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She looked at me, hard. “You’re the first girlfriend he’s ever had around Charlie. I told him a long time ago that he wasn’t allowed to trot his part-time fucks through my kid’s life. And he never has.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek for a second, finding compassion for her. True, I didn’t really know her mother but I had read about her on some of those fan sites, and Johnny had alluded to the way Kimmy had been raised. “I have no intention of getting between Johnny and Charlie, either.”

“No. My dad’s been an asshole in the past, but I trust him with my kid. If you’re important enough to him to share Charlie with you, that means something.” She looked me up and down again. “You’re really not his usual type at all.”

I laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Kimmy gave me a grudging grin. “It should be.”

“I’m not going to try to be your stepmother.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if you could. And please, for the love of God, call me Kim.”

We both laughed at that, and from the living room came the sounds of cheering. She looked that way, then back at me. “He’s good with Charlie. Really good. Sometimes I’m jealous that my son gets to experience my dad in a way I never did.”

“I can understand that.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m also a grown woman who needs to get over it. And besides, when Charlie’s with my dad, that gives me some peace and quiet.”

“I can understand that, too.”

She nodded slowly. “So long as you know what you’re getting into. That’s all.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said, rolling my eyes in imitation of her. “But I’m also a grown woman. I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You are.”

With Kimmy out of the way—sort of—the next hurdle to cross was my parents. Of course I had to tell my mom that we’d started seeing each other. Even though she wasn’t calling me every day the way she used to, there was no way for me to hide my new relationship from her. And no reason. I knew she wasn’t thrilled about the age difference, but I suspected my dad would be the one less likely to accept Johnny as his daughter’s boyfriend. After all, they were close enough in age to be brothers.

A dinner party seemed like a great idea. I could show off my new place to my parents, impress them with my independence and introduce them to my new boyfriend, his daughter and her son all at the same time. I also invited Jen and her new boyfriend, Jared—it was official now!

“Why did I offer to do this?” I groaned, up to my elbows in lasagna that didn’t want to congeal and a chocolate cake that had fallen in the center. “This is madness!”

“At least it ain’t Sparta,” Johnny said from his seat at the island, where he was scooping homemade guacamole onto tortilla chips and downing them like they were going out of style.

“Very funny. You don’t think your precious Kimmy isn’t going to be noting what a crappy cook I am?”

Johnny laughed. “Do you care what Kimmy thinks of your cooking? She’s coming, isn’t she? If she really didn’t like you, she’d have said, ‘Fuck you,’ to the invitation. That’s more Kimmy’s style.”

“Yeah, she is more an in-your-face kinda gal, isn’t she?” I put the liquidy lasagna back in the oven and washed my hands.

Johnny came up behind me to put his arms around me, fingers linked over my belly. “What, you think I’m not nervous about meeting your folks?”

I leaned against him. “You think my dad’s going to try and kick your ass?”

“I guess I have to let him if he does, huh?” Johnny nuzzled against my ear, sending shivers all through me. “Just to keep the peace.”

I turned in his arms and linked my hands behind his neck. “My dad isn’t going to be thrilled, but my parents will both like you.”

“You sure about that?”

I stood on my toes to kiss him thoroughly. “Sure. They’re good parents. They want me to be happy. That’s what’s important to them.”

Johnny looked down into my eyes. “Are you?”

“Happy?” I asked, wondering how he could possibly think anything else. “Deliriously.”

He might’ve kissed me then if the doorbell hadn’t rung. We pulled apart with a laugh, and Johnny swatted my ass as I headed for the front door. I looked over my shoulder at him, standing there so naturally in my kitchen, and took an extra couple of seconds just to admire him and marvel at how lucky I was before the bell rang again.

Jen and Jared arrived first, bearing a loaf of crusty Italian bread and a bottle of wine. Kimmy and Charlie came a few minutes later, bringing some dessert and a hand-drawn picture Charlie had made specifically for my fridge. I put it in a place of honor with magnets advertising a local pizza shop and caught Kimmy’s approving glance as Charlie took his grandpa’s hand and started chattering a mile a minute. My parents came last, laden with shopping bags and full of hugs and kisses. I held my breath as Johnny let go of Charlie’s small hand to shake my father’s.

