Page 25

Part L

“Broken Pieces Shine”

August

In the words of Carrie Bradshaw, “and just like that,” Abby and I are dating. Or maybe “together” would be a better term since we haven’t had time to go on an official date yet. The night of the “Big Steak Meat Palace Disaster” as we’ve been calling it, we got in her Mini and drove to the closest restaurant that had vegetarian-friendly food and wasn’t packed on a Friday night, and while I love Greek Fiesta, it’s not what I would call “first date material.” Especially not the kind of first date Abby and I have been building up to after so much time.

So, we’ve basically been going about our lives the same as we were before, but now with kissing and cuddling on the sofa. Gearing up for Nate and Isaac’s wedding in a couple of months has taken up a lot of our time, plus Abby has been throwing herself into work lately, which I assume is a reaction to the blow-up with her parents. I’ve tried talking to her about it, but she’s shut it down cold. Though I did have some flashbacks of Suz, I’m giving Abby time to process and not bugging her about it. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have told your parents off—quite rightly, I might add. But, when she’s ready to talk, she knows I’m here.

I’m super busy with work as well because we had a large group contact us who wants a private, custom tour of Ireland for next July, and Nate and I are preparing a proposal for them. It’s a group of thirty-four seniors who are all of Irish descent wanting to go to Ireland to trace their roots. However, they all seem to have different budgets and very different ideas about how a tour like this could work. Nate also gets the feeling from speaking to the group leader, Mr. Walsh, that they might be interviewing other travel agents. So, we need to knock their collective socks off if we want to win this business.

“Do you have the quotes from CIE Tours or Brendan Vacations yet?” Nate asks in the office today.

“Not yet. I emailed both of the reps this morning and they said they should have them to us by the close of business today,” I reply, clicking through my emails.

Nate sighs. “We really need those quotes so I can put the finishing touches on this PowerPoint. And, oh my god, what if the other companies are working with CIE and Brendan too? Should we quote another company? Should we build something from scratch? I don’t think we have time for that. We have to present in literally seven days and I’m losing my mind here.”

“Deep breaths. We’ll get them and I know they’ll be great. Even if the other company or companies are quoting CIE and Brendan, they may not quote the exact same itinerary,” I reply, attempting to soothe him. “And a week is plenty of time to finish the PowerPoint.”

“Clare, you just don’t even know how important it is that we get this booking. This could really put Nerds on a Plane on the map!” His voice has gone up about three octaves and several decibels. He drops his head into his hands.

I pat his back. “Nate, seriously, I need you to breathe. Or, maybe, go take a walk. Something.” If he’s going to be like this for the next week, I’m going to lose it. “I do know how important this is, and we’re both working as hard as we can to land this client. We’ll do our absolute best, and that’s all we can do. But you know what else? We have something those other companies don’t.”

He looks at me from one eye peering through his hand. “Yeah, like what?”

“Us,” I answer. “We’re the best nerdy travel agents around, and that’s exactly what this group needs. They need people who can find them the unique experiences they’re looking for that are off the beaten path so they can see more and do more. We’re those people.”

He raises his head and smiles. “You’re right, girl. We are exactly what they need, and we are going to win this!”

“That’s the spirit,” I enthuse. “Now, seriously, go take a walk or something to get out of your head for a bit, and I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thanks, Clare,” Nate says, hugging me. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably drive some other poor sap crazy. But, it’s okay, ‘cause I love ya.”

“Love ya back.” He releases me, then heads out for that walk.

I’m just finishing up a welcome home email to one of our clients who just returned from their trip to Spain, when my cell phone rings. The number isn’t familiar, but it is a North Carolina area code that isn’t coming up as Spam, so I decide to answer it. “Hello?”

“Clare? This is Mrs. Cassidy. Abby’s mom. Lynnette,” she says as if I need that many names by which to know my best friend’s mother when she calls. Come to think of it, Lynnette has never called me on my cell phone before, which would be why I didn’t have her number programmed.

