The Reality Conspiracy by Joseph A. Citro

okay , he thought. She was his biggest concern. Worrying about his daughter was one thing, but with this multiple personality business, it was like worrying about half a dozen daughters. Anything could happen. Anytime.
    Ah, he was just tired. By morning the whole world would look better. Good thing he and Winnie had had the foresight to put off the party until tomorrow. They'd be able to have more fun on Saturday, when he was well rested. Maybe they could take the kids to a matinee or something.
    It was about eight-thirty—just as the brilliant red sun began to sink behind the Adirondack Mountains beyond Lake Champlain's western shore—that Ed pulled his pickup truck into the driveway of his home.
    He noticed that his wife's Buick was in the dooryard. Good, that meant she was here. So why hadn't she answered when he phoned to tell her he'd be working late?
    The next thing he noticed was that the wide interior shade was drawn behind the big picture window he'd installed last spring. Funny.
    At this time of day, Winnie always liked to sit in her recliner, watching the sunset or listening to the songbirds that hopped from fence to lilac bush.
    Ed slammed the door to his pickup. The hinges resisted a little so he made a mental note to put a couple drops of WD-40 to them pretty quick.
    Halfway up the front walk he stopped and looked around the yard. Where were the kids?
    Usually, neither of them was difficult to spot. Most days Randy would be grinning from the porch, holding the screen door wide open as an invitation to Dad and to hordes of flies and mosquitoes the boy just couldn't seem to become aware of. But the screen door was closed. And so was the heavy door behind it.
    Odd.
    Ed still had his key ring in his hand. The collection of keys jingled like Christmas bells as he separated his house key from the rest.
    As he turned the key in the lock, he figured the three of them had gone over to Winnie's mom's place. Of course. She'd probably picked them up in the Ford.
    But why?
    As he pushed the door open into the dark interior of the house, the first thing he noticed was the absence of cooking smells. During their fifteen years of marriage, Winnie always had supper waiting for him when he got home from work. Even on days like today when he worked overtime.
    On those rare occasions when she was away at supper time, she'd unfailingly leave something hot in the toaster oven for him.
    Damn it, she should be here . He was grateful for the extra work and by God she should be, too. These weren't easy times, and his overtime pay would be a help to the family.
    Lots of new buildings were being put up along the lakeshore. Vermonters weren't buying them; Vermonters couldn't afford them. It was new residents—born-again Vermonters, Ed called them—and out-of-staters wanting second homes who were footing the construction bills. Luckily for Ed, every new house and condo complex wanted cable TV. So today's workload was nothing new; installing the lines often kept Ed Washburn from getting home on time.
    So where is she?
    He had to reach around the door frame and flick on the living-room lights because all the interior shades had been pulled and the house was dark.
    Strange.
    Why wasn't Winnie right there to reward his extra work? When you got right down to it, she should have made something a bit special; after all, not only was it a Friday night, it was his birthday!
    He'd worked overtime every day this week, and he'd get another half day tomorrow. Time and a half meant he'd be earning $13.50 an hour before deductions. You'd think she'd be proud of that. Least she could do was have a hot meal ready the minute he walked in the door. She should realize he'd be hungry and tired after such a long day.
    Jeez, she hadn't even left a christly light on for him!
    Damn woman , he thought, doesn't give a fart how hard I work; probably thinks I'm made of money the way she spends it out fast as I bring it in .
    No. That wasn't fair. Winnie