Christy avoided Albert Marle the next day, keeping busy in the back loft where she now presided. It was comfortable for her, since Cassie had organized things in much the same way she would have. The room bore a faint resemblance to their sewing room at home, but on a larger scale. Fabric was stored in plain view so she could see at a glance what was available and how much of it there was. Thread and other sewing notions were kept in clearly labeled drawers. Worktables were clear except for projects underway.
As she folded the pieces of the dress she was making for Amy’s dance number, movement caught her attention. She looked up to see Kim in the doorway, looking like she was about to jump into a pit of snakes. “I snagged the zipper in this dress. It might need to be replaced.”
“Let me see.” Approaching, Christy turned Kim around and examined the zipper, which was well and truly stuck. “Can you wiggle out of it and leave it here?”
“Neen wants us to practice in costume,” she said. “We have to learn how to step over all these skirts.”
Christy sighed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do, but you still have to take it off.”
Kim frowned. “I can’t stand around here practically naked.” Her tone implied Christy was stupid not to have thought of it. Christy was reminded that she had to come up with a “unique” costume for Kim, as she’d mentioned. See? She told herself. Lies make trouble, no matter how clever your intentions might be.
Pointing to the changing room, she ordered, “Go in there and toss it out to me.”
Rolling her eyes only a little, Kim did as directed. Christy went to work on the zipper.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Kim Snyder.” The man who entered the room rather hesitantly was tall, with short brown hair, high cheekbones, and brown eyes that narrowed when they met Christy’s.
“She’s in there,” Christy said, indicating the closed door. “I’m fixing her dress.”
“Oh.” He seemed unsure where that left him. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait. I stopped in last Thursday, but the place was all closed up. Some emergency, I guess.”
“Yes.” She went back to work on the zipper, carefully pulling fabric from the metal teeth. “This won’t take long. The damage isn’t as bad as I first thought.”
“No hurry.”
As Christy worked, the man wandered around the room. He seemed vaguely familiar, and he glanced at her from time to time as if wanting to say something. “You make all these costumes?” he finally asked.
“I’m new here,” she responded, “but I’ll be in charge of making them from now on.”
He fingered the fabric of Christmas Past’s costume. “Hectic but fun, I suppose.”
“Exactly.”
“So if you play for a living,” he said, stressing the word play to highlight the pun, “what do you do in your free time?”
“I haven’t been in Toronto long,” Christy responded, pronouncing the city’s name as residents did, “Trono.” She’d reached the tricky part, where she might easily tear the fabric if she wasn’t careful, but she added, “I come from a really small town where there weren’t many choices for entertainment if you weren’t into mailbox baseball.”
He chuckled. “That town—would it be—”
“You didn’t tell me we had company.” Kim had opened the door to peer out at them.
Christy might have disappeared in a puff of smoke as the man took a step forward and then stopped, apparently intimidated. “Miss Snyder. I was hoping to talk with you for a few minutes.”
“I’m in my underwear.” Kim threw an irritated glance at Christy.
“I’ll find you something to put on.” Hurrying out to the costume racks, Christy selected a dressing gown in deep violet. Perfect for Kim’s hair and skin, she thought almost regretfully. She didn’t feel like helping the actress look good for her attractive visitor, but she couldn’t leave her huddling in the dressing room in her skivvies. Well, she could, but she wasn’t the type.
Of course Kim looked stunning in the robe. After the few seconds it took to put it on and release her dark hair from the casual ponytail she’d been wearing, she emerged like Cleopatra from her barge, regal and glowing.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” She managed to imply with a glance it was Christy’s fault.
Their visitor looked star-struck. “I’m Chief Damen’s son, John, Miss Snyder,” he said. “I understand he called about your trip to Mason’s Bridge last weekend.”
Kim lowered her eyes for a moment. “You’re here about that terrible accident.”
“He asked me to interview you in person.” Judging from his slightly goofy expression, Christy thought it was more likely John Damen had begged for the job. He was obviously in awe of Kim, or at least the star he imagined her to be. “You probably know, the chief is pretty thorough.”
Kim gave Damen a smile Christy had seen only on stage until now. “Of course I remember. In school, I got more than one thorough lecture about driving too fast.”
