“I can’t accept this,” Daniel tells me quietly. “I know it’s you in there, but who you are right now . . . everything I’ve seen . . .”
Daniel shakes his head and looks off to the side. Like he’s not sure whether he should say any more.
I reach out my hand to him, but he doesn’t take it.
“The truth is,” he says, “you’re not the girl I’m in love with. And I’m willing to do anything to get her back.”
50
“Here you are,” Olga says.
There’s no way twenty minutes have gone by. Or maybe an hour has gone by. I’m sort of standing here stunned at the moment, trying to sort out how I feel about what Daniel just said.
“I asked Bethany to cover the line,” Olga tells us. “Let us go through here.”
She points down an aisle of miniature lemon and orange trees, back to where I think Daniel had been leading me before.
The two of us walk along silently behind Olga. I can’t look at Daniel right now. There’s a thick current of some kind of energy passing between us, and it’s making my face hot and the rest of my skin feel clammy.
There’s a whole second shop, it looks like, behind the flower store. A café. The sign above the doorway says, “No tablets or other devices, please.”
The place is quiet. Soft. Soft lighting, soft sounds. There are people sitting at tables, and they’re either talking quietly or reading books.
Books. Paper books. Just like Daniel was reading last night. It seems so primitive and so welcome to my eyes.
“Cricket?” Olga calls to a woman behind the counter. She’s just dishing out a huge slice of some sort of sumptuous cake to a man who looks worried now that Olga might interrupt that process.
But the woman smiles at him and finishes their transaction so the man can go off to a corner table and enjoy his selection in peace.
“This is my daughter,” Olga says, “Cricket.”
“Christine Kopeck,” the woman says. She has Olga’s blue eyes and pale, pleasant features, and dark blond hair instead of white. And she sounds British, instead of whatever Olga is.
Daniel offers her his hand, but Christine simply nods to both of us and keeps her hands at her sides.
“Can you speak to these two young people for a moment?” Olga asks her daughter. “Privately.”
Christine’s smile fades. Clearly she isn’t happy with the request.
“They will not stay long,” Olga tells her. “You know I do not normally ask.”
Christine bites the inside of her lip and looks from Daniel to me. Then finally she nods. She takes off her apron, whispers something to one of her workers, then motions for the three of us to follow her into the back.
“But,” Daniel says to Olga, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but we were hoping to speak to you, Mrs. Kopeck.”
“I think my Cricket can be of greater use,” she answers.
We enter a small office, clean and bright, with small trees and pots of flowers pushed up against the walls. Again I notice the pairings—never one particular flower without another pot just like it right next to it. Same with the trees.
I’m curious enough I ask Olga about it, even though there are obviously other matters to deal with.
“Plants get lonely, too,” she says. “I would never send one away alone. They die after a place like this, leaving all their friends. Anyone who buys from me, buys two.”
“What was that thing about the water?” I ask. “What you said about giving one of them—Trudy, I think—water and not any to Siegfried?”
“They will take care of each other,” Olga says. “We have seen it. A dry plant is nursed by his friends.”
“That’s actually true,” Daniel says. “I’ve seen it, too. In the laboratory.”
Daniel has never told me anything about his studies in school. I know he’s won at least one science award, but when I asked him about it before, he sort of shrugged it off. It was clear he felt shy talking to me about it, so I never pursued it any further.
And yesterday, at the café with Sarah and her friends, he seemed perfectly fine with his sister breezing right past his neurobotany thing, and moving on to other topics.
So even though this is the perfect opportunity to follow up and find out more, I decide to let it go. I’ve pressed him enough today. From now on if he wants to tell me something, he should do it on his own.
Just like he did a few minutes ago. Which I’m still not sure how I feel about.
I turn the conversation back to Olga.
“You name your plants?” I ask her. “Like Siegfried and Trudy?”
“Of course they have names,” Olga answers. “We all have names. We are all individuals, are we not? Is your name Halli, or something else? Who do you prefer to be?”
That catches me off guard. Daniel sees it, too. He’s watching me now, waiting for my answer.
“I . . . I prefer to be Audie,” I say. “Halli is . . . too hard.”
“Ah,” Olga says. “Just so.”
“Is that what this is about?” Christine asks her mother.
“It is a puzzle,” Olga says. “I know only part of it. You can tell us more.”
“I don’t like to,” Christine says.
“I know,” her mother answers. “But sometimes it is a kindness. And if you can ease a person’s mind, sometimes you should. This girl has a special circumstance. She needs to understand what has happened.”
“And you couldn’t tell her?” Christine asks.
“Only the past,” Olga says. “Not her present.”
Christine sighs. Heavily. She closes her eyes and presses her fingers against them.
I look at Daniel. He’s watching Christine. The moments tick by, and she still sits there silently pressing her eyes.
I whisper to Olga, “Maybe we should leave.”
“No,” she and Daniel both say together.
“Give her time,” Olga whispers. “It is not so easy for her as it is for me.”
Finally Christine speaks. “Alone?” she asks her mother.
