I’d thought I was beginning to understand Paul. Now I think I’ve never understood him, or anyone, or anything.
Half an hour later. I’m still working in the kitchen, for values of “working” that mean “numbly wandering around in shock.” Somehow I managed to get all the ingredients for the tomato sauce into the pot, but it took me five minutes to remember to turn the burner on. My brain is too stunned by Paul’s betrayal to concentrate on anything as mundane as dinner.
Should I tell my parents the truth about who I am and where I’m from? I was able to convince my father of cross-dimensional travel in a universe where nobody had even invented radio. Here, they’d believe me instantly. All I’d have to do is pull the Firebird out from under the neckline of my dress.
But I don’t need their help now the way I needed Dad’s back in Russia. I want to tell them the truth because I want them to comfort me, and listen to me vent about everything I’ve been through so far. That’s not a good enough reason. They’re already devastated by what Paul did; how much worse would it be when I told them how much further the betrayal goes?
I still want to believe in Paul, and my heart still aches for the one who died in my arms, but right now—I don’t trust my instincts any longer.
The kitchen door opens again, and I turn to see who it is.
“Hey there, Meg.” Theo grins at me. “Happy New Year.”
I haven’t seen him in almost three weeks. It feels like three lifetimes.
“Theo.” I throw my arms around his neck. And he can pretend to be blasé all he wants, but he hugs me back even more tightly.
Into my ear he whispers, “Save me that kiss at midnight, huh?”
He’s joking. He’s also not joking. I blush . . . and yet I can only think of Paul lying on the cot where he died, opening his eyes to see me one last time, and saying, Every Marguerite.
I step back from Theo. “We should—uh—I told Mom and Dad I’d cook.”
Theo’s eyes widen. “It is you, right?”
Realizing what he means, I snag the chain of the Firebird with my thumb and pull it from the neck of my dress. He visibly relaxes, reassured.
From the living room, Dad calls, “Theo! You made it.”
“Like I’d miss New Year’s Eve,” he answers with a grin.
Mom chimes in. “If you’re not going to be useful in the kitchen, come here and help me work out these formulae for a thirty-dimensional sphere.”
“You know what?” Theo claps his hands together. “Sounds like a good day to learn to cook.”
Dad peers around the corner, his face barely visible above Mom’s exuberant philodendron. “Have both of you gone mad simultaneously?”
“Yeah,” Theo says, “it saves time.” That makes Dad laugh; more important, it makes him turn back to what he was doing, so Theo and I have some privacy.
The two of us start layering noodles, sauce, and cheese in the glass baking dish. Everything goes smoothly. No curling pasta, no giggling, no Paul at my side. It’s less fun this way.
As we work, I tell Theo in a low voice what I learned during those last moments in London. “If Paul had done it, there’s no way he could have looked so surprised. He honestly didn’t know.”
“My response to that rhymes with shull-bit. Come on. You’re too smart to be fooled that easily.”
Stung, I whisper, “You didn’t see him. I did.”
“I don’t have to see Paul’s face to know what he’s done. You think you’re too smart to be lied to? He fooled your parents the geniuses, so I’m pretty sure he could fool you, too.”
I can’t accept that. I can’t. If I know anything about Paul Markov, I know he’s not evil enough to murder my dad. And if I owe the Paul from Russia anything for loving me, and saving my life, I owe his other selves the benefit of the doubt.
“He didn’t betray us,” I say. “And I won’t betray him again by doubting him.”
Theo sighs as he starts spooning on another layer of ricotta. “You’ve got a tender heart, Meg. You get angry quick, and you simmer down quick, too. I love that about you, but this is not the time to keep changing directions. The world keeps shifting around us; that means we have to hold on to what we know.”
“We don’t know anything. We didn’t even stick around for the funeral. They might have learned more once they were able to—” To examine the body. To perform an autopsy. I can’t even say those words aloud while thinking of my father. “Besides, in Russia, Paul died to save me. I don’t think he’s the villain here.”