“Nice to meetcha,” Johnny said without a trace of the nervousness he’d earlier claimed.

“You, too,” my dad said, then, “How about those Eagles?”

“Robbed,” Johnny said, like he knew what he was talking about, and I was glad he did, because I had no clue. “Absolutely robbed.”

And that was that.

Charlie charmed my mother, while Kimmy warmed to Jen and Jared for reasons I couldn’t discern. She warmed to me, too, after a glass of wine. My dad and Johnny talked sports and politics, two subjects that could easily have led to an argument, but they both seemed to agree on everything.

The lasagna didn’t look pretty, but it tasted fantastic, and sitting around my dining room table with all the people in my life who were important, I was glad I’d decided on the dinner party, after all. Every now and then, Johnny would slide a casual arm behind me, give me a squeeze, hold my hand for half a minute. Small, casual touches that made it clear we were a couple. And nobody seemed to mind at all.

“He’s nice,” my mother said in the kitchen as I dished leftover lasagna into plastic containers and set the pan to soak. “Very nice.”

“I know, Mom. Johnny’s…great.” I turned to look at the sound of her chuckle. “What?”

“I’ve never seen you like that about a man before, that’s all.”

I shrugged. “He’s different.”

“I can see that. Oh, listen here. I brought you some things. Where did Daddy put the bags? Oh, here they are.” My mom answered her own question. “Laundry detergent, some cleaning spray…”

“Mom, I do go to the store myself.”

“I know, I know, but your dad likes to shop at Costco, and it’s too much for us now that you’re not home. I just brought you some extra. Look at these cleaning wipes.” She held them up. “Antibacterial!”

My hands covered in suds, I turned with a laugh to shake my head at her gift. “Great. Thanks.”

Citrus-scented, antibacterial cleaning wipes, just what I needed.

Citrus.

Oranges.

Dark.

Chapter 21

“N
o. No, no, no, no!” I stumbled forward two steps, my hands still covered in suds from the sink I’d left behind. “Oh, damn it, no.”

Darkness. I blinked rapidly, my eyes adjusting. The smell of oranges had faded, replaced by the faint hint of heat and chlorine and motor exhaust—familiar scents. I was back in the world my mind had created for me so I could be close to Johnny.

But I didn’t need this now. I had him for real. In my real life. Clenching my fists, I gritted my teeth and concentrated on going back.

Nothing.

I was standing in the side yard of Johnny’s town house. From the splashing and laughter I could hear from around the corner, there was a poolside party going on. Maybe they were filming another movie. I didn’t much care. I wanted out of here, back to consciousness. Back to my own time.

I let myself into the kitchen, expecting to find Johnny and coming across Ed instead. He was slumped at the kitchen table, a cigarette in one hand and an ashtray full of butts in front of him. Also, a bottle of vodka, almost empty. And next to that, a rolled cloth pouch with a syringe on it.

“Emm. Emma. Emmaline. Emm,” he said, not slurring, though his eyes looked red and bloodshot.

He stank, even from across the room. I winced. “Ed. Where is everyone?”

“Swimming. Skinny-dipping. Fucking.” His laugh chilled me. “Getting high. Where are they always? What are they always doing? You looking for Johnny, right? He’s waiting for you.”

“What do you mean, waiting for me?”

“Johnny says you’re coming.” Ed waved his cigarette and smoke wafted toward me. “Johnny says he’s waiting for you. You’ll show up. You always do. He’s a little drunk, a little high, but he’s not fucking. Why isn’t he fucking, Emm? Because he’s waiting for you.”

I frowned and hugged myself, though the kitchen was as sticky-hot as it had always been every other time my mind had brought me here. “Thanks for letting me know. Where is he? Upstairs?”

