Layla

Her eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean? Like hire a detective?”

“Something like that. I might know a guy.”

She laughs. “You know a guy?” She rolls her eyes as if that’s far fetched. But honestly, not much seems improbable to me anymore. She covers her mouth and yawns. “Layla’s really tired. She’ll have a hangover when she wakes up tomorrow.”

“Will I see you tomorrow night? I want to talk more about how I can help you find answers.”

Willow adjusts the pillow beneath her head. “I don’t really want help, Leeds. Every time you bring it up, it gives me a Dr. Kevorkian vibe.”

I laugh, confused. “What?”

“How would you feel if I told you that you should move on from your existence? It’s like encouraging me to commit suicide.”

Wow.

I roll onto my back, clasping my hands together over my chest. “I didn’t think about it from your point of view. I’m sorry I keep bringing it up.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “And I’m not saying I’m opposed to searching for answers someday. I’m just not sure I’m brave enough to take that step yet. For now, I just want to enjoy this last week of being able to hang out with you.”

I don’t look at her, but I can feel her staring at me. She enjoys hanging out with me. It’s not an inappropriate thing to say, but the reaction I have in my chest to those words might be bordering on inappropriate.

I don’t respond to her. It’s during the moments of silence between us when I feel the guiltiest.

Silence is where all the mistakes happen.

I roll over and close my eyes. “Good night, Willow.”THE INTERVIEW

The man stops the recorder.

I tilt my head back, feeling uneasy about where this conversation is headed. I want to be honest with him, but the truth that’s about to come up doesn’t paint me in a good light.

Nothing else I say tonight will paint me in a good light.

“Do you have a restroom I can use?” he asks.

I point down the hallway. “Third door on your right.”

He gets up and leaves the room. I would go check on Layla, but it’s finally quiet upstairs. Hopefully it stays that way for a while. I open my laptop to see if Willow is in the room with us.

“Are you here?” I ask her.

I scoot the laptop over to an empty seat next to me, and she immediately types a response.

Yes.

“What do you think?”

I haven’t been down here for all of the conversation because I wanted Layla to fall asleep, so I don’t know what all you’ve told him, or what he’s suggested.

“I’ve told him almost everything, but all he’s done is listen so far.”

Almost everything? What have you left out?

I roll my head and then lower it to my arms. “I haven’t told him everything that happened the night Layla and I were shot.”

Leeds . . .

“I know. I’ll get to that. I just . . .”

The man walks back in the room, so I clamp my mouth shut and don’t finish my sentence. He eyes me carefully as he takes his seat at the table. “Were you just speaking to Willow?”

I nod.

“How?”

“Through my laptop. I talk to her out loud, and she responds using the computer.”

The man stares at me in thought. “Fascinating,” he says.

I turn the laptop toward him. “Do you want to watch her do it?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need to see it. I believe you.” He leans forward and hits record. “So what happened the next morning?”CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I wake up to the smell of eggs. I roll over, and Layla isn’t in bed. There’s a popcorn kernel next to her pillow, so I quickly snatch it up and take it with me to the bathroom, tossing it into the trash can.

After I brush my teeth, I head downstairs, not exactly sure what to expect. Layla doesn’t usually cook anymore, but someone is cooking.

I walk into the kitchen, and she’s still in the T-shirt Willow was wearing when we crawled into bed last night, but I’m not certain this isn’t still Willow.

It’s the first time I’m not able to tell who is who. Did Willow wake up as Layla?

I quietly observe her from the doorway. Would Willow ever pretend to be Layla to trick me?

I immediately feel bad for even thinking that. Willow is protective of Layla. She knocked the wineglass out of my hand last night. I doubt she’d do anything deceptive now that I know about her.

As soon as she looks up from the stove and I make eye contact with her, I know instantly that it’s Layla. Her voice is heavy with sleep when she mutters, “Morning.” Her eyelids are drooping a little. She looks tired. Hungover.

I walk over to her and kiss her on the cheek. “Morning.” I look down at the pan, and she’s scooting around scrambled eggs with a fork.