The absurdity of the situation had been pushed aside, but it resurged within Anne. She watched the guy pull his jeans and a fresh shirt on, this one a green plaid that clung to his bulging muscles and brought a hint of darker green to his eyes. The thought floated across her mind that she'd picked out that shirt, and liked when he wore it.
"You look great," she said, without reflection, and then coloured at the intimate comment, not to mention the passionate lovemaking they'd just shared. This was the husband of the girl in the photo, who was Anne, but not.
He smirked at her and combed his hair in front of the mirror. She sat up on the mauve and white comforter that they, in their hurry, hadn't even bothered to pull back. Her clothing was askew, her body half exposed. She blushed deeper and pulled her bra back into place. The crotch of her underwear was soaked, but there was still dinner to get to before it spoiled completely. She had seen a big free-standing porcelain bathtub when she was looking for a place to hide, and the thought of soaking in that after dinner was nice. Her apartment only had a shower, as had the motel room; assuming either of those even existed in this alternate universe.
Anne's husband chatted about the farm all through dinner. The food had been superb, just the way she would have made it under ordinary circumstances, with herbed butter up under the chicken's brown and crackling skin, rich buttery gravy to be ladled over potatoes, and garden fresh green beans, lightly boiled but still crunchy, with a sprinkle of salt. The commonality between cooking in 1968 and 2013 was reassuring, and the familiar flavours comforted her greatly. Her husband devoured his meal with the enthusiasm only a young husband who worked hard with his hands could muster, and she took a great deal of pleasure out of watching him relish the meal, taking big bites between snatches of chatter.
She learned that she worked at the diner she had seen, and that information only added to her confusion. She had remembered the place when she had seen it on Friday.
"Did Alf end up putting the truck up on the roof, sweetheart? I bet he will. It's a bloody good idea to set the place off and draw in more trucks… make it into a full-on truckers' stop."
"Yes, I think he will," Anne answered, smiling through gritted teeth, desperate not to say anything that didn't make sense. As weird and crazy as the experience was, she did not want to spoil it. She had done a full pirouette in the kitchen to try out her legs; a full ballerina-style spin that came so naturally she wondered if 'Patricia' had taken ballet lessons.