Josie caught her breath. Tony had cancer? How did she not know that?
“We found out two months ago. I wanted to tell you, but you never had time. I felt like you had too much going on, so when Madison and I were hanging out one night, I told her. The rest just . . . happened.”
So it was her fault, in a way. Nick cheated on her because he felt like she wasn’t there for him. Ugh, why hadn’t he told her? Or had he tried and she just didn’t notice? She’d been so wrapped up in her own drama, it was a real possibility.
Nick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look, I don’t want to fight. I just needed you to know that I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” Josie felt deflated. Her quick burst of anger had evaporated as soon as she heard about Tony’s cancer. “Thank you,” she said somewhat lamely.
“Good-bye, Josie.”
“Bye.”
3:57 P.M.
Josie’s hands were shaking as she tossed her cell phone onto the bed.
She wasn’t the only one going through life drama, but in her own pain and grief she’d managed to box out the one person in her life she cared about most. She pictured Nick’s face Monday during their last conversation. There had been something wrong, something he desperately wanted to talk to his girlfriend about, and Josie didn’t have time.
Josie leaned against the windowsill and stared out into the backyard. The yew bushes that lined the fence on all three sides were ridiculously overgrown. The lawn was mostly weeds, dotted with barren patches of dirt and a minefield of gopher holes. It seemed like everything was falling apart: yard, house, life . . .
Josie’s heart ached for Nick. He and his older brother were very close, and though Nick wasn’t always the best at expressing his feelings, Josie knew he must be devastated at the thought of losing Tony.
Maybe Nick was right. Maybe Josie was partially to blame. Maybe she did need to take a look at herself. Josie turned away from the window toward the old mirror.
Only Josie didn’t see her own reflection.
From where she stood at the window, the antique mirror reflected her bed. And there, snuggled under the same blue-and-white floral comforter cover, was a girl. She wore a sleep mask, but even with it obscuring part of her face, in the bright lights of the room, Josie realized she was staring at someone who looked exactly like her. A doppelg?nger asleep in her bed.
Josie glanced at her bed. Nope, it was empty, the covers and pillows a disheveled mess, just the way she’d left them that morning. But there, in the mirror, she could clearly see the image of herself sound asleep in her room.
Wait, was it her room? The girl, the bedclothes, even the nightstand were the same. But the room in the reflection clearly wasn’t Josie’s. The floor was different—lush, cream-colored carpet where the hardwood floors in Josie’s room were covered in worn, striped throw rugs. The giant print of Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte that hung above Josie’s bed wasn’t in the reflection, replaced by a black-and-white panoramic photo of Paris. And the alarm clock on the nightstand wasn’t Josie’s old hand-me-down from her mom, but a sleek, modern clock with solid blue numbers that cut through the brightly lit room.
Numbers? Josie took a step closer to the mirror and squinted at the clock. It took her brain a moment to register the time it showed and the realization dawned on her slowly. 3:59.
Wait, didn’t she just have this exact same dream? But in reverse? Josie whipped her head around to look at her own alarm clock and caught the readout just as it clicked over to 4:00. 3:59? Again?
Josie turned back to the mirror.
The girl in the bed was gone.
FOURTEEN
4:15 P.M.
JOSIE SAT ON THE EDGE OF HER BED AND STARED at the mirror for what felt like an eternity. The dreams she could explain away: stress, exhaustion, fantasy fulfillment. But this? She was wide awake, sober, functional. And she’d seen the reflection of herself, sleeping on her bed, in her room.
Only it wasn’t her room or her bed. Similar, but not the same. Not at all. And obviously it wasn’t her reflection.
Was she losing her mind? Josie needed to talk to someone about it, someone who would listen and wouldn’t judge and might just be able to offer some insight. There was only one person who fit that bill.
Josie’s dad picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Jo Jo,” he said. She could almost picture the crooked, boyish smile spreading across his face. “How’s my favorite daughter?”
“Your only daughter,” Josie said.
“Semantics.”
Josie laughed. They’d played out that same interchange a bazillion times.
“So what’s going on, sweetie?” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“Um . . . I have today off.” That was a conversation for another time. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Jo Jo. Shoot.”
Josie took a deep breath. “Is there any history of mental illness in our family?”