Christy had returned to work on the zipper, politely pretending she wasn’t hearing everything they said. Glancing at her, Kim took Damen’s arm. “Let’s go out where we can speak privately.”
Ironically, she led him to a spot on the other side of the pegboard wall, which meant that though she couldn’t see them, Christy heard every word of their conversation.
“Dad probably told you part of it,” Damen began. “Sometime around midnight on February 19th, there was a hit and run on Barley Road. A couple who’d run out of gas was walking home when a car came over a rise at high speed and hit them both.”
“Terrible!” Kim made clicks with her tongue. “He said the woman died instantly.”
“Yes. The man is in critical condition and hasn’t been able to speak yet.”
“The person who hit him didn’t stop to see if he was alive?”
“No.”
“How awful! And you’re investigating the incident for your father?”
“I live here in the city, so I offered to help him out.” He went on with the explanation, patently trying to impress Kim. “Dad doesn’t have much of a budget for travel, but everyone was interested to hear you were in town last weekend for your sister’s wedding. And your parents live on Barley Road.”
Kim’s tone turned cool, more like the Kim Christy knew. “Then I’m a suspect?”
Damen’s voice revealed dismay. “Oh, no, Miss Snyder. We were just hoping you saw something out there.”
Kim sounded slightly mollified by his assurances. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted a trip.”
Damen waved a hand. “It’s okay. I only live about ten miles from here.” His voice turned slightly wistful. “I always admired you in school, and I thought it would be great to meet you in person.”
“That’s sweet!” Kim said. “But I can’t help you. I certainly didn’t hit those people.”
“Of course not.” He sounded horrified at the suggestion. “You don’t even own a car.”
Her tone changed slightly. “That’s right. I don’t.”
“That’s what my dad said.” Christy heard his feet shift on the uneven wood floor. “Well, then, I’ll—” He paused as if remembering. “If you don’t have a car, how did you get to Mason’s Bridge?”
“My boyfriend drove me. But we were never on Barley Road. We stayed at the inn downtown, not at my parents’ house.” She added in an aggrieved tone, “I avoid my mother whenever possible.”
Damen sighed. “We hoped you might have seen the car, but if you stayed in town—”
“We did. And the next morning we left early in order to get here for the matinee.”
Christy heard a sigh. “Sorry to have taken up your time, Miss Snyder.”
“Please, call me Kim,” she said, her voice warm again. “I’ll walk down with you and sign a souvenir program. That way your trip isn’t completely wasted.”
By that time Christy had fixed the zipper. She went to the doorway to hand the dress back to Kim, who took it and headed downstairs with the handsome John Damen without a single word of thanks. Damen looked back once, meeting Christy’s gaze, but she turned away, ignoring what might have been a plea for understanding. What did she care if a man she’d never seen before had a massive crush on Kim Snyder?
When Christy came downstairs a few minutes later to fit a costume to its owner, Damen stood in the wings, talking to Henry Spellman. She heard Henry confirm they’d never been on the road where the accident occurred. As she started back upstairs, she heard Damen tell Spellman, “That’s exactly what Miss Snyder said.”
As the staircase turned, she looked down and caught Damen’s eye on her. He smiled, and Christy nodded in what she hoped was a neutral manner. He seemed interested in her again now that Kim was out of sight. It was irritating, but there was that vague feeling that she knew him from somewhere. Warm brown eyes followed her until she disappeared at the top of the stairs.
A few minutes later, she heard his voice again. “Christy Parker?” She looked up, and Damen entered, wearing a grin she didn’t understand. “I asked your name downstairs.”
Christy waited, still put off by the fact that his initial friendliness to her had disappeared as soon as Kim turned her artificial charm on him.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“I thought you came to see Miss Snyder.” She unconsciously used the awe-struck tone he’d used when speaking to Kim.
“That is what I came here for, but—” Damen took a step into the room. “Do you remember Johnny Canby?”
The name flooded her mind with memories. Johnny Canby had been their friend and neighbor growing up, so frequent a visitor that his appearance in the yard immediately caused her mother to set another plate at the table. Johnny, Christy, and Cassie had for several years seen themselves as three musketeers, all for one and one for all.