“I will come,” Olga answers.
Christine gets up and moves around the side of her desk, and stands between Olga and me. Daniel positions his chair so she can sit down. Then Christine holds out a hand first to her mother, then one to me.
“Please don’t say anything,” Christine tells Daniel and me. “No matter what happens. It’s hard for me to concentrate.”
Daniel and I both nod. The room feels so thick with energy right now, I wonder why the plants aren’t bursting into flame.
Christine squeezes my hand. And off we go.
51
We are inside the cloud. Not the cloud from Francie and Sam’s control room, but a cloud I remember very well. It’s where I spent hours—maybe even days—after I slammed into Halli and pushed her off the mountain to try to save her life. It’s where I stayed lost for who knows how long until I woke up in her house, inside her body, and had to take over living her life.
It isn’t like before, with Olga. Christine isn’t saying anything. All I have is the feeling to tell me when we’re moving from one situation to another.
And now the feeling I have is one of warmth. Of light. Out of the cloud into colors and brightness and a kind of liquid heat.
It is liquid, I realize. I’m deep inside it somewhere, not breathing, but not needing to breathe. I know Christine and Olga are near, but I’ve lost touch with them. I’m not afraid, though, because this place feels familiar. I don’t feel lost the way I did before. I think I can pull myself out and find a way to the light.
Then I feel the pressure of both of them holding my hands again, and now the three of us are standing on the side of a street. A street I know very well. I look across from me and see houses that I’ve looked at every day since I was a little girl.
And coming out of one of those houses, pausing to tighten the lace on her sneaker before setting off on a morning jog, is a person I know so well I almost br
eak my promise to Christine and scream out her name. She has short hair and my face, and she’s just about to pass us when I let go of Olga’s and Christine’s hands, and leap into the running body and feel my foot landing on the asphalt with its very next step.
Halli stops. I can feel her. I can feel her thoughts and her presence and maybe this is her soul. But whatever it is, she feels mine, too, and now she’s thrown her arms around us, and she’s hugging herself and jumping up and down and shouting, “Audie! You’re alive! You’re here!” She keeps jumping and laughing and shouting, “Audie! You’re alive—you’re alive!”
And then Christine loses control.
And I’m ripped out of my body once more.
52
I am crying so hard I can’t breathe. Daniel is bent over me, holding me, trying to find out if I’m all right. He thinks maybe I’m hurt. I am—I’m so hurt if I start screaming I know I’ll never stop.
It’s not Christine’s fault. I know it’s because Halli spoke. Christine lost her grip and she couldn’t hold on. And now she’s so upset she’s shaking, and Olga is trying to comfort her. I can’t say anything about what happened or I’m going to make it worse.
But to be ripped apart again, ripped out of my own body like that, sent shooting back across whatever great divide is between Halli and me—it was like having my skin torn off in one long strip, like having my hair pulled out from the roots, like having all my teeth broken to bits with a hammer. My body feels like it’s on fire. Every single nerve is burning like the tip of a match.
I’m so antsy, so edgy, I need to stand up. I’m not crying any more, but I need to move. To burst through these doors and go run fifty miles. Something to use up all this excess energy.
Daniel holds me by the shoulders and searches my face. “Please,” he says, “tell me. Tell me what happened.”
“She’s alive,” I say. “We both are. Halli is in my body and we’re alive. I was in there with her. We both felt it.”
Daniel shouts out a laugh and then hugs me so hard he lifts me off my feet. He kisses me hard on my cheek before he sets me down.
I look past him to Christine. I don’t want her to be broken. She did me a favor—I understand now how hard that was for her.
Olga is speaking to her softly in whatever language she speaks. Christine is nodding. The energy in the room is settling down—I can feel it.
But the plants nearest to me aren’t doing so well. All the leaves on one of the trees are completely wilted, and one of the flowers looks like it dropped all its petals. I’m sure they didn’t look that way when we came in here.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell Christine. “I hope that didn’t hurt you.”
Her face is grave. “I felt what you felt. I’m sorry for you, too.”
Daniel looks worried. “It’s nothing,” I tell him. “It’s passed.”
I sit back in my chair, and Daniel sits on the arm of it, still keeping his hold on me. I want it right now. I’m glad he’s not letting go.
I wait until Olga and her daughter are done speaking in their private language, but then I finally have to ask.
“Can you explain to me what happened? How did you find her—me?”
Christine glides her hand through the air, like it’s riding on a wave.
“Vibrations,” she says.
And I know exactly what she means.
53
“It’s why I can’t have any devices in the café,” Christine explains. “I can feel every vibration moving through the air in such a small space. It makes me want to jump out of my skin. I can’t bear it more than a few seconds.”
“The plants are good for her,” Olga says. “They dampen the noise and vibration.”
Christine nods.
“What did you see?” I ask Daniel.
“Nothing,” he says. “The three of you held hands and closed your eyes. And then suddenly you were screaming.”
No wonder he was so concerned. Seeing me disappear the few times I did was probably more relaxing.
