I could have just left. I could have waited until everyone was busy, loaded up my car, and ghosted. The old Irish goodbye. I could have yanked off the necklace, announced my misdeeds, and fled in shame, but with a clear conscience.

Instead, I chose to lie again. I'd tell them that I was going to Long Island, just for a few days, to make arrangements to give up my apartment and bring the rest of my stuff. I'd even leave some things behind so it would look like I was coming back.

That choice was easy enough. Everything I had bought as a woman could stay behind. When I changed back, those articles would remain female. I had no use for them anyway, and they would maintain the illusion just a bit longer.

I also left behind some of my art. There were the paintings I had done since I arrived, and the unfinished ones I had brought. It gave me a pang, but really, was I ever going to paint again? What was the point? I was never going to be successful with it, and really, the best thing would be to stop frittering away money on supplies.

And so I dressed in clothes that I knew would change back with me. The bra was ill-fitting, but I wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer.

Aubrey arrived about halfway through. She wanted to talk over the events of the previous night, but I couldn’t summon up the stomach to hash it out with her, not in my current frame of mine. I gave her my story about moving, and promised to call her once I got to Long Island. More lies. I was full of them today.

It was noon by the time I had finished my packing job. I hefted the suitcases down the stairs. The noise attracted Madge, who was clearly preparing to go to the gallery to await the viewing public. “Taking a trip already?”

“Back home. Or rather, back to where I used to live.” I had rehearsed the story, and it came out glibly. “Just for a few days. There’s more I need to bring, and I need to get my old furniture and stuff sold or in storage.”

“Oh! That reminds me.” Madge disappeared into a side room, only to emerge a few minutes later. “Use this credit card for the moving and storage company. You shouldn’t have to pay for any of this yourself. Just expense it to the foundation.”

I took the card and slid it into the back pocket of my jeans. Guilt stabbed through me, but I choked it down. “Thank you. I hadn’t even thought to ask how everyone else handled it.”

Madge took a suitcase over my protestations and walked along with me. She assumed a lecturing tone and discussed the various expense types that Fellows were due. Apparently I was even due a stipend, which operated as an advance on any sales commission I would later earn. “I can get the direct deposit set up now, if you want,” she concluded.

“When I get back is fine. I won’t go bankrupt between now and then.”

“And if you do, you can always expense it,” Madge said. We had reached the kitchen now, where Gerald and Nicholas were deep into a pair of sandwiches. Nicholas sprung to his feet when he saw me, faster than any man his age had the right to move, and snatched up the suitcases from Madge and myself.

I repeated my story. “Travel safe, Cinnamon Bun,” said Gerald. “Bring me back a bagel.”

“Sure”

“And a black and white cookie.”

“Don’t push it.”

Nicholas walked me out to my car and helped me load the cases. He didn’t speak until the trunk was closed and I stood next to the driver side door. “I hope you find what you are looking for,” he told me enigmatically, and with a tip of his hat, he returned to the house.

What was that, I wondered. Perhaps the weight of the cases had clued him in. Madge didn’t seem to think anything about it, but she might have though I just didn’t know how to pack light. Surely Nicholas couldn’t know what I was planning. No, of course not. If he had known I was lying, he would have said something.

I was glad not to have run into Anthony, at least. He still creeped me out just a little. It would have been good to see Josephine one last time, although I still didn’t know her well. As for Darren... well, he was the one who had somehow convinced me to stay as long as I had. It was all for the best that he was still sleeping off the previous evening.

I turned the ignition, and my little vehicle came to life. In a few days, I would mail the credit card back, along with a note explaining that I had decided to stay at home, and that they were free to find someone else to take my place. That would definitely salve my sore conscience, especially since the foundation would have been inconvenienced very little by my undercover infiltration. A few meals, a week’s lodging. A real artist would have a chance to make it big.

Another thought comforted me. Pretty soon, Cayley was going to go away, forever. These people would be the only ones to remember her, and maybe that was worth an extra lie.

I drove to the end of the drive, off the property and onto the main road. There was very little traffic, only a single vehicle about fifty yards away, coming towards me. With a mighty yank, I ripped the necklace from my head. My perspective shifted, up and back. I was Ben again.

The car in the oncoming lane braked suddenly, skidding to a stop. I had already picked up enough speed that I passed the car before I could react. But I did glance over to see the driver, who was wild-eyed, frantically looking about him.

It was Anthony.

