He didn’t budge an inch, continuing to stare at me while I fixed my stubborn gaze on the dashboard. At last he whispered, “Me and…Jilly?”
Heartened by the husky emotion in his voice, I met his eyes and nodded. “In the place I came from, you’ve been married for many years. You guys live in a cabin in the woods past Shore Leave.”
For a second I thought he believed me. I sensed that he wanted to believe me. But all at once he grew belligerent, brusque and clipped, connection severed. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, kid, but I don’t appreciate it. Not one goddamn bit.” He drove onward, tires spinning over icy slush, and made short work of the last half-mile to the cafe. Once in the parking lot, he pulled up to the porch without another word.
“Thanks for the ride,” I mumbled, struggling to manage the door handle.
He slammed the gear shift into neutral and shouldered open the driver’s side door; through the front windows I saw Mom and Aunt Jilly seated at one of the booths in the otherwise empty cafe. Their conversation ceased as they stared out at Justin rounding the hood of his truck to help me from it. Despite his obvious impatience his hands were gentle as he led me up the steps. Jilly met us at the porch door, scraping it open over a thin layer of fresh ice. Justin fell still at the sight of her – I couldn’t see his expression, since he was behind me, but I saw hers. Her eyes were an electric, glowing blue, bluer than anything I’d ever seen as she searched Justin’s face for answers.
“Jillian.” He sounded haunted.
“What’s happened?” Mom appeared behind Aunt Jilly, reaching to lead me inside. “Camille, what’s going on?”
“I’m drunk,” I mumbled, avoiding Mom’s embrace and sinking to the nearest chair, slumping against the table.
“She had a few too many at Eddie’s, so I brought her home,” Justin explained. He spoke around a husk in his throat. “Something’s really wrong, I’m not sure what.” He hesitated, the full intensity of his dark eyes fixed on Jilly, and the pause grew thick and weighty; I waited for him to mention more specific details. But in the end he only said, “She threw a glass at the pool table and kind of…freaked out.”
“Thanks for bringing her home,” Mom said, putting her hands on my shoulders.
I lowered my head.
“Do you want to come in for a minute?” Jilly’s voice was unusually faint, soft with hesitance; she was about two seconds from cracking, tugging him inside and confessing everything she knew.
A hush overtook the dining room, a mushroom cloud of confusion and need. But then Justin said quietly, “No thanks, Jillian. I just…” He cleared his throat. “It’s…better if I just go.”
The door closed behind him and we listened to his footfalls on the steps.
“I told him,” I muttered.
Chapter Sixteen
Chicago, IL - March, 2014
DAD AND LANNY LIVED IN A CONDO ON THE LOOP, AN IM-peccably-styled set of rooms furnished with designer pieces and graced by a stunning view of the city’s business district. And apparently I lived with them, a detail I’d been somewhat surprised to discover. I supposed it figured; rent was high and I was in my first tentative year of employment in an expensive city. Never mind that I had no memory of this year – or any others in this particular life.
I’d learned from Mom that her divorce from Dad had followed a similar progression of events; Mom had avoided dealing with Dad’s cheating for many years, until walking in on Dad and Lanny in the act a month before my high school graduation had forced her hand. How bizarre that fate seemed to reassert itself even in this sick, offshoot timeline – certain events twisting back around to what was meant to be, despite an altering of the past. Radiating with urgency, I had no time to contemplate such things; my focus had narrowed to a thin corridor of purpose.
Confronting Fallon Yancy – assuming he would indeed appear at the benefit dinner scheduled for this Saturday – was first on my list, but I had an additional goal in mind for this evening.
“Can you meet for a drink?” I asked Robbie once I was safely ensconced in my own room, holding the phone between my jaw and shoulder as I changed into unwrinkled pants. I would not think about the last time I’d been a guest at my father’s – less than two months ago, with Case at my side, for Robbie’s funeral. I fought the urge to sweep all of my alleged belongings to the floor and stomp them to bits; they were trappings of a life I wanted nothing to do with. I’d already spoken with Mom, assuring her I had arrived at Dad’s without mishap; when I requested to talk to Camille, Mom said, “She’s resting, honey, she had a bad day.”
Fuck, I thought.
“Did she try to find Mathias?” I asked quietly, sinking to the edge of my unmade queen-sized bed.
“No, she confronted Justin. She got drunk and threw her glass at Eddie’s pool table.”
“Oh, boy,” I muttered.
“Hurry back here, Tish, I can’t bear to have you out of my sight right now,” Mom said then, just barely containing the tremor in her voice. “I’m at my wit’s end.”
“You and me, both,” I whispered. Digging the heel of one hand against my left eye, I promised, “I’ll be home by Sunday.”
Robbie agreed to meet me at the small bar we’d frequented in college, a trendy dive located one floor below sidewalk level and where the atmosphere on a later-winter Thursday night proved every bit as raucous as I recalled. It was within walking distance of the condo so I bundled into a scarf and boots and scurried seven blocks through bustling crowds and heavy, honking traffic, keeping my chin lowered against the brisk wind. My every heartbeat sobbed for Case and our unborn