“Oh, um, hi,” I say, not sure at all what to say to this woman. It’s only been about two weeks since our fateful dinner, and I certainly didn’t expect her to call me.

“I…I know you’re probably busy,” she begins, “so I won’t take up too much of your time. I just wanted to see how my dau—how Abby was doing. Is she okay after…everything?”

There are two ways I could play this: beat around the bush and tell her everything’s hunky-dory or give it to her straight. After my part in the restaurant disaster, I feel like the latter is the best option, and probably why Lynnette called me in the first place. “Mrs. Cassidy, Lynnette, she’s acting mostly okay. She won’t come out and say anything because I think she’s still processing everything that happened, but I know she’s really hurting right now.”

Lynnette sighs heavily through the phone. “I thought as much. I hate that I hurt our little girl. I never meant for this to happen. I love her and only wanted what was best for her.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but if that’s truly the case, then why did you treat her the way you have for forty-one years?”

“I don’t…I didn’t mean to. I really do love my little girl. But she never seemed to take the path we laid out for her. She always wanted to go her own way, even if it was harder. That’s hard for a mother to watch.” There’s a hitch in her voice. “I only wanted her to have what I never had.”

Intrigued, I ask, “And what was that?”

“Love,” she replies simply, and I hear her soft sobs through the line.

It’s then I realize maybe Lynnette and Jack’s marriage wasn’t what it seemed on the surface. Perhaps the same pushing Jack does with Abby, he does with Lynnette as well. Maybe she settled. Maybe she had no choice. Maybe she loved him in the beginning and maybe part of her still does, but perhaps it’s changed into something different, unmanageable.

“Why are you telling me this instead of talking to Abby?” I ask.

She takes a ragged breath before she answers. “I wanted to see if you thought she’d be open to seeing me. Just me.” I have to hold myself back from prying more at that point. She continues, “I’ve tried calling and texting, but she hasn’t responded.”

That tracks. “I can ask. No promises, but I can ask. You might just need to be patient.”

“I truly appreciate anything you can do.”

“Okay, well, I need to get going,” I say.

“Sure. I’m sorry I kept you,” she says. Then when I don’t say anything else, she adds, “Oh, and Clare?”

“Yeah?”

“Abby is lucky to have you as a friend.”

Tears well up in my eyes as I put down the phone, and I realize that she doesn’t know Abby and I are dating.

* * *

“Do you think you’re ready to get out on the open road?” Abby asks as I drive around a quiet neighborhood with very few cars around. Over the last few months, I graduated from the empty parking lot to neighborhood driving, and I’ve been doing really well, if I do say so myself. Abby’s been such a great support through all of this, even more so now that we’re dating.

“Yes, I think I am,” I reply, really meaning it. The scariest part seems to be behind me now and I feel confident behind the wheel like I never thought I would be again. I drive to the entrance of the neighborhood and signal for a right turn onto Wade Avenue.

“You got this,” Abby encourages.

I smile but keep watch of the traffic. Once it’s clear, I pull out and I’m driving again on a busy street for the first time in five years. But now is not the time to celebrate because I need to maintain my focus. There are a lot of cars and to some extent, I still feel like a student driver.

Everything is going smoothly until I realize I’m in an exit-only lane for Capital Boulevard. I check my blind spot to the left, but the traffic is bumper to bumper, and no one is letting me over. I feel like Dionne in Clueless getting on the freeway, although Capital Blvd is not quite the same as a freeway in L.A., I’m still petrified. I always hated Capital Blvd when I drove before, and going this direction means I’ll be driving in downtown Raleigh with the narrow one-way streets and even more traffic.

“It’s going okay, sweetie,” Abby says. “Just keep going, you can’t stop in the middle of the exit ramp.”

I hadn’t realized I’d slowed down quite so much and cars are honking behind me. I hit the gas and proceed onto Capital. The cars behind me fly past me as soon as they can, leaving me to merge once they’ve gone by. “I hate Capital Blvd!”

“I know. Everyone does. It’s not too much farther to Edenton, then we’ll just go down Hillsborough and be almost home.”

