Pretty soon, he’ll be Big Guy.”

“He’ll have a name before then,” she replied. “And get out of here. I’m sure you have plans you need to get ready for.”

“You said you didn’t want to know about my plans,” Courtney tossed back. “And they’regoodplans, too.”

“Well, enjoy them,” she replied. Then, hearing a door open, she looked up and saw someone shaking hands with her boss, who was in the C-suite. “New vendor?” she asked, knowing they’d been searching for some new software to make things more efficient for the department.

“No, he had an interview,” Courtney explained. “I had to book it since his assistant has been out on vacation this week. Potential VP of finance. He’s been interviewing people all week.”

“Oh.”

Then, the woman who had just shaken her boss’ hand turned, and Violet stumbled backward a bit.

“Violet? Are you okay?” her assistant asked.

Violet was definitelynotokay. There was now sweat on her forehead, and she needed to lean against something, so she found the door she’d just closed and rested her body there as she swallowed.

“Violet?”

“I’m fine. It’s… okay,” she lied. “Go home, Courtney. Have a good weekend.”

Without turning around, Violet grabbed the doorknob, pushed her office door open, and disappeared inside there, closing the door behind her.

The woman she’d just seen was unmistakably a younger version of the woman who had held her hand in that vision.

“Rachel Bailey-Armstrong,” she muttered to herself. “No, just Rachel Bailey.”

Rachel, if Violet was right about this woman being her, looked younger than her. She was maybe thirty years old, but possibly even younger than that, and was, apparently, interviewing at the company where Violet worked as the SVP of operations. Violet more flopped than sat down on her sofa and dropped her bag down beside her. Then, she heard a knock at the door.

“Um… Sure,” she said because she couldn’t think of any other words.

“Mark is out here,” Courtney told her after opening the door. “And did you just say, ‘Sure?’”

“Why?”

“Because that’s a weird thing to say to someone who’s knocking on your door.”

“Why is Mark out there?”

“Oh, he wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” she said.