A Thousand Pieces of You

Josie shoots him a look. “You’d better not be too bad an influence.” She’s talking about what she thinks she saw in the kitchen, which brings up the whole question of what I do or don’t feel for Theo, on top of every other confusing thing that’s happened . . .

I take a sip of the wine. It doesn’t help.

After dinner, Dad does the dishes. When he starts humming “In My Life,” at first it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Then I remember that this is the last time I’ll ever hear him humming his beloved Beatles—and I have to bite my lip to hold back the tears.

Or I could just stay here, in this dimension, forever.

It’s tempting. Dad’s alive. Our family is together. Whatever happened with Paul, we can get to the bottom of it, put things right.

But back home, Mom is mourning Dad, worried about Paul, and scared to death for me and Theo. I have to get back to her. This dimension may look like home, but it’s not, and never will be.

I stay right outside the kitchen, listening, until Dad finishes. Then I slip out to the back deck, needing a few minutes alone to steady myself before we start watching the festivities in Times Square on TV.

It’s the same deck, the same weird sloping backyard that’s not even flat enough for a folding chair. Even the electric lights are identical, Josie’s plastic tropical fish glowing along the rail. The tall trees that ring our yard obscure the houses near us; even though we’re in the heart of the Berkeley Hills, it’s possible to imagine that we’re isolated, alone. When I was a little kid, I used to pretend the trees were a stone wall around our castle. I wish that were true.

The sliding door behind me opens. I don’t turn my head as I remain sitting on the steps of the deck.

Theo drapes Mom’s apple-green cardigan around my shoulders before he sits down next to me. “And here we are again.”

I laugh despite myself. “This is where this whole crazy trip began.”

“You must wish I’d never even told you about the Firebirds.”

“No, I’m glad you did.” I think of everything I’ve seen, every aspect I’ve discovered of the people I love. Especially Paul—always, always Paul.

Where is he right now? If he were here, maybe I’d know whether what I love in him is the same, whether it lives on. All I know is I want him here with me so desperately it almost hurts.

“You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes.” Theo rests his forearms on his knees, leaning forward to study my face. “How are you doing?”

“I think I could try to figure that out for most of the next year and still not know.”

“Is it hard, being around your dad? I keep wanting to hug the guy. At least you can do that without Henry wondering if you’re high.”

Coming from Theo, that’s not just a joke.

But Theo has held it together, at least as far as I can tell. Probably I shouldn’t ask what he got up to in Paris. I bet it involved absinthe.

“Listen,” he says. “It’s obvious that you want to pin the blame on Triad instead of Paul. Right?”

“Even you admitted Triad had gone too far,” I say. “Who knows what else they’re up to?”

“Wyatt Conley, that’s who.” Theo runs one hand through his hair. “So why don’t we ask him?”

I stare at him. “Just walk up to one of the biggest tech tycoons in the world, any world, and ask him what he’s doing?”

“Don’t be so literal. In this dimension, we’ve worked with Triad a lot more closely. Remember, I’ve been interning there for months. That means I have access to their HQ—the mega-cool modern one, which is complete here, so we’ll see it first when we walk right through the front doors tomorrow.” From a front pocket of his shirt he pulls a laminated security pass bearing the triangular Triad logo.

“We can get into the building,” I whisper, starting to smile. “You have access to their computers.”

Theo holds up a warning hand. “My security clearance won’t be all-knowing, all-seeing. But it might be a bit more comprehensive than they meant for it to be. Besides, on New Year’s Day, the place will be all but deserted. Gives us a chance to stick our noses where they don’t belong.”

By now, I’m very curious to find out more about what kind of man Wyatt Conley might be. Because I’m beginning to believe he’s played a bigger role in my life, and my father’s death, than anyone ever suspected.

Theo adds, “While we’re there, we might even be able to figure out how to track down this dimension’s Paul. Right now, he’s on the run, and we’ll never find him on our own. But Triad? These are the guys who developed the software the NSA uses; they’re not easy to hide from.”

I fist my hands in my curls. “Why are you still so sure he hurt Dad?”

“Why are you suddenly so sure he didn’t? And don’t give me the ‘he looked innocent’ thing again. That is not valid evidence.”

“These journeys—the other dimensions we’ve seen—haven’t they taught you anything?” No, I don’t want to get defensive. I especially don’t want to be short with Theo, not after everything he’s done for my sake, and for Dad’s. So I turn to him as I struggle for the right words. “Each Marguerite I’ve been was her own individual, with her own strengths and weaknesses. But they were all me, Theo. I’m not sure there’s anything in those Marguerites that isn’t in me, too. And I haven’t only learned more about myself. I’ve learned more about Paul.” If I think about Paul in Russia again, I won’t be able to bear it. So I force myself to concentrate on the here and now. “All those versions of Paul are Paul. I know him better now than I ever did before. He’s not a murderer. I’d stake my life on it.”