Parallelogram Omnibus Edition

by Brande, Robin

  “Alexa’s going to know, since you just said it out there—and they’d be able to follow my tracking, anyway—but I don’t think anyone’s going to be happy with me going riding right now. I’m supposed to be at some brunch, then a lunch after that—”

  Maybe it’s because of my workout, or maybe it’s because I just realized I’ll be missing both those meals, but I’m suddenly totally starving. I wolf down half of a muffin.

  “Oh my gosh, this is amazing!”

  “I know,” Celeste says. “My mother is the best cook in the world.”

  “I need to meet her,” I say. “Please—can we arrange that today?”

  “Yes! She’d love it. You can meet my father, too. Except—what are we going to do about the riding?”

  “I’m just going to have to go for it,” I say. In part because I’m feeling all Halli-ish right now, and in part because seeing Jake and talking him into giving me Halli’s tracking information is far more important than whatever Halli’s mother wants me to do. I just have to stand firm.

  “You like my brother, don’t you?” Celeste asks. “He likes you.”

  The delicious muffin sticks in my throat. “Um . . .”

  “I know I shouldn’t say that,” Celeste hurries to add. “But . . . he talks about you all the time. He’s shown me all your histories—we’ve watched them over and over again—ever since I was little.”

  I can feel my face growing hot. Even though it’s not even me Celeste is talking about.

  And I have to remind myself that no matter what my fluttery little heart is saying right now, the only thing I want from Jake is some data. That’s it. Focus.

  “Your brother is really great,” I say. “It’s just . . . it’s kind of complicated. I can’t really explain it, but . . . yeah, so, I don’t know.”

  “Oh.” She looks disappointed. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have asked. Please don’t tell Jake I said anything.”

  I reach over and squeeze her knee. “Celeste, I think it’s sweet how much you like your brother, and all the nice things you say about him. If I had a little sister, I’d want her to be just like you.”

  “Really?” She seems so relieved.

  “Absolutely,” I say. “Now how are we going to sneak me out of this mansion?”

  15

  Celeste and I make a plan to meet out on the path in about ten minutes. I know my whereabouts won’t be secret for long, but at least Lyman can tell people I left alone. I don’t want Celeste to get into trouble.

  I change into the cowgirl outfit, and when I dig my hand into the pocket of Halli’s jeans, I find a loose hair tie in there. Perfect.

  I pull Halli’s long brown hair back into a ponytail, the way she was wearing it when I first met her. I thought it looked like a horse’s tail then—thick and shiny and long. It seems appropriate for the event I’m about to try to lie my way out of.

  Because there’s no doubt the real Halli Markham is an accomplished horsewoman. I’ve seen footage of her riding a pony in Mongolia when she was only three or four years old. Jake said she had a favorite horse named Samson. I’m sure she’s been riding all over the world, on who knows how many different horses.

  I am not that girl.

  The best I can do is balance on my bicycle. I don’t climb up on enormous mammals that might throw me or kick me or run away with me. Just a policy I have, and I think it’s a good one.

  I meet Celeste on the path Jake and I took through the woods last night. The memory of running back on it through the dark is still a little too fresh. As is the event that led to that retreat.

  I’m pretty sure Jake must be thinking about that, too.

  I need to come up with a good strategy. Not only for avoiding horseback riding, but also for dealing with Jake.

  It’s hard to say which of those situations feels more dangerous right now.

  “The stables are up and over here,” Celeste says, pointing, “then down the hill a little. Not very far.”

  As we walk along, she points out some of the other buildings. “That’s the pool house, and that’s the conference building, and those are more guest quarters . . .”

  And once again, people wander out of buildings to gawk at me. They pretend they have something to do outside—check the sky for clouds, snip off a flower bud, scrape something off a shoe—but it’s pretty clear they’re just curious about Halli. It’s weird, but I guess I get it. Just like Ferguson said: The bosses’ real daughter comes home.

