One Year Later

P ulling the device out of the cabinet, Violet stared at it for at least the tenth time in the past month. She had no idea if this thing charged somehow and needed to be plugged in after being inside her garage for a year. For all she knew, it had been fully charged before being deposited in the ground, and she'd used up all it had when she'd moved through time or, at least, had a vision of herself moving through time. She'd thought about pressing that button again more times than she could count.

The first time had been that day a year ago when Rachel had come over to first meet Apollo. Once Rachel had left, Violet thought maybe she'd press the button and see if anything about that future vision had changed. Maybe initially, Rachel had been more open to the idea of starting a new relationship. Maybe Violet had presented it as an option before Rachel had gone on for several minutes while they'd eaten breakfast, talking about how important this new job was to her. Violet had resisted. Violet had waited. She'd decided that pressuring Rachel for something she hadn't been ready for at that point wouldn't likely lead to what Violet had seen in the vision.

Then, about a month ago, Violet had overheard Rachel talking on the phone and had asked her about the call later.

"It's a woman I'm going out with this weekend," Rachel had shared.

"Oh. You have a date?" Violet had asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee in the office breakroom.

"My mom is trying to set me up. She's someone's daughter. Well, of course , she's someone's daughter. I meant that my mom knows her mom, and she just came out a few months ago, I guess. My mom thought we could go out. I put her off for a while, but she's being extra annoying about it, so I thought I'd just say yes and get it over with."

That date had led to three more dates, and since Violet and Rachel were more friends than colleagues, Violet had been given a few details she might not otherwise have gotten.

"She's really smart. She's thirty-two and recently divorced. The divorce is because she was married to a man and decided to stop lying to herself, as she said, and not hurt him anymore. We're going out again this weekend."

"Great," Violet had said through gritted teeth.

By her count, Rachel and this woman had been on four dates, which had to mean that tonight, being their fifth date, they'd probably be having sex. Hell, they'd probably already had sex. Maybe Rachel was a sex-on-the-third-date kind of woman. Violet didn't get that vibe from her, and Rachel had only told her about a couple of pretty mild kisses, but five dates in, this woman had to be asking or wanting to take the next step. Maybe the woman was a prude or wanted to take things slowly because she'd never been with another woman. Violet hoped for that because the thought of Rachel being with anyone else made her vomit. Literally. She'd gotten a text message from Rachel after the third date, when they'd kissed for the first time, and Violet had run to her bathroom and thrown up. Then, she'd cried.

Rachel had said she didn't want a relationship that day. She'd repeated it several times throughout the year, too, that she was focused on her career and that once she made SVP in a couple of years, which was her goal, she'd be open to the idea of something serious. Violet had waited to respect her wishes, and now, there was a chance that Rachel would end up with this woman that Violet still refused to call by her name.

So, for at least ten times in the past month, she'd stared at the device in her garage, wanting to see the future again, and she'd stopped herself every time because it probably wasn't fair to Rachel, but more because it scared her. If her future wasn't the same anymore and Rachel didn't end up as her wife – if they didn't end up together with those two children and however many grandchildren – she didn't know what she'd do because she loved Rachel now.

She'd spent many nights with Rachel in her living room, watching movies and sipping merlot. A few times, she'd even put her legs in the woman's lap, testing the waters, and Rachel hadn't ever pushed her away. Rachel also came over nearly every weekend to swim in Violet's pool, and Apollo would run around it as she made her laps, checking on her and jumping in after her a few times because he thought she'd been underwater for too long and he needed to rescue her. They had drinks once a week at the bar across the street, and they talked about practically everything.

Violet could see it now, why they would've ended up together. And that vision had been a year ago. It was not as clear as it had been initially. She wanted to jump back into it to find out more and maybe stay longer somehow or arrive sooner. She needed to know how they got together in the first place. Had she asked Rachel out that night at the bar or the first time she visited the house? Maybe in that version of events, Rachel hadn't overheard Mark's ridiculously immature assistant spreading rumors about Violet, and they'd talked. Maybe they'd gone out after their collectively long day of final interviews and hit it off.

Violet needed to know, so she took a deep breath and pressed the button again. When nothing happened, she tried to close her eyes on her own, waiting for the same sensation as the last time, but many seconds later, she saw no hospital room, and after opening her eyes back up, she found herself still in her garage. Desperate now, Violet pressed the button again, harder this time, but yet again, nothing happened.

"Fuck," she muttered. "How do you charge?"

She picked up the device and turned it around in her hands, hoping she could find something to connect it to. The cable that stuck out of the end had nothing on it that would help her, though. It was as if the cable just ended. There were two copper-colored wires sticking out, but it wasn't a standard USB or USB-C or anything else that would attach to a computer or an outlet, and she didn't want to electrocute herself trying to shove it into something.

"Fuck!"

Apollo barked from his position of standing in the open doorway that led to the laundry room.

"I'm okay, buddy," she said. "I think I am, at least."