I kept driving, putting on an extra burst of speed and rounding an upcoming bend. He had opened his door, and was craning his body out to see behind him.

Had he spotted me? My car never changed, so he would naturally believe that he had passed Cayley’s car, and that was assuming that he even knew what she drove. And unless he got a look at the license plate, there was no reason to assume that the car was even the same.

Yet he had braked. As soon as I took of the necklace, when he was too far away to even see who I was, he had braked. I was reminded of what Aubrey had said. Anthony jumped like he had been goosed, about the same time I took off the necklace at the lake. I was miles away from him that time. Could he somehow sense what I was doing? Did that even make any sense?

Well, that no longer mattered. He might go back to the house and denounce me to everyone, but I was gone now, and I wasn’t coming back.

The drive was interminable. I hit the city in the evening, when traffic was the worst, and after crawling through the Bronx, I crept through Queens before finally reaching the expressway, which moved at a brisk twenty miles per hour.

I pulled into my old familiar driveway, walked up to the side of the house where my apartment jutted out from my landlord’s part of the house. I checked the mail slot — bills and advertisements, nothing more — and went inside.

Nothing had changed.

Sunday passed in a slow slog of wasted time. I watched television. I ate. I ate while watching television. By half past two, I decided it was five o’clock somewhere and started drinking. Then I ate, drank, and watched television all at once. By eight, I was either tired enough or bored enough to sleep, so I did.

Getting ready for work the next day felt simple. It was like I had learned to play a video game on hard mode, and then suddenly switched back to easy. Shower, dress, done. The habits of years carried me through, although new habits of more recent vintage kept intruding. No, I didn’t need to put on a bra. I did not need to check the mirror for my makeup. My hair did not need brushing.

I was dreading what Janice would say when I came in, and true to form, she seized on my absence and did not let go. At our regular weekly team meeting, she sweetly inquired after my health, needling me for my lack of communication and asking my fellow employees if they had managed to cover for me adequately, as I had not been well enough to check email. “You seem to be in the blush of health now, though.”

She gave me all the worst tickets, the ones that took the longest and brought down your productivity metrics. By Wednesday I was running far behind the others, and that warranted an afternoon conference, where Janice demonstrated my poor performance through various KPIs.

I could have argued, proven that the tickets she had given me were all nightmare scenarios that took ages to work. But what was the point? These were not the reactions of a reasonable person. Instead, I just sat there and took the criticism, while silently dishing out some of my own. Who had told her that amount of makeup looked good? She was pure Long Island trash, heavy mascara and eye shadow and thick layers of concealer. I wouldn’t be caught dead like that.

No, I wouldn’t. Because I didn’t wear makeup.

“Are you listening?” she demanded, and made only the barest grunt of acknowledgement when I repeated her last words.

“Yes, well, you’re going to have to put in some extra effort around here. Don’t let me see you dawdling.” And she raised her ever-present coffee mug to her lips and turned back to her computer, a sure sign of dismissal.

The day ended, finally, and I began the long commute home. I was just pulling out onto the expressway when my phone buzzed, silently but insistently pressed against my leg.

I immediately tensed. I had been getting a lot of calls lately from a number I didn’t know. But I could guess. It was someone back at Belmont House. I don’t know how they had gotten my number, but who else could it be?

After a long and stressful time, the vibration subsided. I worked the phone out of my pocket and checked the missed call. It was the same number I had been seeing. As I was looking, it began to ring again, the same caller.

I had been putting it off and putting it off. I needed to deal with it. My eyes fell to the passenger seat, where the necklace still lay. I had tossed it there as I left Belmont House, and not knowing what else to do with it, left it there. On impulse, I grabbed it and threw it around my neck. Circular waves of change radiated out from my chest, and I pressed the button to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

There was a pause. “Is that... Cayley?”

I had answered too soon; my voice had not fully changed. I cleared my throat a couple of times until I was satisfied with the sound. “Yes, this is she.”

“It’s Aubrey. Are you okay?”

Damn. “Yeah. I’m fine. Listen, I can’t really talk right now....”

“I was really worried about you. You said you’d call, but then you didn’t answer your phone. Did something happen? Did it have to do with that guy in the bar? I’m serious, you can tell me.”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” A dark, black pit had opened up before me, and since there was nothing else to do, I plunged in. “Listen, I’ve decided... I’m going to stay here. I’m not coming back to Belmont House.”

The silence on the other end of the phone stretched to a breaking point. “Where are you?” she demanded finally. “I’m coming to see you.”