The Parker girls had known Johnny’s home life wasn’t the greatest. His hair was oddly cut, his clothes were second-hand and wrinkled, and he never invited them to the run-down modular in the middle of a field where grass grew sparingly and everything seemed a little cock-eyed. He’d never made a big deal of it. Johnny was simply Johnny.
For his part, Johnny had never questioned that the twins were a package. It didn’t seem to bother him that they finished each other’s sentences and sounded exactly alike on the phone. He was never fooled by their attempts to switch places, but he played along when others were involved, calmly calling Christy “Cass” when the trick called for it. None of them had the devices for social networking other kids had, Johnny due to finances and the girls due to their father’s distrust of technology. As a result, they’d been considered odd at school, but when the three of them stuck together, who cared?
Along with being the only neighbor even close to their age, Johnny was full of fun, always ready to take on their adventures and propose his own. They’d roamed the farm, exploring the pond in spring, the woods in summer, and the barn in fall, when the hay was stacked up almost to the ceiling. In winter, they’d spent time in the musty attic of the Parker home, combing through old picture albums and dreaming of faraway places.
Their comfortable friendship had changed suddenly when they were twelve. One morning Johnny showed up at the door, his expression stony. Looking past him, Christy saw his mother waiting impatiently in the dusty driveway. Their 1986 Plymouth was packed to the roof with blankets, boxes, and suitcases. She was smoking, as usual, and the car was already filled with a blue haze.
“We’re moving,” Johnny said, his eyes seeking Christy’s. At that moment it felt like she’d stepped off the planet.
Only the week before, he’d kissed her in the Parkers’ barn. Cassie had gone into the house, and Christy realized later he’d manipulated the situation, asking for something for the first time ever. Slightly surprised when he expressed a wish for a cold drink, Cass nevertheless went willingly enough to get them each a can of soda. As Johnny and Christy sat waiting for her, side by side on a hay bale, he’d leaned over and kissed her on the lips, taking his time about it. She’d been surprised and, in the end, quite pleased.
She hadn’t seen Johnny since the day he came to say goodbye, but she’d always remembered the kiss and what he said afterward: “Cass is all right, but I like you best.”
“Johnny—” Ten—no, thirteen years later, she didn’t know what to say.
“First, I want to ask you to forgive my behavior earlier. Kim wasn’t very gracious when my dad called to tell her I was coming to interview her, so I figured I’d play the star-struck hometown boy.” He grinned again. “Besides, I wasn’t sure you were you.”
She was still in shock. “I didn’t recognize you.”
He waved a hand. “Why would you recognize the ragamuffin you used to be nice to?”
She rose, taking a step toward him. “I never thought of you that way.”
“I did.” He moved his feet as if shifting gears mentally. “Anyway, Kim responds best to flattery, but I didn’t mean to insult you in the process.”
“I’m just glad to see you again, Johnny—” She stopped. “I suppose it’s John now?”
“Mostly, yes. And I took my stepfather’s name, Damen. He’s been really good to me.”
“I—we always wondered about you.” She frowned. “You never wrote or called.”
He examined the floor for a moment. “I figured you’d forget all about me. I used to tell myself, ‘A girl like her will have boyfriends standing in line.’” His eyes met hers. “Was I right?”
Christy chose her words carefully, wanting to be truthful without letting too much truth slip out. “There were boyfriends, but never another guy like Johnny Canby.”
That embarrassed him. Turning away, he examined the costume drawings again. When he spoke, it was as if they’d said all that was necessary about the past. “You’re pretty brave to take on the job of costuming a whole play.”
She grimaced. “Sometimes I think brave; other times I think crazy.”
“Maybe we can go out some time and catch up, you know?”
Christy caught herself thinking how great it would be when she told Cass that she’d found Johnny Canby. But no. There’d be no more of that.
“Yes, we need to catch up on what’s happened since eighth grade. I’m busy here evenings, but I can take an hour off for lunch most any day.”
“Sounds good.” As he backed away and out the door, his smile reminded Christy that she’d never really forgotten Johnny Canby.
***
Cassie didn’t sleep at all that night, not that it mattered. She wasn’t real. She wasn’t Cassie anymore. She was some sort of illusion, created to fool herself. She might breathe and eat and walk around, but the truth was, she was dead. She’d tried a dozen alternative explanations, up to and including alien abduction. Nothing fit except what she’d been told. She was dead.