Abby sounds so calm whereas I want to jump right out of this moving vehicle. I don’t, though, and keep driving at exactly the speed limit until we get to Edenton Street where I turn right. Thankfully, Abby knows the quickest way to get us home, avoiding most of the narrow streets. However, things aren’t much better until we get past the traffic circle on Oberlin Road and I know we’re almost home. Once I’ve parked Abby’s car in the garage, I drop my forehead onto the steering wheel and sigh heavily.

“You did it!” Abby pats me on the back. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I never want to drive on Capital Boulevard again,” I mutter into my chest.

“Well, I’m not sure I can promise you’ll never have to do it since it is a pretty major street in Raleigh, but at least you know you can do it if you have to. I think you’re ready to get your license again.”

I turn to Abby, who is positively beaming with pride, and I can’t help but smile. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Sure, you might want to practice some more with me or someone else, but other than that tiny moment of panic on the exit ramp, you handled yourself really well out there.” She pumps her fist in the air. “You didn’t let the fear overtake you this time.”

“I didn’t, did I?”

“You did not.”

I lean over and kiss my girlfriend—I mean, I might as well keep in line with what Dionne did after getting off the freeway, right? Well, almost. Abby and I aren’t quite there yet considering we haven’t had a first date.

When we finally pull apart, she sits back with a satisfied “Mmm” sound. “I should take you on Capital more often.”

We both laugh, then get out of the car and head up to the apartment. In the elevator, my phone bleeps with a text from Abby’s mom asking if Abby said anything about meeting with her. I roll my eyes at the fact that it’s only been a few hours since I spoke with Lynnette. However, it also makes me realize that with all the hubbub with driving, I haven’t mentioned it to Abby yet.

As we enter the apartment, I say, “So, I got a phone call from your mom today.” I have no idea how Abby’s going to take this.

She turns to me, accusing. “Why would she call you?” At my step back, her gaze softens. She puts a hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry, Clare. I didn’t mean to direct my hostility to you. I was annoyed that she would call you instead of trying to communicate with me directly.”

“It’s okay,” I reply. “She said she’s tried to reach you but hasn’t gotten a response. She wasn’t sure what else to do.”

Abby crosses her arms across her chest. “I just need time.”

“I know. I told her that.” I’m not sure how much to reveal of my conversation with Lynnette, so I only add, “She really seemed sincere in wanting to mend fences. And she only mentioned herself, not your dad.”

Abby’s head tilts to the side, pondering for a long moment. “I’ll think about it, but I’m not ready to commit to seeing her right now. It’s still too raw.”

“I completely understand.” I wrap her in a hug. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. And if you want to meet with her, I’m there.”

Abby rests her head on my shoulder as she cries.

* * *

The next evening, I’m eating dinner in front of the TV because Abby had a final fitting for her tux after work, and my head starts to pound. I get a few headaches from time to time, but this comes on very suddenly and with brute force. I wonder if this has anything to do with the stress of the Ireland trip Nate and I are working on. Sighing, I put down my fork and walk to the bathroom to get some ibuprofen. I nearly trip over Shelley when I do so because she’s collapsed on the floor half on the bathroom tile and half on the bedroom carpet. Silly cat.

When I lean over to open the cabinet, the pain almost knocks me out, it’s that strong. Unlike my normal little tension headaches, this feels like my entire skull is going to crack open. And I’m suddenly nauseated. I never feel nauseated unless I’ve got a stomach virus. Did I eat something weird? Do I have a stomach virus? But a stomach virus wouldn’t give me a headache.

I grab for the bottle of pills, but the pain is so bad I can’t see straight anymore. I fall to the floor, clutching my head. I’m seeing double and also hallucinating. There are two Shelleys—one where she was a moment ago, and another right beside me. I put my hand out for the one beside me, but it goes right through her. Then, a man enters the room, but he’s not really there either because he walks through the “real Shelley.” Am I seeing ghosts?

I hear the front door open, and Abby announcing that she’s home. I cry out something unintelligible, and I hear her rapid footfalls as she runs into my room, calling my name.

