I stare at her, ashamed. She is my friend and I have not listened to something very terrible she wanted to share.
She must think I’m stunned silent from the shock, and she nods. “I know, right?” A single tear slips from her eye. “I know. I can’t believe my marriage is over, ten years. Ten fucking years, and what do I have to show for it? I moved here to this cold and dank hell for him.” She points at the clothes in the bag. “I can’t fit into any of the shit I like, and my cat is depressed ’cause he’s gone. She looks at me like I’ve chased him off.” I stand there like a moron until she sighs. “The appropriate response is a hug, Jane.” She knows she has to tell me things like that sometimes.
Without a single hesitation, I step forward, taking her trembling body in my arms. She cries into my shoulder. It doesn’t feel like a natural thing for me. It feels forced, but for her I would force anything. She steps back, smiling. “You make all this stuff feel small, ya know that? You’re like my own personal dose of perspective. I feel bad about something, and you make it small just being here.”
“Please don’t say that,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not small. Your marriage is over. Loss of love, loss of limb, and loss of life are all equal tragedies.” I don’t know where the words come from, but they sound right.
She smiles. “So it’s okay for me to be sad, even though you don’t know where you were three years ago?”
“More than okay.” I hug her again. The second time it feels more natural. We stand there in the cold wind, wrapped in each other for some time. I don’t know how long. I lose track of it as I literally feel my body expand to welcome her as my attachment grows with every piece of herself she shares. She is the only person I truly feel that with.
My arms tighten around her. She taps my back. “I can’t breathe. Easy there, Frankenbarbie.”
I laugh, stepping back.
She cocks an eyebrow. “So strong for such a small girl.”
“I guess.” I wink. “With my luck, I was a farmer’s daughter.”
“Now that’s some wishful thinking.” She snorts. “I could go for a cowboy. Maybe you have a cute brother.” She turns to go inside. “Night, Jane.”
I wave and turn to walk toward my town house, with the words I spoke running through my mind.
“Loss of love, loss of limb, and loss of life are equal tragedies.” Where have I heard it before? It has to be from somewhere. Probably the place that my weird song comes from, or the place where I learned to tie cherry stems with my tongue. A seedy strip club . . .
The man coming in asking for love in all the wrong places still plagues me, much more than Ronald does. Ronald is easily explained. He went to Berkeley with my doppelgänger—twin—or maybe even clone.
But the man asking for services I apparently offered in a club downtown seems fairly far-fetched. The only thing it ties to is the cherry stem. In all honesty, that is an odd thing to remember. I can easily see a stripper tying a cherry stem with her tongue as a parlor trick. Or maybe the cherry was part of the “love in all the wrong places.” That thought makes me shudder. But two guys looking for the dead Samantha in two days, that is odd. No matter how you slice it, that is strange. Strange and exhausting.
I walk up the driveway of my house, feeling the weirdest desire to circle behind the block and come in through the alley. The whole thing has me discombobulated. I shake my head and walk up to the door. My feet hurt, and by the time I get in the front door I am spent and confused. I don’t even know how to explain the entire situation to Derek, especially not without sounding like I think maybe he has lied to me. Which I don’t. I don’t think that—I fear it.
In some way I don’t want to tell him any of it. I just want the day to end the way it always does, with Derek pouring me wine and making me dinner. He’ll talk and tell me stories about things I don’t remember but I can imagine. Sometimes we watch a movie before we fall into bed laughing and snuggling. There in the dark, he will kiss me and whisper that he loves me more than a single thing in the world. I will close my eyes and forget that the world is full of holes. If I’m lucky he will make me feel safe and make the whole Samantha thing just a case of mistaken identity.
I smile as I open the door to him whistling, a sound he always makes when he cooks. The noise of him raucously clanging the dishes and cooking is my safe haven. Instantly, I sigh as I close the door and lean against it. I like the simple things in this house. I depend on them. They are what make me happy and at peace.