Here’s some good news: you’re rich. I’m talking ridiculously, buy-anything-do-anything-you-want rich. This is thanks to savvy investing and some educated sports bets (Croeso winning 1983’s Florida Derby, at 85–1 odds, was a great start). So you can still get a SoHo loft if you want, but in the meantime, that Park Slope mansion you woke up in is yours. As is a nine-figure bank balance and a stock portfolio you must manage carefully. You’ll need to memorize a lot of information in order to make/sustain your fortune, since whatever you learn in future years, you retain when you travel to the past. It can get complicated, though, which is why you have the binder (Kenzie will show you when you’re ready; more on him later).
Let’s get into these guidelines.
1. You can’t tell anyone about the time travel. Mom and Kenzie know, that’s it. Right now, convincing anyone else would be tricky to impossible, and a doctor might sooner put you in a padded room than believe it. It’ll take a while for you to believe it yourself, so for now, better to process quietly. This rule applies only to 2015. We’ll have a little more wiggle room in other years.
2. Don’t get too rich. If you make too much money, you might get unwanted attention, either from the IRS, the SEC, or people looking to take advantage, especially if you’re mentioned in Forbes’ list of wealthiest people. These days, that means keeping your fortune to under a billion (yes, billionaires are now a thing) and less than that in earlier decades. It means giving to charity and making some bad investments on purpose from time to time.
3. Avoid publicity. This applies to every leap. You’re a philanthropist, but the last thing you need is people sniffing around, so don’t draw too much attention to yourself (or your money). Kenzie helps you find good causes and can show you how to make donations while keeping a low profile.
4. Try to avoid having your picture taken, so you won’t know what you look like year to year (again, no spoilers). Easier said than done these days, but do your best. If you can’t avoid it, don’t keep any photos taken after 1982. The one in your study from Dale’s party is an exception.
Oona’s stop was announced before she could read the rest. She stuffed the letter back in her pocket and hurried out of the station. As she walked, she refused to button her coat against the brutal wind, refused to acknowledge that this was really her coat. That this was really her life. With each step, threads of confusion wove into a thick coil of determination.
As soon as I find Dale, we’ll make sense of this together.
This Bensonhurst wasn’t too different from the version she remembered. Some new storefronts—a bagel shop, a Laundromat, a nail salon—but as she turned off Bay Parkway, the sand- and earth-colored brick apartment buildings and two-family houses looked the same. She was infused with desperate optimism as she hurried up Dale’s street.
It was the same house. Mostly.
Same house, different trimmings. The tiny front yard, once bearing rosebushes, had been replaced with a single blocky hedge. The black wrought-iron stair railings now looked as if they were made of silver pipe. And the front door, formerly crimson, had been painted brown.
No lights on inside, but Oona still rang the bell, lightly at first, then with more insistence.
The door swung open.
A short Asian man with rumpled gray hair squinted at her. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
Oona’s legs grew wobbly and she put a hand on the front of the house for support. “I’m looking for Dale D’Amico.”
“Nobody here by that name. You have the wrong house.”
She pressed her palm into the brick’s sharp grain, took in staccato breaths. “Do you know when the D’Amicos moved out? Where I could find them?”
“I’ve never heard of them. I’ve been living here ten years. Please go away now.” He closed the door in her face.
An ambulance wailed in the distance as Oona collapsed on the top step, wheezing. Shallow breaths wouldn’t satisfy her hungry lungs. The wind picked up, rattled through skeletal branches of nearby trees, yet she still couldn’t take in enough air.
Finish reading the letter.
5. Trust Kenzie. He may be a stranger to you now, but I’ve known him for years. He’s more than your personal assistant, he’s a loyal confidante. Younger than you, but wiser in many ways, and just plain fun to be around. He’ll help more than you can imagine.
6. Don’t trust technology. Think of it as your fair-weather friend. Learn to use computers, smartphones, and tablets (Kenzie will teach you). You can find a vast amount of information on the Internet about anything, anyone. It’s awesome, but don’t get carried away. Also, try to avoid social media. Don’t get too attached to these modern conveniences, because next year you might have to live without them.
Those are the main things you need to know for now except … Dale.
This is the hardest part. Even after all these years, it hurts to think about. Dale had a stroke, young. He’s … I’m so sorry, but he’s gone. Please don’t look up his obituary. In fact, it’s better if you don’t look up information on anyone you know.
But you still have Mom. You’ll see her tomorrow. She’s fine, healthy. Has lots of boyfriends, takes lots of vacations. Hard to keep up with sometimes. She’s living her best life. That’s all she wants for you, too.
I’ll stop here. Take some time to grieve and process but don’t drown in the depression. You’ll get through this. Trust me, it’s me. Just take it one year at a time.
Love,
Me
P.S. You’re probably wondering about the tattoo. All in good time …
Oona’s fingers cramped from holding the letter so tightly. She wanted to tear it up and throw the pieces into the wind. Maybe that would make it less real. Instead, she refolded the letter and returned it to the envelope.
None of this is happening.
A youngish couple laughed as they climbed the steps to the house next door. “Happy New Year,” they called out to her before going inside.
Fuck the New Year.
Fuck everything.
A black sedan pulled up and its driver gave two short taps on the horn. Kenzie.
Oona took leaden steps down to the car. Her bones felt like struck tuning forks. How was it possible to feel so heavy, yet so hollow?
“Thank god,” he said once she was in the passenger seat. “You must be frozen solid. No hat, no gloves, coat all unbuttoned.” He turned up the heat.
“I’m not cold at all,” Oona said.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you over your chattering teeth.”
As Kenzie drove, he kept looking over at her but said nothing. Not until he parked the car. “Are you all right? Dumb question. Of course you’re not all right. What can I do?”
“Teach me about the Internet. And social media.” Fuck 2014 Oona, too.
“Now?” Kenzie’s hands fluttered like small panicked birds. “It’s late and—”
“Right now. Please.”
4
“You sure you don’t want to start this in the morning?” Kenzie punched in the code to disable the security alarm.
“Yeah. I’m sorry to make you work so late, and on a holiday.” Warm lily-scented air greeted Oona as she crossed the threshold.