  And more than that, the bosses’ famous real daughter. Who wouldn’t gawk?

  The path rises a little now, and when I glance back, I can see the boat dock down by the water.

  The ferry has just arrived. Three people—a man and two women—get off.

  “Who are they?” I ask, pointing behind us.

  Celeste squints. “Board people, but I can’t tell which ones. I haven’t really seen all of them close up.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Fifteen, I think.”

  I can feel a nervous pit in my stomach. But I can’t think about the board meeting right now. I need to face this day one challenge at a time.

  “There it is,” Celeste says, pointing to a long, rectangular building at the bottom of the hill. “I love it there. Don’t you just love horses? Do you have any at your house?”

  “No.” At least I don’t think Halli does. She’s never mentioned them, and I didn’t see any when Jake and I drove away from there.

  Speaking of Jake—

  He comes out of the stables, and . . .

  Right. So, yeah . . .

  It’s just that I’m used to Will looking a certain way. Back in my world, he’s usually wearing cargo shorts and a T-shirt of some kind. His black hair is usually tousled and uncombed, because he’s rushed out of the house to get to school or to work. And even if he had time to shave in the morning, by afternoon there’s always that beginning shadow of stubble on his beautiful, perfect face.

  I’ve studied that face for so many years, I could draw it from memory.

  So it’s weird that when I see Jake, he looks so . . . not Will. More like a completely different person. Someone more rugged. More rustic.

  When he came to get me at Halli’s house yesterday, he’d been dressed like he was going to a job interview—nice pants, nice shirt, jacket. Then last night at dinner he was as dressed up as the rest of them there, like they were all at some formal party.

  But now, standing outside the stables in his dusty, worn-out jeans, his scuffed-up boots, and plain denim shirt, with the wind messing up his hair, and that particular smile of his teasing the edges of his mouth, he looks so good I can barely stand it, and I’m having a hard time remembering why it is I’m not supposed to let him kiss me anymore.

  As we get closer, I’m trying to think of what to say. How to keep it light, but professional, friendly, but not too friendly.

  I end up going with “Hey.”

  “Miss Markham,” he answers. “Don’t you look nice.”

  And he keeps on looking at me. In that way Will never has. I swear, I would have sold all my possessions and given them to Will’s charity fund on the spot if he’d only looked at me that way once. It would have stopped my heart. It’s close to stopping it now.

  “You look nice, too,” I say in a strained voice. Then I cough and look away because I realize I’ve been staring at him this whole time.

  Jake reaches out and bats his little sister’s braid. “Celie. How’s your day going?”

  “Good,” she says. “Can I stay? Please? Just for a while?”

  “Did you ask Alexa?”

  Celeste frowns. “No.”

  “Tell you what,” Jake says. “If Miss Markham will agree to it, we’ll say she asked you to stay, in case she needs anything from the house. Will that do?”

  He’s asking me that question. Which means he’s looking at me. Again.

  “Oh. Sure,” I say. “Whatever.” What I’m really thinking is he needs to stand
further over there, because on top of everything else, he smells a little too nice today, even though that scent is mixed with horse. Or maybe that’s what makes it so nice. It’s so earthy and natural and primitive—

  I take a step away. It seems like the smart thing to do.

  “Are you ready to ride?” Jake asks me.

  “Um, I wanted to talk to you about that,” I say, turning to the lie I scripted on the way over. “I’m not really feeling up to riding today. I thought maybe we could just talk about a few things—”

  “But you have to!” Celeste says. “My father will be so disappointed.”

  “Sorry, but I’m tired after that session with Ferguson. Maybe some other time.”

  “Please, Miss Halli,” Celeste says.

  “If she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t have to,” Jake says. “Come on, Celie, let’s give Miss Markham some room.”

  Yes, give Miss Markham lots of room. And would you please stop looking at her like that? The girl inside Miss Markham’s body might not be handling it very well at the moment.

