Blood and Bone(5)

“No.” She pauses, giving my mimicking of the overbite a weird look. “I’m pretty sure I know a bloody leprechaun when I see one.”

Oh God, please do not start with the racial slander again.

“What did he say? How did you know it was me he was looking for? Maybe it was just someone else.” It’s weird that two men have showed up in my life two days in a row, both looking for me with a different name. “You said it was a funny story, but that doesn’t sound funny.”

“Right! With his wee little accent, he said he was looking for a good time and needed the number of a girl who worked here in this very shop. She met him in a club downtown and promised him love in all the wrong places.”

I groan, seeing now that she’s dicking with me. She does this sometimes to mess with me. Of course, the day after I find out I have a dead identical twin, it isn’t as funny as it normally would be. My heart is racing and I feel faint, but at least she’s just being crazy and trying to get me going.

“Ya like that one, eh? Love in all the wrong places?” She winks.

I roll my eyes, trying to take deep breaths and get my heartbeat back to a comfortable range. “Ewwww, for starters. Not to mention, I don’t club. And what does that even mean—love in all the wrong places? Is that like in an alley?”

She waggles her eyebrows at me. “It means—ya know—anal.”

My jaw drops. “What the hell? Exit only, Angie. I don’t know how you all like to do it, but for me that is exit only.”

“It’s a joke, ya wee prude.” She tosses a handful of paper towels at me. “He never got your name right, so I dinna think he was looking for ya. I’m only teasing.”

“What was the name?”

She stops laughing and gives me a funny look. “What?”

“The name of the girl he asked for.”

“Samantha.” She shrugs and carries on cleaning. “Blonde who worked here named Samantha Barnes.”

I drop the window cleaner.

“What? Is that yer porno name? Yer making films with that handsome wee devil, aren’t ya?”

I shake my head, trying to get a grip on my mind and the spinning room. “No.” I’m not answering her. The no is a dramatic statement. I close my eyes for a moment. “What did he look like?”

“Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders and chest, and blue eyes. He was quite good looking so I gave him my number. Told him if he could get rid of that bloody accent and talk like a gentleman, he could take me out, instead. The Irish always swear a lot.”

That is not Ronald at all. Two men in two days is far more than alarming. I can hear the joke in her tone, but my heart is racing and my mouth is dry. I force a husky laugh from my lips and nod. “You should have made him stay here.” Two Samanthas in two days? Two? Is that possible?

Not even mentioning the fact we named our cats the same fucking name. The concrete room is calling me back there, to my sanctuary.

She laughs, still not taking it as seriously as I am. “Yeah, well, he looked like he was busy. Had on a suit and tie and a briefcase, thank you very much. He was very official looking. Quite clean, considering where he’s from. No tattoos or spiky hair.” She makes a disgusted face.

The world feels like it’s closing in around me, but I force myself to nod, swallowing hard. “You are so racist.”

“It’s not racism, it’s common sense. Maybe he’s from before . . . the accident, you know?”

I shudder but don’t want her to see. “Yeah. Maybe I have a rich Irish husband somewhere looking for me.” Oh God, what if I was somehow living a double life? Did I have a mean husband who wanted anal? Was I a stripper before I met Derek? No wonder I don’t want to remember now. The only problem with that, though, is it isn’t the story Derek has given me. Nothing is making any sense. How is it possible Derek doesn’t even know I have a twin?

“What more could a girl like you ask for? I guess he could be from Scotland. That would make him better—only a wee bit, though.”

I answer her with a look. She shakes her head, still chuckling and unaware of the crisis we are actually discussing. She glances at me sideways. “I’m only teasing ya! Derek is a fine man, nearly perfect. I mean, he is a Yank, after all, but he could be worse—he could be English. They’re all tossers with bad teeth.”

“You can’t hate everyone, crazy.” I laugh, desperate to not think about it all. “And maybe you should consider holding your Klan meetings elsewhere, psycho.” I can’t shake the uneasy feeling inside me at being mistaken for my twin, our having the cat, and the fact that she died the way I should have. I’ve seen the photos of my car after the wreck; I should have died.