Chapter 16

Chapter

Sixteen

I wish I could say rest is a cure-all. It's not. I still feel like someone threw me out of a fifty-story window. Every muscle aches. My head pounds. And none of that compares to the tight knot in my chest choking every breath. I don't want to be me.

I don't think I've ever wanted to be me.

How could Nancy have thrown away her family by cheating on Paul? He's perfect. Diana's a sweet kid. I would give anything to have had a chance at that life.

Why does everything have to be so complicated?

I wonder what my life would have been had Lorelai Weber kept me instead. What if I was raised in California instead of Manhattan? What if I never knew I was a Devine? Tamara Weber. The name sounds odd, but I wonder who that would have been. Human daughter to a human single mother. Even if she was a flawed parent. Even if we had no money. Even if she hated me.

My hands shake, and I can't seem to make them dial the phone.

I pace the gas station restroom, ignoring the movements copied by my reflection. I did my best to clean up in the sink with hand soap and paper towels. Paul did a decent job of buying me a change of clothes. The gray drawstring pants and dark blue T-shirt are loose but comfortable. I'm too warm for the athletic fleece jacket, so I've tied the sleeves around my waist. He even got me a pair of sneakers to replace the ones we left in the motel parking lot, which beat the high heels from the funeral.

Is it strange that the man figured out my shoe size?

I'll go with it being sweet that he paid attention.

In my best game show contestant voice, I tell my reflection, "I'll take things my brain should not give a shit about right now for two hundred."

A quick knock sounds on the door, and I jump in fright as it interrupts my thoughts.

"One second," I call.

Another quick knock relays the person's urgency.

I open the door to a woman wiggling desperately. She rushes through the door, knocking me aside and muttering a half-apology as the wood slams in my face. She's not the only person waiting in line for the restroom. I try not to meet the annoyed stares of strangers as I walk past them to leave. Figures that there are more people in this world who are mad at me.

A person can only take too much before they either break down or scream like a lunatic in a psychotic episode. I wonder what will happen to me. I honestly can feel it going both ways.

The only thought keeping me on my feet and quiet is that being in a locked ward at a hospital is about as bad as being in jail. I'd be ripe for a vampire attack.

I know feeling sorry for myself is a pathetic look, but I'm beginning to wish I was never born. No birth, no fiery birthday party. No birth, no birth mother to call for a rejection. No birth, no?—

I see Paul, and he smiles at me with his kind, non-judging eyes. It brings me out of my head, and I instantly feel better. Diana is skipping around the concrete yellow bollards along the edge of the parking lot like she's invented a game.

It's such a simple moment—me walking toward them, Diana lost in her little girl world, Paul smiling at me. Everyone takes these things for granted, but I wish I could live in this moment for an eternity. Just me, Paul, and Diana in a gas station parking lot in a town whose name I can't remember.

Out of all the failed spells Conrad and I tried in our youth, I wish the stopping time spell had actually worked. I could use a little of that magic right now.

"Feeling better?" he asks as I come near.

I nod.

"Did you call her?"

I shake my head. "There was a line outside the restroom, and I…"

I chickened the fuck out.

"Go ahead. We're fine here," he says, gesturing along the bollards, where I can find some privacy. "Take all the time you need."

I nod again, wishing he had given me an excuse to avoid calling.

"Dad," Diana demands, breathing heavily. "How fast was that?"

"Three minutes and sixteen seconds," he answers, not actually looking at any kind of timekeeping device. "I think you can beat that. Go again."

She takes a deep breath in determination and gets into her ready position.

"On your mark. Get set. Go!" Paul yells.

Diana takes off, skipping along her path.

"Go," Paul mouths to me with an encouraging smile.

I pace away from him. My hands are shaking, and I find it hard to catch my breath. When I look back, it's to find Paul glancing between me and Diana. I give him a small nod as I press the phone number in Conrad's text to dial.

"Hello," I practice whisper. "My name is Tamara Devine."

The phone rings, and I pray she doesn't answer.

"Hello. You might not remember me, but I'm your daughter, Tamara Devine."

The phone keeps ringing.

"May I please speak with Lorelai? Hi, Lorelai. Would you be interested in saving money on your car insurance?"

I'm an idiot.

"Don't answer. Don't answer. Don't?—"

"Hello, June?" The voice sounds expectant.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Hello?" This time, she seems more annoyed, as if she's checked the number and realized I'm not a friend. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested. This number is on a do-not-call list."

"Um, wait, I…" I clear my throat. "I'm not selling anything. Is this Lorelai Weber?"

"Who is this?" she asks instead of answering. I can't blame her for the tone. The only unknown numbers that seem to call people anymore are scammers.

"My name is Tamara," I manage. I wish I were more confident. "You might not remember me, but?—"

The sound of a muffled crash cuts me off, and I wait nervously. I glance at the phone screen to see if she hung up.

