Gary blinked, shook his head dismissively as he leaned over his desk. “Gas stations, whatever. But my point is, there’s only a few things you say look different.”
Jane Summers brushed a strand of hair from her face with her hand, and sighed heavily. “Think so. Most everything’s the same as I remember. I mean — ”
Her eyes darted quickly, catching Gary’s gaze and holding it. Her voice became urgent. “I still — I mean, my mother, younger sister . . . ” She relaxed as she saw Gary nod reassuringly. Jane swallowed. “And my father . . . ”
A darkness came over Gary’s face, as if an eletrical circuit had been switched off. Out of the corner of her vision, Jane saw Scott look away. Gary’s voice was soft. “Yes, Jane.”
Jane looked away quickly, resumed pacing around Gary’s office. “All right. I guess the stuff that matters, none of that’s changed.” She looked out the window of Gary’s office, at the traffice passing along Milwaukee Avenue. “But there’s all this other stuff — ” she pointed out the window, scowled — “all these cars, for one thing. And that device I found this morning, what you called a phone. And — ” she turned quickly, looked down, located then raced towards the backpack lying on the floor. “Right after you called me this morning, after I found that thing and you said I had a car.” She picked up the backpack, placed it on a chair, opened a zippered compartment. “Then I couldn’t find my Unirail pass, but did find what looked like a car key — I ran around the apartment, looked for anything else that was different, and like you said — ” she pointed at Gary — “everything was pretty much the same.” She rummaged through the backpack, grabbed something, looked up at Gary and Scott.
“But then I found this, on the coffee table.”