6 1/2 Body Parts Page 3

  “Good,” Valerie said cheerfully. “By the way, I found that thing you asked me about. It’s in your room.”

  She started to ask what thing, but the tap, tap of Valerie’s mules indicated she’d already walked away. Carlotta turned her head to look farther down the hall, to the closed door of her own childhood bedroom. Dread washed over her. What would she find inside?

  Chapter 4

  Carlotta was in a flop sweat by the time she reached the door of her former bedroom. She had the uneasy feeling she might find herself inside.

  She turned the knob and pushed open the door noiselessly—when she’d lived there, she’d kept the hinges oiled so she could more easily slip in and out of her room with no one the wiser. She winced, conceding she’d been a bit of a wild child before her parents’ disappearance had forced her to grow up in a hurry.

  The first thing she zeroed in on was the white bed—the same bed she’d crawled out of this morning in the townhome. A cold awareness settled over her as she struggled to stay vertical. Here was solid proof she was walking in some kind of alternate universe, where people and things were on a trajectory separate from the world she knew.

  The air inside was stale, as if the bedroom hadn’t been used in a while. Most of her girly things had been removed—the comforter and window coverings were new and gender neutral, but there were still a few familiar knickknacks here and there. She walked around, trailing her fingers over the furniture, then moved to the wide picture window overlooking the front yard.

  How many times had she stood here waiting for Peter’s car to arrive, usually in the dark? He would flash his lights once to signal her. She would rush down to slip into the Crown Victoria, his father’s old car, too big to be cool, but sporting a back seat as expansive as a full-size bed. She and Peter would drive to some secluded spot and get wrapped up in each other. Just the memory of it sent a tug of longing through her midsection. That was back when sex was new and exciting and a little scary… they had spent hours kissing and caressing and exploring each other’s bodies. She had been so in love… she thought Peter had been, too. But her father’s scandal had been enough to cause him to reconsider their future together. He had turned his back on her when she’d needed him most.

  She roused herself from the past before she became mired in the murkiness. Her mother had said she’d asked her to find something. She glanced around the room, looking for an item that stood out. On the edge of a dresser lay a small yellow photo album. The cover read “My College Graduation” written in block letters in her handwriting.

  She opened it and recognized herself in cap and gown from the photograph on the hallway wall. She flipped through the photos, studying the candids of herself and what she presumed were other students she hung around with, celebrating. A few faces were familiar—Peter, of course, and fellow school mates Tracey Tully and Angela Ashford—correction, Angela Keener. Carlotta bit her lip. If she and Peter were together, apparently he hadn’t married Angela. Did that mean the woman was still alive?

  The impact of being here, on a parallel path, hit her… what might she find if she kept going? How different was her life in this place?

  She flipped through the rest of the photos, but she had no recollection of the other people at the gathering. She felt a pang for the good time she’d obviously had but couldn’t remember. Then she frowned.

  Why had she asked her mother to locate the album?

  “Did you find the pictures?” Valerie yelled from downstairs.

  Carlotta closed the photo album and walked toward the hall. “Yes.”

  “Your bagel is ready,” Valerie said, her voice muffled.

  Carlotta turned to take another look at her childhood room, remembering the happy times here—the endless fashion shows, the impromptu dancing, the hushed phone calls. She had been so spoiled, and blissfully ignorant of how drastically her life could change overnight. She pulled the door closed, then made her way back to the stairs. Obnoxious music leaked under Wesley’s bedroom door. She wondered what he was doing in there, thinking it probably wasn’t good.

  She descended the stairs with a stone in her stomach, wondering what else she might find out about her family and herself. This was starting to feel uncomfortably voyeuristic.

  She returned to the kitchen to find Valerie humming and sipping from a coffee mug that had been refilled with her “special” brew.

  “Thanks,” Carlotta said, holding up the photo album.

  “You’re welcome,” Valerie said, glancing at the album as if she’d never seen it before.

  It occurred to Carlotta her mother had probably asked Henny to find the photo album—Valerie had a tendency to offload any parenting duties she could.

  “Wesley’s up,” Carlotta offered.

  “Oh, good.”

  “Mom, I’m worried about him. He seems so… angry.”

  “Angry? Why would he be angry?”

  Carlotta pressed her lips together. “Have you ever found drugs in his room?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Have you ever looked?”

  Valerie made an exasperated noise. “Why would I do that?”

  “Mother,” Carlotta said sternly, “I think you need to keep a closer eye on Wes, maybe occasionally ask him what’s going on in his life. Do you know he’s dating a stripper?”

  “That will pass, dear. He’s at the age where he’s curious—about a lot of things.”

  Carlotta crossed her arms. “Ergo the saying that curiosity killed the cat.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Mother, I really think—”

  “Carlotta,” Valerie cut in sharply, “I think I know more about mothering than you do.”

