But Daniel remembers it differently.
“I believe it was close to four,” he says. “We were worried we might miss the ferry—remember? You thought they might have cancelled the last few runs because of the snow. But we caught the three o’clock, then ended at the train station around four. Does that sound right?”
My mouth is dirt dry. “Yes. Exactly.”
“Why do you ask?” Daniel wants to know.
“I just . . . I was curious. I couldn’t remember, and it was bothering me.”
My stomach feels like it’s flipped over and is lying on its side. I clutch it to try to hold it in place.
“Okay, thanks, Daniel.” I don’t know what else to say. This was my one last hope that what Jake told me was wrong. Now I know all the wrongness is in me.
“How is Audie?” he asks. “Any chance I can speak with her?”
He understands the complications of my life. Or did understand them, as they were just a week or so ago—me showing up and disappearing at random, me trying to learn to control where I ended up in this universe, and for how long.
Those days seem so easy to me now. At least I had Halli to help me. At least I thought I was learning the rules.
But what are the rules now? I can’t rely on my brain anymore—not if it could be so wrong about what it remembers—and I have no power over where I go or when I leave. I’m completely body-bound right now, stuck doing whatever Halli’s physical form is capable of. Granted, that’s more than my own, much less burly, body at home can do, but it’s not like I can hop back and forth between universes anymore, and sleep in my own bed every night.
Not to mention in my own body.
“I miss you,” I tell Daniel, before realizing I’ve just said it. I slap my hand over my mouth.
Daniel looks surprised. I don’t blame him. Halli was never that emotive with him in person.
“Yes, well, it would be wonderful to see the two of you,” he answers in his proper British way. “Please try to come. If there’s anything I can do to help . . .”
I shake my head no. I don’t trust myself to speak anymore. There’s so much I want to say, and it all has to stay unsaid.
I wave to him—wave to him. How’s that for a goodbye?
I don’t know how to turn off the call, so I just have to leave Daniel’s head still floating there in the dark while I open the closet door and get out.
“Miss Markham,” says the person who was obviously listening on the other side. “If I might have a word with you.”
21
I’m so startled to see Alexa standing there, I don’t have time to get back into character. She may think she’s looking at Halli Markham, but the girl she’s talking to is all me.
“Wh-what?” I say, looking back guiltily at the closet. I wonder what she heard.
“It’s three-thirty,” she says. “The meeting begins in half an hour. Your mother has instructed me to escort you to the conference room. Some of the board members are quite anxious to meet you. We’ll have to do something about your dog, as well.”
“The dog stays with me.”
“Your mother insists that—”
“I don’t care what she insists,” I say, feeling the return of some of the courage I had this morning. “The dog comes with me, or I’m not going.”
I can see Alexa’s jawline tighten. She’s obviously clenching her teeth.
But she smiles nevertheless. “Of course, Miss Markham,” she says with sickening sweetness. “Whatever you say. You can take it up directly with Dr. Markham.”
“I’d be happy to,” I say. “Let’s go.”
I’m ready to follow Alexa out the door, but she hasn’t moved yet. She casts a scornful look at my clothes.
“You still have time to change,” she says.
“I’ve changed enough already,” I tell her, which might be the most honest thing I’ve said since I stepped foot on this place.
22
So I’m still dressed as a cowgirl. Except I did take a minute to change out of the Western boots, back into Halli’s comfortable hiking ones. I feel like I need the support right now. The more of Halli I bring with me, the better.
The conference room is another holographic nightmare. Instead of normal, solid walls, the whole place is an ever-moving, constantly-changing sequence of different outdoor locations, all captioned with the company logo: OPS Chile . . . OPS England . . . OPS Finland, France, Iceland, India . . .
As my eyes adjust to the light, I see that all conversation has stopped, and about twenty or more people are all staring right at me. Then some of them smile. And some of them don’t.
“Here she is!” Halli’s mother calls out. “Our daughter.”
In what might be the friendliest tone I’ve ever heard from her.
“Back from her latest exciting adventure,” Halli’s father says in a jovial voice. “Climbing the Alps this time!”
Then the two of them lead the room in a round of applause.
While I stand here completely shocked.
“This is your first time here, isn’t it, Miss Markham?” some guy asks. He’s looking through what looks like giant, square binoculars. “First time at your parents’ headquarters?”
“Uh . . . yes,” I say, glancing at Halli’s parents for confirmation. They’re both still smiling in this weird, frozen way.
The guy tilts the binoculars down. “And this is the dog? Red, is it?”
I step closer to the Lab so I can feel his body against my leg. I don’t know if it’s for his protection, or mine. I rest my hand on his head. “Yes. Red.”
The binoculars tilt back up to my face. “What’s next for Halli Markham?” the guy asks in this kind of fake, announcer’s voice.
And finally I realize what’s going on: this must be the history reporter Alexa mentioned this morning.
Which might explain Halli’s parents’ bizarre transformation. They want to look good in front of the media. And maybe in front of the board members, too.
So I have two choices: I can go along with it, or I can resist.