“Your parents don’t want you driving....”

“Fuck my parents!” she blurted out. “What’s your address? I’m serious.”

“Please don’t tell the others yet. I’m going to write a letter, but I want it to come from me.”

“Cayley, don’t hang up the phone....”

“Goodbye, Aubrey.” I thumbed the red end button. Emotion welled up inside, and had no other outlet but to throw the phone into the cushion of the passenger seat. The necklace followed right afterwards. Then, trembling and red-faced, I finished my commute. I retrieved my phone from the passenger seat. The necklace, I left where it was.

Thursday was the worst day yet, though it started out promising. Either because she had finally relented or simply run out of bad tickets, I began to get caught up at work. I skipped my morning break and even worked through most of lunch, so that by mid-afternoon my metrics were up to what I hoped was an acceptable range.

I caught a whiff of coffee and looked up from my desk to see Janice hovering over me. “Can I see you in my office?” she asked in that falsely casual voice. I wondered what on earth I could have done now.

She did not leave me wondering long. “I wanted to discuss your behavior today.”

“What behavior?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“The unauthorized overtime that you worked today.” She twiddled her mouse over the screen, where our time clock system was pulled up.

“I clocked out at my usual time.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t just hear that you were falsifying your time card,” she replied, making manual adjustments to the time and clicking Save. “This is part of a pattern of behavior I’ve seen lately, Ben, and it needs to stop.”

Frustration gushed out. “But you told me yesterday that I needed to make an extra effort!”

“Yes, and it’s about time you did.” She made one more adjustment to the time card, entering the current time under the “Out” field. “I can’t let your behavior go completely unpunished. You’re dismissed for the remainder of the day, and the difference will be taken out of your pay for the week. Do you understand?”

I stood, slowly. I did understand. She had no intention of forgiving me for the time I had taken off, for the extra work I had made her do. I knew from rumor that Janice could be petty and vindictive, but I had never before understood just how much she could make my life hell if she chose. “Yes,” I murmured, and left her office before I could say anything I might regret.

The drive home was quick, at least. This early, there was very little traffic, comparatively speaking. I pulled onto my block and noted a car parked behind my landlord’s pickup on the street. It looked vaguely familiar, probably one of the many guests he had over, partying until the early morning hours. Wasn’t it supposed to be the tenant who did that kind of shit?

I parked in the driveway and stepped out of the car. I had just retrieved my briefcase from the back seat when I noticed someone approaching me up the driveway. It was a woman, walking with purposeful strides directly toward me.

It was Aubrey.

I straightened and let the car door close. “May I help you?” I asked, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

“I’m here to see Cayley.”

“Who?” I began walking towards my door, key in hand.

“Cayley.” She referred to a piece of paper in her hand. “This is where she lives.” It was not a question.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you mean.”

Her tone was scornful. “That’s funny, because you’re driving her car.”

Fuck. I forgot that the car did not change. My hand was shaking, only a little, as I inserted the key and turned it in the deadbolt lock.

“Actually, that’s my car. What, do you want to see the title?” I was inside now, blocking entry with my body.

Aubrey stuck a foot in the door, to keep me from closing it. “Cayley?” she called, pushing her head inside as well. “Are you in there?”

“Listen, don’t make me call the police....”

“That’s one of her paintings!” I winced. There it was on the wall, a painting in a style that Aubrey had only seen associated with my alter ego. I let go of the door just enough to make her stumble, and as she stepped back to right herself, I slammed it shut, throwing the deadbolt home, connecting the chain at the top.

What on earth was I going to do? I had threatened Aubrey with the police, but as likely as not, she would be calling them herself soon. But no, what would happen if they did arrive? The landlord would confirm that I lived here. I actually did have the title for the car. What did Aubrey have? Memories of a person who didn’t exist, couldn’t prove had ever existed.

I peeked out the window between the blinds. I couldn’t see Aubrey anywhere, but I didn’t have any way of checking the front of the house from my apartment on the side. Had she left?

A knock at the door told me she hadn’t. The knock came again, and again.

“Go away!” I demanded.

“Open the door,” came the reply, and I froze. It was not Aubrey’s voice. It was another voice, a familiar voice, a voice I had heard in my head countless times.

Trembling, I slid back the deadbolt, opened the door just a crack.

On my front doorstep, red hair aflame in the late afternoon sun, the mirror image of the image I had seen in the mirror for more than a week, was Cayley.