  Carlotta felt as if she’d been slapped. She wanted to fling back she’d known nothing about mothering when Randolph and Valerie had skipped town, but she’d had to sink or swim and deal with Wesley’s grief and confusion and nightmares, getting him transferred to public school and generally trying to make him feel loved and safe in an impossible situation. Hot tears formed in her eyes as spiteful words watered on her tongue… and died there. Because she’d waited for this moment for so long, to be standing in front of her mother, she wanted to drink her in and let their time together be a happy occasion. Besides, in this version of their life, it probably did seem to Valerie as if she was interfering.

  She blinked away the tears before her mother could notice. “You’re right. I’m just worried about him, that’s all.”

  Valerie looked up and Carlotta detected a flash of clarity in her mother’s eyes. “If you must know, so am I,” Valerie said quietly, as if she were afraid the walls were listening. “I’ll find a good time to talk to your father about it.” She took another drink from her mug, signaling an end to the topic, but Carlotta felt somewhat better.

  She picked up the bagel, noting Valerie had spread it with her favorite, strawberry preserves. The little motherly gesture touched her, reminded her Valerie wasn’t without her good qualities.

  She bit into the bagel and chewed slowly, wondering when the bubble around her would burst and she would be bounced back into life as she knew it. This all seemed so surreal, yet her senses were keen—she could hear the second hand moving on the ornate clock above the door, could taste the caramel in the coffee. A blob of jelly dropped onto her shirt, and the stain was the brightest red.

  “By the way, Bette asked me to say hello.”

  Carlotta turned her head. “Hm?”

  “That was Bette Noble on the phone… from the club? She wondered how your police benefit is shaping up.”

  “Police benefit?” Carlotta parroted, stalling.

  “To raise money for bulletproof vests. Bette organized it last year, remember?”

  Carlotta vaguely remembered the woman’s name, but couldn’t picture her face. “Ri
ght. Tell Bette it’s going… fine.”

  “She said she was in Cumming the other day having lunch with her sister and ran into Peter.”

  Carlotta didn’t know if or why Peter would be in a small town an hour north of the city. “That’s nice. More coffee?” she asked, offering to top off her mother’s mug.

  Valerie looked trapped, then extended her mug. “Just a little.”

  Carlotta filled the mug to the brim.

  Her mother frowned into her cup. “How are the renovations going?”

  Carlotta arched an eyebrow. “Renovations?”

  “On the house, dear.”

  Carlotta’s mind immediately went to the renovations she wanted to do to the townhouse… but her mother had to be talking about something else. Did she have her own home? If so, how had she afforded it? Did she still work at Neiman Marcus? Had she trained for a career in college? Did she live with Peter?

  “The renovations are going fine,” she murmured.

  The chime of the doorbell sounded. Carlotta’s pulse pounded at the thought of confronting someone else she knew from her other life. “Wonder who that could be?”

  “It’s Peter,” Valerie said matter-of-factly.

  “Peter?” Her pulse skyrocketed.

  “He called and asked if you were here. Apparently, you left your phone at home. I told him you were having car trouble.”

  “Oh.”

  The doorbell chimed again, this time more insistently. When Carlotta remained frozen, Valerie angled her head. “Honestly, dear, you’re behaving so strangely today. Aren’t you going to let Peter in?”

  “Um… sure.” Carlotta’s feet felt like bricks as she dragged herself toward the door. She had been able to pass herself off as the “old” Carlotta to her family, but Peter would know she was different, wouldn’t he?

  Besides, she hadn’t a clue where things stood between the two of them.

  This should be interesting.

  Chapter 5

  Carlotta stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath, wondering how she was expected to greet Peter—it was apparent her family thought they were together in some capacity, but to what extent… and was she happy about it?

  She swung open the door to find Peter standing there, tall and blond and handsome, tucking his phone into the inside pocket of an immaculate jacket.

  “Hi.” He stepped toward her and lowered a tentative kiss near her mouth.

  “Hi,” she said, wondering why he seemed as nervous as she felt.

  “You forgot your phone,” he said, then pulled a sleek model with a pink case from another pocket and extended it to her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, comparing the up-to-the-minute smartphone to the one she was accustomed to using. She wasn’t even sure how to turn it on.

  She looked up at Peter and studied his face, noting small changes—a pinch around his mouth, a tic at his temple. His hair was just as fair, but perhaps sporting more “product.” His suit was dark and his tie, authoritative, befitting his position of investment broker—assuming he had followed the same path, working at Mashburn, Tully & Wren Investments. A safe bet, considering Valerie had been surprised he didn’t know about Randolph’s promotion.

  Peter angled his head. “You look… different. Did you get hair extensions?”

  “No.”

  He squinted. “Hm… I can’t put my finger on it. What’s that?” He gestured to the yellow photo album she held and she noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring… so apparently they weren’t married.

  Why did that thought buoy her?

  “These are pictures from my college graduation party.”

