The star swung, like a metronome…

back and forth,

back and forth,

back and forth,

until Jodi felt something shift inside—like finely tuned tumblers clicking into place. It was as if she were watching herself from somewhere outside of herself. She watched herself dismount her bike and walk it up the walkway to the cottage. A single window was lit behind a gauzy curtain.

At the bottom of the steps, she gently lay the bike on its side and climbed five weathered steps to the porch. A vase of fresh flowers sat on a circular table beside the red door. The breeze made their heads bob, as if in greeting.

Jodi raised her hand to knock. The door opened.

And there she was. The tattooed lady.