And I don’t know what it is—maybe some instinct inside me, maybe some instant perception that playing along with Halli’s parents right now could bring me some advantage in the future. Maybe I’m wrong about that, but I decide to trust my gut.
“I’m just enjoying my time with my parents right now,” I tell the reporter. “I don’t know what I’m doing next. I like to focus on the moment.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Halli’s mother relax.
The reporter laughs in this fakey, newscaster way. “Well, as always, we’ll be watching and looking forward to your next adventure!”
Then he lowers the binoculars and says in a normal voice, “That’ll do. Thanks for your time, Miss Markham. Nice to see you again.”
“Yeah,” I say, “you, too.” Please don’t let him get more specific than that.
The reporter starts to wander away, when a heavy-set man breaks from his group and starts heading toward me. On the way, he motions for the reporter to lift his camera again and keep filming.
“Miss Markham, Miss Markham!” the man says. He has a pleasant-enough grin beneath his thick, walrusy mustache. “So wonderful to finally meet you!”
He reaches out to shake my hand, without bothering to introduce himself.
“And this is the famous pooch!” he says, patting Red on the head. The dog answers with a low growl.
“I wish my wife could have come,” the man chatters on. “She’s been talking about you for years! Made our daughters watch the histories of you and your grandmother practically from the day they were born.” He chuckles to himself. “Always said she wanted to raise them wild just like you. My youngest, Becca, says she wants to move to Africa and live with the gorillas. I’ll have you to thank if she runs away to do just that!”
He laughs again, then shakes my hand one more time. “Good to meet you, good to meet you. If you don’t mind—”
He t
urns to make sure we’re both facing the reporter. Then he throws his arm across my shoulder. “Can you say hi to Becca, Shannon, and my wife Michelle? I know they’d be thrilled.”
“Hi . . .” I look to him to repeat the names. Once he does, I smile and recite them in Halli’s friendliest way. “Hi, Becca, Shannon, and Michelle. So glad to meet you. It was nice meeting your dad and husband. Bye, now.”
I hope that was good enough, but even if it’s not, that’s all I have. Because I notice Jake is finally free from the conversation he was having with Halli’s father and some other man, and now he’s heading this way.
I’m not sure what to tell him. There’s no point in saying I’ve just confirmed that what he saw on Halli’s tracking was, apparently, correct. He’d have no reason to doubt it anyway.
And since he’s now all hot on the idea of me getting my head examined, I don’t know what to say other than that I feel fine and I wish this meeting were already over. I’m not looking forward to anyone saying, “And what do you think, Miss Markham?” and me saying, “Umm . . . .”
But I’m spared improvising with Jake, because another one of the board members is clearly making her way towards me.
She’s a delicate, white-haired woman who looks like she’s about eighty years old. She’s small—about a foot shorter than Halli—and she walks with a surprising amount of energy. As she draws closer she gazes up at me with her bright blue eyes and gives me a smile that instantly sets me at ease.
“Halli, dear,” she says in a gentle, British accent. She takes my hand between her soft, bony ones. Her skin is pleasantly warm.
“Mrs. Scott,” the reporter says, binoculars back to his face.
“Not now,” she answers, waving him away. “This is private, Bryan.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He drifts off to interview other people.
The woman pats my hand. “I haven’t seen you since you were a little, little girl. You probably don’t remember me?”
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, dear! I wouldn’t expect you to know—you were very, very small. My name is Lillian Scott. I was a great admirer of your grandmother’s. I was so sorry to hear of her passing—she was genuinely one of a kind.”
“Yes, ma’am, she was.”
“Come closer, dear,” she whispers.
I bend toward her.
“I want you to know that I support you in this,” she says, patting my hand again. “You can count on me. I won’t let them get away with it.”
Excuse me? Get away with what?
23
Before I can ask Mrs. Scott what she means, Halli’s father calls out over the crowd, “Everyone take their seats. Monsieur Bern has arrived.”
There’s a swirl of lights rising above a tablet sitting on the long conference table. Soon the lights collect themselves into a face.
He’s about Halli’s parents’ age, with blond hair in a very square cut, right down to the straight line of bangs. He has round, gold-framed glasses, and a small, thin mouth.
“Shall we begin?” Halli’s father says. People murmur and settle in.
Nobody tells me where I should sit, so I grab one of the seats at the furthest end of the table. Red settles in at my feet. The man closest to me looks over, meets my eye, then pointedly turns away and ignores me.
So this should all be fun.
The lights dim, and the holographic walls disappear. In their place is a 3-D movie surrounding us on every side.
“Osmotic Power Systems,” a female voice says. “London . . . Paris . . . Santiago . . . Seattle . . .”
A different set of buildings pops up for each location. Different scenery in the background of each.
“ . . . Sydney . . . Toronto . . .” Several more cities and buildings before she gets to the end.
Then a man, in the lobby of some building, walking toward the camera with a cup of liquid in his hand.
“Water,” he says dramatically. “It can change the world. From bringing power to a desperate city—”
Cut to a view of whatever desperate city he’s talking about.