“Christine,” I say, “can you please explain to me how you did it? How did you find us?”
Because we are an “us”—Halli and me. This whole time I’ve been thinking of myself over here as me, alone without her. But just that brief moment back inside my body, sharing it with Halli, made me see how wrong I’ve been. She and I have always been together on this since we first met. Entangled. Inseparable. I’ve felt so alone this whole time, when obviously that wasn’t possible. If I’m in her body, then of course we’re still connected. And knowing she landed inside mine proves it all the more.
“It wasn’t easy,” Christine tells me. “I’ve never had to push so far.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I can tell you, standing behind my counter out there, what someone on the other side of the world is doing right this minute. Or whether there’s someone out in the plant shop trying to take a cutting from something and sneak it out in their pocket.”
“I see the past,” Olga says, “my Cricket sees the present.”
“But this wasn’t the present,” Christine tells us. “That’s what felt so strange.”
I don’t like the sound of that. “If this wasn’t the present,” I say, “then when was it?”
Christine waves her hand backward over her shoulder. “Just . . . before.” She turns to Olga. “Mum, do you know? You’re better at time.”
“Eight-twelve in the morning,” she answers.
I relax. The “before” Christine was talking about is just the time difference. I’m so busy trying to do the math—I’m not really sure what time it is here, but I think England is either seven or eight hours ahead of Arizona—I almost miss what Olga says next:
“Saturday.”
“Saturday?” Daniel and I both say together.
“What date?” Daniel asks.
“October thirteen,” Olga answers.
Daniel shakes his head. “That was last Saturday,” he says. “Three days ago. Today’s the sixteenth.”
“No,” I say. “No, no, no—” I’m on my feet again, pacing. “That’s impossible.”
“More impossible than any of this?” Daniel asks me.
But I’m too busy trying to keep up with my whirring mind. Thinking back about the lost days.
At first I thought I’d only lost two—the ones between Tuesday, when I saw Halli with the avalanche, and Thursday when I woke up in her body.
But then Jake convinced me I’d actually lost four days—all the way back to the Sunday before, when Halli’s tracking showed her hiking down from the mountain and going back to Munich. And I’ve seen that scenario for myself now, in the scenes played out in Olga’s cloud.
But now Olga is talking about three days. Saturday to Tuesday, Sunday to Thursday—I feel like I’ve completely lost track of my own timeline, and I don’t know if I’m past or present or future.
“None of this makes any sense!” I say. “Daniel, do you understand what’s going on?”
“No,” he says, “I don’t.”
I’m pressing my palms against my temples, as if that will help. Christine gives me a sympathetic look.
“I don’t like it either,” she says. “I never like it. My mum does.”
“It is because I hold it loosely,” Olga says.
“Hold what loosely?” I ask.
“Time,” she says. “You want it to be—” She knifes the side of one hand against the palm of another. “—everything exact. Even. One second, two second, one year, this year. But time is . . .” She makes the same rolling gesture with her hand that Christine made earlier. “Waves. Motion. We can rise above the waves and dive back in, anywhere we choose. You understand?”
“No,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. I’m completely lost right now.”
Olga turns to Daniel. “You understand?”
“I think . . . yes, I think I do,” he says. “I’m beginning to.”
“He is the right one for you,” Olga tells
me. “He is smart. Not that other one—the black-haired boy.”
Daniel and I both look at each other with shock. And then Daniel is nice enough to laugh.
“She thinks she’s a matchmaker, too,” Christine says. Then she scolds her mother in their private language.
I’d love to ask her how she knows about Jake, but not in front of Daniel.
Then I realize that’s part of my past, just as much as where this body went when Halli decided to hike down the mountain with Daniel and Sarah and Martin. That history was just a little further back. My history with Jake is more recent, but it’s still my history—or at least the history of Body A or Body B or whoever it turns out I am. Olga must have seen it.
“So how do I get back?” I ask the two women. “How can I find Halli again?” Forget trying to figure out all the mathematics of time—right now I just need some trick. “Can you take me there again? Help me stay there longer?”
“I cannot let my Cricket do it again,” Olga says. “It is too hard.”
“I’m sorry,” Christine agrees. “I really can’t. Not right now. Maybe in a few days.”
“I can’t wait a few days,” I tell her. “Halli is waiting for me now—I know it. If I can just find the way back—”
“You must rise above,” Olga tells me. “Find the wave. Dive back in.”
Oh, sure, I think. That’s all.
54
The four of us emerge from Christine’s office, and two things happen at once:
A man I’ve never seen before jumps right in front of Daniel and me and points his oversized binoculars at us and shouts, “Halli Markham! Who’s the new man in your life?”
And Olga smashes her hand against the binoculars and sends them crashing to the floor.
“No devices!” she shouts at the man. “None!” She turns and waves her daughter back into the office. Then the wrath of a mother comes down hard on the man.
“Leave here! Now! Who are you? Leave!”
“History 1,” the man says, scrambling to pick up his camera. “We just want a few words with Miss Markham—”
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