  “Will you at least meet our father?” Jake asks me.

  “Of course,” I say. And even though I hear what he just said—the “our” part—I don’t really hear it, hear it.

  The two of them lead me into the stables. My eyes adjust to the lower light. And there, materializing out of the dark, is a face I almost think I know. It belongs to a dark-haired, middle-aged man who’s smiling and coming toward me.

  I freeze in Halli’s skin.

  “Halli Markham,” Jake says, “meet my father, Oscar Nuñez.”

  “So pleased to meet you,” he says, warmly grasping my hand. “You’re very welcome here, Miss Markham. Very welcome.”

  I smile and nod bravely. And shake the hand of a dead man.

  16

  I wonder if anyone else can see my brain actually spinning in my head. I wonder if my eyes look at all unsteady, or if the smile frozen on my face is flickering in some way, so that any moment someone’s going to ask, “Are you having a mental breakdown, Miss Markham? Can we get you anything?”

  I have seen this man in photos. He’s always younger, which makes sense, since HE DIED fifteen years ago.

  But he didn’t die—not here. Here he’s lived long enough that his twin children actually know him—he’s not just stories and pictures to them, but a living, breathing father.

  And his widow never remarried and had a child with her new husband because there is no new husband—this old one would do, and the two of them could make a third child together quite nicely, thank you.

  I know it’s all possible, in a scientific way, but it still just totally blows my mind.

  I guess I haven’t really examined the whole parallel universe thing—I mean, not really. I know there are people over here who look just like the ones I have in my world—Halli, for example, and Daniel’s sister Sarah—and I know that in my universe my own copy of a grandmother is still alive even though Halli’s here isn’t—but still! Come on! You don’t just see a dead guy come back to life every day.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” And I mean it. I wish so much that Will and Lydia could be here. I would happily change places with them a million times over, and not just because I want to go home, but for them. It doesn’t seem fair that I’m the one who gets to meet the father they never knew.

  “You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’” he tells me. “Just ‘Oscar’ will do.”

  I swallow the glitch in my throat. “Yes, sir. I mean, Oscar. I just . . . it’s just SO nice to meet you.” I’m still holding his hand. With my other hand I reach up and pat him on the arm. I’m in danger of hugging the man. I’m not sure what he’ll do.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake watching me very closely.

  I clear my throat and try to cover it up with a laugh. “Anyway.” I pat Oscar Nuñez’s arm one more time, and then reluctantly, I let him go.

  But I wish I could take a picture. Or that I knew how to draw so I could make a sketch of him. Not that I’ll ever be able to bring anything like that with me if I ever do find my way back to my own universe, but just seeing him and not being able to record it somehow for Will and Lydia seems like a horrible crime.

  Or would it be even worse for them to know that their father exists, alive somewhere, and they’ll never be able to reach him?

  “Miss Markham?” Oscar asks. “Is everything all right?”

  Okay, that does it.

  “Please,” I tell all of them. “From now on it’s just ‘Halli.’ You don’t have to call me Miss anything anymore. In fact, I’m begging you not to call me that—it’s driving me crazy. I’m sorry, it’s very nice of you, but honestly, stop.”

  Jake looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

  Celeste starts to protest. “But Dr. Markham said—”

  “—that we should give Miss Markham whatever she wants,” Jake finishes. “And what she wants is not to be called Miss Markham. That’s easy enough.”

  “But I’ll get in trouble,” Celeste says, and I can see she’s actually worried.

  “You won’t get in trouble,” I say. “You can still call me whatever you need to if anyone else is around. But if it’s just us, you have to call me Halli. Okay?”

  Celeste still isn’t convinced. “But what about Alexa?”

  Now it’s her father’s turn. “Your sister is not in charge of Miss Markham,” Oscar says. “If Halli tells us we have to call her Guadalupe Candlesticks, we have to do it, don’t we Miss Markham?” He winks at me.