“Oh my god, Clare!” she cries when she sees me. “What happened?”

“My head. It hurts so bad.”

“Did you fall? Do you need to go to the hospital?” she asks, concern etched all over her face.

I shake my head. Big mistake. “No fall. Headache. Really bad. Nauseated.”

“Maybe it’s a migraine,” Abby says. “I’ve got some Excedrin Migraine in my bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

She runs out around the same time that the ghost man does also—and I know I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place him. I close my eyes because I can’t take whatever this is. I try massaging my temples, but somehow that makes it worse.

Abby’s back quickly, and she hands me two pills and a cup of water. I take the pills one by one and set the cup down on the floor where Ghost Shelley used to be.

Abby takes my hand. “Any better? I mean, I know you just took the pills, but…”

“Not really,” I say.

“Why don’t we see if lying down helps?” She puts out her hands to help me get up.

Over her shoulder, I see Ghost Man helping a ghost me into my bed. What the hell? I watch the ghost scene as Abby helps me up to standing. As Ghost Me turns around, I notice a definitive scar on her chest that looks like what you would get if you were getting chemo. My mind reels and my kneels buckle. Abby barely manages to keep me upright.

“Clare?”

“Sorry, I…sorry,” I say knowing that this headache is not going to allow me to put into words what’s going through my head right now.

“It’s okay,” Abby consoles, helping me make it the rest of the way to the bed. She pulls back the covers and I crawl in, resting my head on the pillow. She sits on the side of the bed, watching me breathe. “Is that any better?”

Somehow, it is. I don’t know if it’s just lying down or that—and I can’t believe I’m even thinking this—Other Me’s headache is going away, but the pounding has ceased and there’s just a dull ache at my temples. “Yes,” I reply.

“Oh, good.” She sighs with relief. “I wasn’t sure what else to suggest other than a compress. That, or a trip to the ER.”

I roll over onto my back and rub my hands over my face then up over my head. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure what else to try either.”

“You know,” Abby begins, scrunching her face up in a quizzical expression, “it’s really strange that it went away so suddenly. I mean, the medication hardly had any time to get into your system.”

I hesitate briefly, but I also know I can tell Abby anything, especially now. I push myself up to sitting. “I have a theory.”

“I’m all ears.”

“You know those sensations of déjà vu I’ve been having?”

She nods. “Yeah, with the dreams and the faceless person that’s none other than yours truly.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, grinning.

I chuckle, which brings back a little of the pounding in my head from before. “Right. So, I haven’t only been having that because of the dreams.”

“No?” she asks.

“I’ve also been…seeing visions or hallucinations—whatever you want to call them—of myself in like another timeline or something.”

“Oh my god, like one of Suz’s movies with the parallel universes?”

“Like a multiverse, yes.” I still can’t believe I’m thinking this, let alone saying it out loud.

“In the words of Keanu Reeves, ‘Whoa,’” she says.

“Exactly. And I think that this timeline, universe, whatever is somehow connected to another one, and I’m experiencing some of what that me is going through. Probably vice versa as well.”

“This is… I mean, I don’t know what to say. This is nuts.”

I nod and sink my face into my hands. Abby’s said she believed me about the dreams, but I don’t know how much she really did. But this? This is a whole different level of crazy. I’m sure she’s going to have me committed to an institution or at least suggest I go back to therapy like I did right after my parents died.

She puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Clare, it’s okay. I didn’t say you were nuts, I said this is nuts. I believe you.”

“Really?” I raise my head cautiously.

“Sweetie, I’ll always believe you, no matter what. You’ve never given me any reason to doubt you and I know you wouldn’t make up something this serious. If you believe this is happening to you, then I believe it too.” She holds up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, though, I have tons of questions. Like tons.”

I laugh and give her a big hug. “Thank you for believing me and in me.”

“Always,” she says. When we pull apart, she asks, “So, why do you think you got this headache then? Does Other You have migraines or something?”

It’s time to say the really hard part. “No. Actually, I think Other Me has cancer.”