“He’s out by the pool. Paul is taking pictures of him. Naked,” Ed added with another chilling laugh that rose the hairs on the back of my neck. “Showing off his ass again. I told you, they’re drunk and high.”

“And not fucking. I get it.” I ran some cold water in the sink and scooped a handful, then splashed my face.

It looked like I was going to have to ride this out, that was all. I almost didn’t want to find Johnny here. Somewhere, my mother was talking to me about cleaning wipes. I couldn’t do what I’d always done in this place, not knowing she was waiting for me to answer her. Maybe even getting concerned, saying my name, shaking my shoulder. I couldn’t fuck Johnny in front of my mother, even if she wasn’t really there and I wasn’t really here.

“You wanna know what Johnny says about you, Emmaline?”

I looked at Ed. Now I noticed he had a pen and a leather-bound notebook in front of him. It hadn’t been there before. All these details, tiny details, making my brain fuzzy.

“What does he say?”

“He says you ain’t real. That you’re not a real girl, you’re made up. Maybe we’re all imagining you, I said, but he said not that. Just that you come from someplace else. Is that right, Emmaline? You come from some other place?”

“Yeah, Ed. I do,” I answered, tired. “And I’d like to go back to it.”

His laugh guttered into a wheeze, and he drew in another breath of smoke. “Good luck with that. Don’t we all want to go on to another place?”

The counter dug into my back as I leaned against it. From outside came the sound of more laughter. Quite the party going on. It sounded like fun. More fun than this bizarre and tilted conversation with a man who’d slit his wrists and eventually drown himself in that very pool.

“He says you’re from the future.”

“What?” This startled me into standing upright. “Johnny says that?”

“He says you told him.”

I blinked, then paced the linoleum floor. “That’s just crazy.”

“Yeah. That’s what Johnny says. Says he must be fucking crazy. That we all are. We should all end up in the fucking nuthouse, right? All of us. Johnny says you told him you made us all up. So lemme ask you something, Emmaline. If you made me up, why’d you make me such a fucking mess?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to say to that.” Was it a lie to say he was right? What happened when your hallucinations learned that’s what they were?

“Just tell me if it’s true, that’s all.” Ed took a long drink from the bottle and toyed for a moment with the syringe, but didn’t, thank God, use it. “I just want to know if I’m real. Or not real.”

“You are…real,” I said, hesitating. “I mean, you’re a real person, Ed. But this isn’t real. This is just in my head. This conversation isn’t real.”

“Tonight’s the night,” Ed said suddenly with a jerk of his chin toward the calendar.

“For what?”

“Making me real, I guess.” He nodded as though this made sense, which was more than it did for me. He drank again, finishing the final swallows while the bottle gurgled. “So, who do I blame for all this shit?”

“I don’t know. Me?” I spread my fingers. “You could blame me.”

He looked up at me with bleary eyes and a crooked smile. “I could, I guess. But I don’t think I will. You know I wrote a poem about you?”

I shuddered. “No. I didn’t know.”

“I did.” He pulled his notebook toward him, cleared his throat and read aloud.

She walks in night,A beauty.Single, tiny steps on bare toes, shoes left behind.Puppet-master, girl-made-woman, she comes and goes.She makes us, and she breaks us, too. Spinning her dreams,She is what she becomes. She can be anything she wants to be.Emmaline.
I was no more able to appreciate poetry than I could art, but that didn’t sound very good. It sounded sort of pretentious and self-important, the sort of poem Goth kids would read aloud to one another while they refreshed their eyeliner and discussed the layers of meaning. People would make blog posts about it, quoting, without knowing what it really meant.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I said sourly.

“No?” Ed sounded surprised and looked it over, running his finger over the words. “You’re right. Doesn’t mean a fucking thing.”

Because he didn’t write it. My fugue brain did. And because I wasn’t a poet, the poem sucked. That was the truth of all of this. I was the puppet-master, pulling the strings. Making and breaking everything here. And I wanted to be done with making.