  “I thought about using that name,” I say, “but Halli seemed so much easier. So. Is it settled?”

  Celeste still looks unsure, but she nods. Then her father distracts her by assigning her the job of helping him pick out a horse for me.

  I’m just about to tell them not to bother, when Jake comes up alongside me. He’s so close our arms brush against each other. And then he leans in to whisper, and maybe it’s natural that his arm loops inside mine, and his hand slides down my forearm until he ends up clasping my fingers. And maybe it’s also natural that a thousand volts of electricity travel from my fingers up my arm, until they zap me square in the head.

  And as if that’s not bad enough, what Jake whispers to me is this: “Miss Markham, how is it possible you’re even better than I ever expected?”

  Forget it. Game over. Because right now my head feels like a family of bees has swarmed in through my ear, and they’re so busy catching up with each other I can barely hear myself over the buzz.

  And meanwhile Jake is so close to me I can almost taste the scent of his skin—that blend of his own unique smell, mixed with a little horse sweat and fresh hay. If someone could bottle that, turn it into a bath oil or a body spray or something I could just constantly rub under my nose, I’d pay them half of whatever I earn for the rest of my life.

  We’re standing there like that, hands clasped together, leaning lightly against each other, so cozy it’s like we’ve been doing it all our lives, when this persistent, annoying, irritating thought keeps poking at my brain. Trying to get my attention. I ignore it, but it just won’t leave me alone. So finally I have to turn to it and say, “What?”

  “Psst,” it answers back. “He thinks you’re Halli. Not you—remember?”

  Oh. Right. That.

  Which is also the reason I should be thinking only of Daniel Everett right now. Because he likes me—the real me—the sciency, universe-hopping, non-sporty me. He actually prefers that girl over Halli—he made a point once of telling me so.

  He also made a point of telling me he’ll be waiting for me, hoping I’ll figure out the physics of our parallel universes, so we can spend more time together in the future. He said he’ll be looking for me—not Halli, me.

  So that’s where my loyalty should lie. No question. Which means there’s only one thing to do.

  Even though it’s going to take a superhuman force of will to do it.

  “Come on,” I say, pu
lling my hand out of Jake’s and stepping away from him. “I need to talk to you. In private. I don’t have much time. Let’s hurry up and get this over with.”

  17

  “How much farther is it?” I ask. We’ve been hiking up this mountain behind the mansion for a while. It’s a little mountain, compared to any of the ones Halli and I hiked in the Alps, but it still takes time to climb.

  And now I really wish I were wearing her hiking boots instead of these slippery, pointy cowgirl ones.

  “If you wanted to go faster,” Jake says, “we could have taken the horses.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe next time.”

  I’m pretty sure Red is happy we didn’t. I noticed he didn’t come into the stable with me. And when I came back out on foot, he seemed pretty eager to follow Jake and me into the forest to see what adventure we were up to next.

  But Jake hasn’t thrown him a stick once, and this isn’t one of those leisurely strolls like we had along the beach, and then through the woods last night. This is a march. Not that I mind it, but I just don’t see the point.

  “Are you telling me people can hear us here in the woods?” I ask. “Do we really have to keep going?”

  “You wanted me to take you somewhere private,” Jake says. “I’m taking you somewhere private.”

  He keeps hauling himself up the hillside. Fine—I’ve got the legs for that.

  When we finally crest the ridge on top, I have to pause a moment to take it all in. It’s spectacular—the view of the water, the nearby islands, the real mountains off in the distance. And even the landing strip where the pilot landed our jet yesterday afternoon.

  And something else.

  I can see the boat dock. The ferry has just pulled up to it, and some people are getting off. More board members, I’d guess.

  “Do you know those people?” I ask Jake.

  “Don’t you?” he answers.

  “You know I don’t. Ginny never told me.”

  “Well, you’ll find out,” he says.