Wife 22

I’m afraid so.

Time passes differently in Narnia then IRL.

Look at you, using acronyms like IRL.

You’ll only have been gone for five minutes when you return.

A lifetime on the Internet.

Your husband won’t even know that you left.

That’s the hope, anyway. I’ll miss you, Yossarian.

What will you miss?

Your paranoia, your complaining, your salty brand of sanity.

I’ll miss you, too, Lucy Pevensie.

What will you miss?

Your magic cordials, your bravery-your ridiculous blind faith in a talking lion.

Do you believe in second chances?

I do.

I can’t help thinking it was fate that brought us together.

And fate that kept us apart. Forgive me for complicating things, for falling for you, Wife 22.

Don’t apologize. You reminded me I was a woman worth falling for.

GTG. I see land.

GTG. I see light through the crack of the wardrobe door.

101

I’m about to close my Lucy Pevensie account for good, but before I do, I poke around on John Yossarian’s wall one last time. It’s been such an intense couple of months and Researcher 101 has played such a big part in my daily life. Even though I’m ready to say goodbye, and I know it’s the right thing to do, I still feel bereft. It’s a last-day-of- camp feeling. I’m bittersweet, but ready to pack it up and go home.

On Yossarian’s information page, I see a link to a Picasa album, which contains his profile photos. Suddenly I wonder if he’s disabled his geotag function. I open the album and click on the yeti photo. A map of the United States pops up with a red pushpin stuck smack in the middle of the Bay Area. No, he has not disabled his geotag function. I zoom in on the pushpin. The photo was taken on the Golden Gate Bridge. I exhale with pleasure. This is dangerous. This is titillating. There’s a part of me that’s still curious, that will always be curious. Even though we had a certain kind of intimacy, in truth I know nothing about him. Who is he? How does he spend his days?

I repeat the same process with the photo of the horse and once again the pushpin is stuck in San Francisco, but the location is Crissy Field. He’s got to be athletic. He probably runs and bikes. Maybe he even does yoga.

I click on the photo of the dog, but this time the red pushpin appears on Mountain Road in Oakland. Wait a second. Is it possible he lives in Oakland? I just assumed he lived in San Francisco, based on the Netherfield Center’s proximity to UCSF.

I click on the photo of the labyrinth and the pushpin again shows his location as Oakland. But this photo was taken minutes from my house. In Manzanita Park.

I click on the photo of his hand, my heart thudding. Stop this, Alice Buckle, stop it right now. You extracted yourself. You just said goodbye. A map of my neighborhood pops up. I enlarge the map. It zeros in on my street. I drag the icon of the little yellow man onto the pushpin, wanting more detail, and an actual photo of an actual house appears. 529 Irving Drive.

My house.

What? The photo was taken from my house? I try and process this information.

Researcher 101 has been inside my house? He’s been stalking me? He’s a stalker? But this makes no sense. How could he have gotten into my house? Somebody is always home, between school being out and Caroline working only part-time, and Jampo would have barked his head off if somebody broke in, and William never- William… Jesus.

I zoom in on the photo of the hand. And when the familiar details of that hand come into focus-the big palm, the long, tapered fingers, the little freckle on the top of the pinkie, I feel sick because-it’s William’s hand.

“Alice, can I borrow some conditioner?” Bunny stands in the doorway wrapped in a towel, clutching her toiletry bag in her hand. Then she looks at my face. “Alice, dear God, what happened?”

I ignore her and go back to my computer. Think, Alice, think! Did Researcher 101 somehow hack into our family’s photo library? My brain feels folded over, like an omelet. Researcher 101 is a stalker, Researcher 101 has been stalking me, has been stalking William, William stalking, William is a stalker, Researcher 101 is a stalker is William is Researcher 101. Oh, my, God.

“Alice, you’re mumbling. You’re scaring me. Did somebody get hurt? Did somebody die?” she asks.

I look up at Bunny. “William is Researcher 101.”

Bunny’s eyes widen, and then, to my surprise, she throws back her head and laughs.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because of course it’s William. Of course! It’s too perfect. It’s-delicious.”

I shake my head in frustration. “You mean duplicitous.”

Bunny steps into the room and peers over my shoulder as I frantically scroll back through our emails and chats, seeing them in an entirely different light this time.

Me: I can have the weather delivered every morning to my phone by weather.com. What could be better?

101: Getting caught in the rain?

“I can’t believe it. The nerve of him. The Pina Colada song?” I shriek.

“My God, that’s clever,” says Bunny. “I guess he was tired of his lady; they’d been together too long.” She winks at me and I scowl back at her.

Me: You’re very lucky. He sounds like a dream dog.

101: Oh, he is.

“Oh, yes, very funny, so funny, so terribly funny, William, ha-ha,” I say.

“Do you recognize that dog?” asks Bunny.

I look at the photo more closely. “Goddammit. That’s our neighbor’s dog. Mr. Big.”

“Your neighbor is Mr. Big?”

“No, the dog is Mr. Big.”

“How could you have missed that?” asks Bunny. “It’s almost like he wanted you to know, Alice. Like he was giving you clues.”

Me: Yes, please change my answer. It’s more truthful. Unlike your profile photo.

101: I don’t know about that. In my experience, the truth is frequently blurry.

“That son of a bitch,” I say.

“Mmm. Sounds like he’s been reading a bit too much Eckhart Tolle,” says Bunny.

Me: If we had met? If you had showed up that night? What do you think would have happened?

101: I think you would have been disappointed.

Me: Why? What are you keeping from me? Do you have scales? Do you weigh 600 pounds? Do you have a comb-over?

101: Let’s just say I would not be what you had expected.

I groan. “He was toying with me the entire time!”

“One person’s toying is another person’s dropping clues and waiting to be discovered. Maybe you were just slow on the uptake, Alice. Besides, I have to tell you that so far, I haven’t read one thing he’s written that wasn’t true.”