“—to lighting up a school house—”
A group of shabbily-dressed kids, smiling as they listen to their teacher.
“—to powering the life-saving equipment at this remote hospital.”
A group of doctors and nurses having a serious discussion in a hospital hallway, with patients being wheeled past them.
“But here at OPS,” the man says, “good enough is never good enough. We pride ourselves on innovation—”
Cut to some huge, complicated-looking set of pipes and tubes.
“—conservation—”
Tweeting birds and a lush green jungle.
“—and preservation.”
A large blue lake, surrounded by forest.
“And that’s why we asked ourselves—”
Back to the man in the lobby, holding up his cup of liquid.
“‘What can we do with just one cup?’”
Now there are cars streaming down a highway, in that same steady configuration I saw when Jake took me to the airport: all the cars evenly spaced, no rushing, no passing. As the camera zooms in, I can see drivers sitting in their cars reading or working on their tablets, facing and talking with their passengers—even a woman changing her baby’s diaper right there in the front seat. No one is paying attention to the road.
“Just one cup,” the man says again, and now there’s an airplane flying through the clouds. “One cup to take you from New York to London. One cup from Helsinki to Singapore.
“One cup to power our lives,” he concludes. “One cup to change the world.”
And now back to the OPS logo, and the woman’s voice from the beginning.
“Osmotic Power Systems,” she says soothingly. “Changing the world, one drop of water at a time.”
The lights come up. And the walls are a simple beige.
“You’ve all had a chance to read the materials on our hydro-catalytic process,” Halli’s father says. It’s a statement, not a question. “I’ve brought in Dr. Brubaker here and Mr. Lindstrom to answer any questions you have about either the process or the economics. But we’re hoping to move through this meeting today and reach a conclusion by the end of it.
“Does anyone have any questions for our experts?” Halli’s father asks the group.
Mrs. Scott raises her hand. “I have a question for you, Jameson,” she answers him. “I’m certain we would all like to hear why we’re in such a grand rush all of a sudden. This technology of yours has been on the horizon for years.”
She glances at me. And gives me a slight nod.
“Circumstances continue to develop,” Halli’s father says. “We could continue to delay, but the split-off of the hydro-catalytic division is inevitable. And that will require a restructuring of the company. Which makes this an appropriate time to address the buy-out of Virginia’s old shares. Better to take care of it all now rather than six months from now, when it might be even more complicated.”
“But we’re not speaking of six months, are we?” Mrs. Scott says. “Merely four, when your daughter turns eighteen. Then she can vote on this matter herself.”
“I am her trustee,” Monsieur Bern interjects. His accent sounds French. “Virginia Markham appointed me to act on Mademoiselle Markham’s behalf until she is of age. I have reviewed the proposal, and assured myself it is in the best interests of the child. We may proceed with an agreement. There is no need for delay.”
I am sitting desperately still, trying to capture all this with my ears. I’ve never heard any of this—not about Ginny owning shares in this company, not about Halli having a trustee, not about her having some interest in her parents’ company that would require her to vote on something—none of it.
But suddenly something makes sense: Jake never finished telling me the story of Ginny’s history with Halli’s parents. We were too busy kissing. But I’ll bet if I’d never gotten
cold hands and Jake hadn’t had to wrap me in his coat and we hadn’t ended up making out as a result—I’ll bet if none of that had happened, he might have gotten to the point in the story where he told me Halli’s grandmother owned some interest in the company in exchange for the money she gave Halli’s parents.
And now Halli owns it. She told me that Ginny left her all her houses and apartments all over the world, so why wouldn’t Ginny have left her whatever shares she owned in this company, too? It’s all starting to make sense. And I just have to sit here and act calm.
But now I get it! Monsieur Bern is here because Halli was underage when she inherited. So he gets to act on her behalf until she turns eighteen. But after that, Halli gets to decide everything herself.
Which means I have a responsibility here. I have to do whatever I can to make sure I don’t leave Halli worse off than before. I don’t know what she would have said about any of this, but I can’t take the chance of making a mistake that she can’t undo.
Because I intend to bring her back. Until then, I’m just a placeholder in her life.
“Can I say something?” I ask. My voice sounds tiny and hoarse. But Mrs. Scott gazes at me with those clear blue eyes of hers and encourages me with a smile.
Be Halli, be Halli, be Halli . . .
“I agree with Mrs. Scott,” I say. “I’m not ready to vote. I need to think about it for a while.”
“Think about it?” Halli’s father says with a laugh. “What’s there to think about? You’ve never thought about this company one second of your life—neither did your grandmother. Your mother and I have done all the work, while the two of you have been living off us all these years, doing anything you please, leading some ridiculous life—”
“Jim,” Halli’s mother murmurs. She tilts her head toward the reporter who’s still in here filming.
“Bryan,” Halli’s father says to him. “You can go. I’ll call you back if we need you.”
I see the reporter named Bryan smile. To himself, not to Halli’s father. He knows a good story when he sees one. He takes his time getting to the door.
“And it’s not your decision to make,” Halli’s father tells me. “You have a trustee, and it’s his vote that counts.”
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