That’s when the tears fell, first a few and then so many her throat became raw and the muscles in her face spasmed with fatigue. Finally she lay exhausted, trying to think about nothing at all.
She heard light taps on her stateroom door but ignored them. The first occasion came early, around seven. When she didn’t answer, whoever it was went away. A second attempt was made at nine. She ignored that one too. What was the point of seeing anyone? What use in talking? If she really was dead, nothing would change it. Nothing could give her back what she most wanted.
At eleven fifty, the knock came again. When she didn’t answer, she heard Ruth’s voice. “Cassie? I was hoping you’d go to lunch with me.”
“Cassie?” Ruth said a few seconds later. “I hate to eat alone.”
Cassie lay on the bed, dressed in the clothes she’d worn since arriving, heedless of the fact she hadn’t even removed her shoes in deference to the white coverlet. She rolled over to face the wall. No. She didn’t want to make nice with anyone, especially anyone as dead as she was.
She reached out for a pillow to cover her head with, but Ruth said, “I have a confession to make. Come to lunch with me, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Ten minutes later, Ruth slathered mayonnaise on her burger and pressed the bun down, compressing it to a manageable size for biting, and made her confession. It was not what Cassie expected. “I’m a quantum physicist.”
Shocked out of her funk, Cassie said, “I thought you were a rancher who raised greyhounds.”
“I’m that too.” Ruth speared a fry and dunked it into the wide circle of ketchup she’d squirted on her plate. “I don’t tell people how I made my living, because they go all quiet and can’t think of anything to say.”
Despite her gloomy mood, Cassie made a joke. “Gee, Ruth, I don’t know what to say.”
Ruth chewed, swallowed, and sipped her root beer. “I’m only telling you now because you need to hear some things about mankind in general and modern mankind in particular.”
“Look, Ruth, I’m trying to understand. I really am. It’s just hard.”
Her friend’s expression softened. “I know, darlin’, I know. It’s one thing for an old biddy like me to kick off, but someone like you—” Ruth must have sensed Cassie was fighting tears, because she abruptly began the story of her own past.
“I lived for eighty-seven years, and until my health failed completely, I spent a lot of time trying to understand the universe. I studied the big things: stars, galaxies, the cosmos, but I also studied the smallest things: atoms, quarks, and mesons.”
Now Cassie smiled thinly. “I don’t even know what the last two are.”
Ruth waved a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. My point is that in those years, we discovered new thing after new thing after new thing about existence and life and what is. But every new thing we learned opened up areas bigger than what we’d imagined. Every time, we realized that what we’d learned was just a little bit of what was left to learn.” She popped the fry she’d been waving into her mouth and finished with, “I have a feeling that’s how it’s always been, and how it always will be.”
“But science has proved—”
“A lot of things,” Ruth interrupted. “But if we’re honest, we have to admit we don’t know much. We’ve looked into space, and it’s bigger than we can even conceive. We’ve looked into the atom, and it’s pretty much nothing. We don’t know how atoms make themselves into inanimate things then into animate things. We certainly don’t understand how a living being moves and talks one second and begins to rot away the next. We call it death, but we don’t know what that means.”
Cassie was fascinated. “But why do so many scientists reject religion?”
Ruth sniffed. “We’re arrogant creatures who don’t want to admit to ignorance. In every generation, men of learning contend we know almost everything and soon we’ll have it all. But really, we don’t know much, and without knowing, all we have is faith.” She grinned. “Have you ever read Robert Jastrow’s comment about a scientist’s nightmare?”
Cassie didn’t even know who that was but guessed he was a scientist.
Ruth closed her eyes. “He said something like: ‘For the scientist who has lived by his faith in the power of reason, the story ends like a bad dream. He has scaled the mountains of ignorance; he is about to conquer the highest peak; as he pulls himself over the final rock, he is greeted by a band of theologians who have been sitting there for centuries.’ That might be how it really is, I think.”
Cassie tossed her head. “But faith means something different to every person. I read and read to find things I could believe, and in the end, I didn’t believe any of it.”
Ruth grinned wryly as she speared another fry. “That’s your mistake, Darlin’. Whatever made you think what you or I believe has anything at all to do with what is?”