happen to you?”
“Not as a rule.” The idea that a woman as beautiful as Annie led a boring life momentarily distracted him. He shook it off. “So then, why do you think we’ve had this experience?”
“I’ve been reading about it,” she said, “and I think these visions are past-life memories. You know . . . like you and I are the reincarnation of this man and woman? I think we might never have remembered those lives at all, but when we met—when we touched—something sparked. Our energies combined or something.”
Tom nodded. He didn’t know much about reincarnation. He didn’t know much about Annie either. How out there was she? And how crazy was he for even being here? He’d have to think of some reason to cut this short.
Annie shrugged. “I don’t really know how reincarnation works. That’s just something I read.”
He looked into her eyes. Suddenly, he felt willing to agree to anything she said. “I think you’re right. Exactly right,” he said with too much enthusiasm.
“Have you ever had any hint that you had a previous life?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.” He longed to reach across the table, to touch her hair and feel its satiny weight in his palm. To squelch the impulse, he grabbed his glass and drained it.
“I read that a lot of very young children remember details, but they forget them as they grow older. Some of them even have birthmarks that match the fatal wounds of the person they used to be.”
Tom resisted the urge to touch the strange birthmark on his chest, a smooth, pinkish circle about the size of a penny. No sense letting his imagination get away from him. He signaled for refills.
“So,” he said, “if we were together in a past life, why would we meet again in this life . . . in different circumstances?”
Annie didn’t answer right away. He could almost see her mentally sorting through things she wanted to say, but in the end, she shrugged again.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
The problem was, he didn’t have a guess. He’d never given any thought to the possibility he’d lived before. But he didn’t want to end this conversation. He would discuss anything as long as he could sit here with her. Tom stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Did they give more specific proof of reincarnation in the books you read?”
“Oh, yes. They’ve verified names and places, and sometimes actual events that people remembered from their past lives. If only we had more information on the man and woman we saw, we could do that. Knowing their names would be a good st—”
“Maggie and Jacob.” Tom stiffened, shocked at the words that had come from his mouth.
“How do you know?”
“I . . . until I said the names, I didn’t know them.”
“But they feel right, don’t they?” She repeated the names as if in reverence. Then her brow creased in a frown. “We could never find records of them with only their first names. I’m sure—”
“Stout,” exclaimed Tom just as their drinks arrived. The waitress apologized and started to take back Tom’s glass, but he stopped her hand, laughing. “No. I want the beer. Stout is someone’s name I happened to say when you walked up to the table.”
The waitress walked away, shaking her head.
“Who is Stout?” Annie asked.
“I just remembered that,” Tom said. “In the first vision, Jacob turned when he heard a man yell ‘Stout’. That’s when he was shot. His name must have been Jacob Stout.”
“Wow, that’s great. At least we have one full name to go on. I didn’t see who shot Jacob. I wonder who the man was . . . and why he shot him.”
They fell silent for a minute, trying to remember more from the two short visions they’d shared. Suddenly, Tom realized both his jaw and fists were clenched, and the back of his throat stung with a bitterness that wasn’t an aftertaste from the beer. He was manifesting the rage he’d felt in the vision.
Annie’s frown returned. “We
“Not as a rule.” The idea that a woman as beautiful as Annie led a boring life momentarily distracted him. He shook it off. “So then, why do you think we’ve had this experience?”
“I’ve been reading about it,” she said, “and I think these visions are past-life memories. You know . . . like you and I are the reincarnation of this man and woman? I think we might never have remembered those lives at all, but when we met—when we touched—something sparked. Our energies combined or something.”
Tom nodded. He didn’t know much about reincarnation. He didn’t know much about Annie either. How out there was she? And how crazy was he for even being here? He’d have to think of some reason to cut this short.
Annie shrugged. “I don’t really know how reincarnation works. That’s just something I read.”
He looked into her eyes. Suddenly, he felt willing to agree to anything she said. “I think you’re right. Exactly right,” he said with too much enthusiasm.
“Have you ever had any hint that you had a previous life?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.” He longed to reach across the table, to touch her hair and feel its satiny weight in his palm. To squelch the impulse, he grabbed his glass and drained it.
“I read that a lot of very young children remember details, but they forget them as they grow older. Some of them even have birthmarks that match the fatal wounds of the person they used to be.”
Tom resisted the urge to touch the strange birthmark on his chest, a smooth, pinkish circle about the size of a penny. No sense letting his imagination get away from him. He signaled for refills.
“So,” he said, “if we were together in a past life, why would we meet again in this life . . . in different circumstances?”
Annie didn’t answer right away. He could almost see her mentally sorting through things she wanted to say, but in the end, she shrugged again.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
The problem was, he didn’t have a guess. He’d never given any thought to the possibility he’d lived before. But he didn’t want to end this conversation. He would discuss anything as long as he could sit here with her. Tom stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Did they give more specific proof of reincarnation in the books you read?”
“Oh, yes. They’ve verified names and places, and sometimes actual events that people remembered from their past lives. If only we had more information on the man and woman we saw, we could do that. Knowing their names would be a good st—”
“Maggie and Jacob.” Tom stiffened, shocked at the words that had come from his mouth.
“How do you know?”
“I . . . until I said the names, I didn’t know them.”
“But they feel right, don’t they?” She repeated the names as if in reverence. Then her brow creased in a frown. “We could never find records of them with only their first names. I’m sure—”
“Stout,” exclaimed Tom just as their drinks arrived. The waitress apologized and started to take back Tom’s glass, but he stopped her hand, laughing. “No. I want the beer. Stout is someone’s name I happened to say when you walked up to the table.”
The waitress walked away, shaking her head.
“Who is Stout?” Annie asked.
“I just remembered that,” Tom said. “In the first vision, Jacob turned when he heard a man yell ‘Stout’. That’s when he was shot. His name must have been Jacob Stout.”
“Wow, that’s great. At least we have one full name to go on. I didn’t see who shot Jacob. I wonder who the man was . . . and why he shot him.”
They fell silent for a minute, trying to remember more from the two short visions they’d shared. Suddenly, Tom realized both his jaw and fists were clenched, and the back of his throat stung with a bitterness that wasn’t an aftertaste from the beer. He was manifesting the rage he’d felt in the vision.
Annie’s frown returned. “We
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