I remember coming to in the dacha, lying in Paul’s arms. His whisper echoes inside my head: Golubka. Little dove.
Some flicker of what I’m feeling must show in my face, because Theo gets even more intense. “Okay. So Paul Markov isn’t a son of a bitch everywhere. Infinite dimensions equal infinite possibilities. There’s probably even a dimension where I’m not instantly desired by every woman I meet.” The joke doesn’t do much to lighten either of our moods. He continues, “Seriously. Anything can happen. Everything has to happen, in one dimension or another. So there has to have been a decent Paul somewhere. You met him. Congrats. But the Paul we’re dealing with on this trip? That Paul? He screwed us over, and he wants to do it again. Don’t let him. Don’t go soft on him now.”
It doesn’t feel like I’m going soft. It feels like I’m holding firm. “I just don’t believe he did it, Theo. He admitted wiping the data, and of course he stole the Firebird, but—”
“So he confessed to everything but the murder, and that’s all it takes to get back on your dance card?” Theo runs one hand through his unruly black hair, obviously trying to calm himself. “This is hard for me too, by the way. I loved Paul. I always thought—you know, we’d wind up on the same faculty at Cambridge or Caltech, be mad professors together.” His smile is wistful, and fleeting. “In some dimension, I guess we’ll get to do that.”
“Even you see it,” I say, ladling on the final layer of tomato sauce. “You know Paul’s not a bad guy. He must have had a good reason for everything he’s done.”
Theo sighs, and the look on his face is that of a man fighting a lost cause. “Take some time here, while we’re safe and things aren’t too weird. Think this over. Really think. And just remember, the man Paul could be doesn’t matter nearly as much as the man he actually is.”
I know Theo genuinely wants to protect me—but I know he’s also realized that Paul and I became close in Russia. He doesn’t know exactly how close, but he’s guessed enough of the truth to be upset.
To be jealous.
When Theo’s eyes meet mine, I see that he knows everything I’ve been thinking. One corner of his mouth curves upward, like he wants to smile but can’t quite manage it. “I never claimed to be objective about you, Meg.”
“I need you to be objective about Paul.”
“One of us is being objective about Paul already,” Theo answers. “Guess we have to figure out which one. But it’s a high-stakes game. Bet on Paul, get it wrong—and we both might pay with our lives.”
20
THE KITCHEN DOOR SWINGS OPEN, AND THEO AND I LOOK up to see Josie standing there wearing a Coronado Island T-shirt and a backpack slung over her shoulders.
She grins wickedly. “Am I interrupting something?”
We were having a serious conversation about a murder in another dimension, that’s all, but that’s not an explanation my big sister needs to hear. Besides, right now, I’m just too glad to see her.
“Hey, you.” I go to Josie and hug her as tightly as I can with the backpack in the way. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks.” Josie ruffles my hair in the way she knows I hate. Normally that’s my cue to scowl at her, but right now I even love her messing with me.
The last time I saw Josie, she was sobbing hysterically in Mom’s arms. Now she’s her usual laid-back, beach-girl self, complete with flip-flops and a sunburned stripe across her nose. As I study her face, I recognize anew all the ways in which she’s similar to my father: the blue eyes, the square jaw, the chestnut color to her hair. I’m the one who looks like Mom, more like Vladimir and Peter—
That stops me short. Only now do I remember I’m in a world where my brothers and little sister never existed.
“Are you okay?” Josie gives me a funny look. Behind us, I can hear Theo putting the lasagna in the oven.
“Yeah. I’m good. It’s just—” I make a fluttery gesture with one hand, which is supposed to mean something like, I haven’t got my act together right now.
But Josie’s expression hardens, and I realize she thinks I’m talking about Paul, and the scars his betrayal have left on the family. That’s why she’s home for New Year’s instead of partying with her friends; she’s trying to help our parents get through it.
“Mom and Dad are in the great room?” Josie asks, dumping her backpack at the door like she has ever since fourth grade. As she lopes in to see our parents, I lean back against the fridge, disquieted.
When Theo gives me an inquisitive glance, I motion toward the great room. “Go on, hang out for a while. I need a second.”
He doesn’t look 100 percent satisfied with that response, but he nods, giving me the space I need.