  “Why do you suddenly want those?”

  She was caught off guard by the suspicious tone in his voice. “Just feeling nostalgic, I guess.”

  “Are you ready?” he asked abruptly.

  She blinked, realizing he expected her to leave with him. “To go where?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “To Neiman’s. Don’t you have a meeting?”

  Although she was relieved to hear she was still doing something familiar, she glanced down at her casual yoga pants, long button-up shirt, and flip-flops. “I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “So for once you have a good excuse to buy something when you get there.”

  She smiled—this man knew her, no matter what universe they were in. Then her smile fell.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” Carlotta looked over her shoulder, reluctant to leave after spending such little time with her mother. “I just need to say goodbye to Mom.”

  He looked surprised. “You and Valerie must be having a good visit if you’re calling her ‘Mom.’ Okay, I’ll wait in the car.”

  She watched him walk back to his navy blue Porsche sitting in the driveway. She pursed her mouth—apparently in this world, she hadn’t totaled his beloved car like she had in the other. Turning back to the foyer, she trudged toward the kitchen. She didn’t want to leave. When she entered, Valerie had her back to the doorway, and seemed to be staring into space.

  “Mom?” Carlotta said tentatively.

  Valerie turned around and smiled. “Yes, dear?”

  “I’m going… with Peter.”

  “Okay.” Valerie said it as if her daughter’s leaving were no big deal… as if it hadn’t been and wouldn’t be another decade before they saw each other again.

  Carlotta wanted to run into her mother’s arms and bury her face in her neck and never let go. Instead she walked up and gave her a hug, stepping back when Valerie released her first.

  “Will I see you again soon?” She couldn’t help the wistful tone in her voice.

  Valerie looked perplexed. “Aren’t you coming to the cocktail party this evening?”

  “Oh… right.”

  “Okay then. Have a good day.” Valerie fluttered her fingers in a wave, then picked up the telephone, her mind already elsewhere.

  Cheered at the promise of more family contact, Carlotta backed out of the kitchen and left the house, but still felt a panicky loss when she closed the door behind her. She walked slowly toward Peter’s car, wondering if everything would collapse and if she would be catapulted back to where she’d come from if she stepped outside the perimeter of the property.

  Peter stuck his head out the window, his expression impatient. “Come on, we’re both going to be late.”

  She picked up the pace, and gingerly climbed into the passenger seat of the car that no longer existed in the other world. “Your car looks good.”

  He gave a little laugh as he steered through the streets of the posh neighborhood that was beginning to wake up. “Is that a hint you’re finally ready for a grown up car?”

  She frowned. “And get rid of my Miata?”

  “Jesus, Carly, it’s on its last wheel. Let it go.”

  “But I love that car.”

  “I know, but one of these days it’s going to leave you broken down someplace more dangerous than your parents’ garage.”

  She held herself very still and studied his profile, still marveling over her predicament.

  “Is something on my face?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “You’re staring. Or is something on your mind?”

  “No,” she said quickly, then added, “Should there be?”

  “Nope.” But he leaned forward to fidget with the stereo settings, and she thought again that he seemed edgy. Was he picking up on the fact that she wasn’t the same person she’d been the last time he’d seen her?

  She was afraid to say something that might sound strange, so she busied herself with the phone Peter had handed her, tabbing through the contacts folder, trying to get some insight into this version o
f herself. Alarm bubbled in her stomach at the unfamiliar names… and the absence of others. Where was Hannah’s number? And Jack’s? And Coop’s?

  When her anxiety pushed her heart rate higher, she set down the phone and looked out the car window. The landscape, at least, was familiar. They left the gated community where she’d grown up and merged into rush hour traffic stuttering in both directions—she never thought she would find the crush of traffic so comforting. As they inched toward the Lenox shopping area where Neiman’s and the offices of Mashburn, Tully & Wren were located, she noticed a few differences—mostly eateries that had changed names, and her favorite bookstore was now a coffee shop.

  They were sitting at a complete standstill and Peter’s patience was wearing thin. He kept pulling out his phone to check for a message that, judging from his frown, hadn’t yet arrived. Neither did he seem to be in a talkative mood, although Carlotta wondered what they normally talked about.

  “How are things at the office?” she asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Daddy told me he’s going to be named president today.”

  That got his attention. “Really?” His mouth pulled downward. “Funny, Randolph didn’t mention it to me.”

  “I guess it was a secret.”

  His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Plenty of those around the office, for sure.”

  She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, you know… office politics.” He pulled his hand down his face, then checked his phone again. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Okay. But he said there would be a cocktail party after five and he invited me.”

  “By all means, come.” But his voice was curt and his mind was elsewhere—and obviously not in a happy place.

  Carlotta wet her lips. “Peter, if something at work is bothering you, you can tell me.”

  But at the way his jaw tightened, she got the feeling he didn’t believe her.