"Tamara?" she asks after a long pause.

"Yes, ma'am." Who the hell says ma'am in this situation? I roll my eyes at myself. "My name is Tamara Devine. You, um, knew my father?"

Well, this conversation is going about as smoothly as a ship into an iceberg.

"Tamara?" she repeats.

"Yes. My father was Davis."

"Tamara," she states. "I heard about what happened to your father. I'm very sorry for your loss. Did he tell you to call me?"

"My mother, I mean, Lady Astrid, told me about you a few months before they died. I had hired a detective to find your number, but he just now got it back to me."

"Astrid," she whispers, and I hear a deep breath. "Yes, I heard about her passing as well. And your brother. I'm very sorry for your losses."

She heard? So she was keeping tabs on the family? Or did she just happen across the news?

"I was, um, thinking of coming to California for a trip," I say.

"Okay."

"And I thought we could meet for like a coffee or something?"

I lean my head down and cup my hand around the phone to better listen to what's happening on her end. I can't be sure, but I hear what sounds like a throat clearing.

I don't know what to think. "If that's not cool, we don't have to?—"

"No, no," she interrupts. "Coffee would be good. When do you think you might be here?"

"Few days?"

"Oh? That's soon. Oh, okay, sure, yeah."

I can't think of what else to say, but I find myself not wanting to hang up, even if it is awkward.

"Do you know about…?" I stop myself from saying supernaturals.

"About your family?" she finishes. "Yes. I know what they are—were."

That's at least somewhat of a relief.

"I heard about your grandfather's passing. He was a decent man. Covid was a rough one, to be sure."

"Yeah, he was." A small pain tightens my chest. My grandfather knew about her and never told me. "I miss him. I mean, I miss all of them, of course."

"Have they figured out what happened? How the fire started?" Lorelai instantly backtracks. "Never mind. That's none of my… We don't have to talk about… This isn't the time for a conversation about such things."

Why is she mentioning the fire? Is that a normal thing for her to ask on our first call? Or should it worry me?

"They're still investigating," I say, keeping it vague.

I remind myself that I don't know this woman and I shouldn't let my guard down because I'm desperate for a little familial connection. She's just a stranger on the phone. There could be a reason my grandfather never told me about her. Or my father. Astrid only said something because she could be a vindictive bitch.

I glance back at Paul sitting against one of the concrete bollards. He sees me and gives a tiny wave of his fingers.

"My ride is waiting in the car for me," I lie. "I should go."

"Oh, okay. I guess call me when you're in town? Or before. Or whenever. Or text. Anytime. This is my cell phone."

"This is my cell phone, too," I say.

"Got it."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Bye."

"Bye, oh, and Tamara. Happy birthday."

"Thanks." I pull the phone away to hang up and take a deep, shaking breath.

I grip my phone and turn back to Paul. His expression has become one of concern. To Diana, he says, "Two minutes. Six seconds. Last one."

Diana groans but gets into her starting position.

"Ready. Set. Go!" Paul sends her skipping around the bollards.

I walk toward them.

"How'd it go?" he asks.

"Um, yeah, fine, I guess."

"Was she nice?" He lightly touches my arm and rubs it up and down.

I shrug. "She was fine. Nervous, maybe. Surprised. She said she was sorry about my family, and we're going to meet up for coffee when I get to California."

"So you've decided? You're going?" He looks disappointed, even as he tries to hide it.

I nod and look at Diana. "I think it's best. My brother sent the address where you can drop me off."

Paul's brow furrows.

"What?"

His frown deepens. "I'm just thinking of the last address your brother sent you to. Why don't you let me give you some cash for a hotel? A proper hotel this time."

"You don't?—"

"You can pay me back when you return to the city," he cuts me off. "I'm not worried about it. I know you're good for it."

He's trying to make a joke. I do my best to smile, but I know the look must appear strained. I don't have the heart to tell him that when we say goodbye today, it's forever. I can't keep bringing my madness to their doorstep.

"I think we should get you something to eat first. You'll feel better with some food." He says it like he's trying to reason out an advanced calculus problem instead of something that's a fairly simple equation. One plus one equals two. Monsters plus danger equals my leaving.

"Dad?" Diana demands, breathless. I'm grateful for her interruption.

"One minute," he announces. "Well done! Go get in the car."

"What about my prize?" she asks.

"You get to pick where we stop for lunch," he answers.

She runs for the car, and we follow behind at a slower pace. Paul unlocks it with the key fob.

"Let's do our best to keep her from picking sparkle pancakes again," he jokes.

"You're only a kid once." I watch Diana through the window. She opens her mouth wide against the glass and blows to puff up her cheeks. "I say if she wants sparkly pancakes, then let her have them. Life has given us very few things we can smile about recently."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." Paul gives in easily. "One more day of sugar won't hurt us."

I walk around the back of the car, automatically searching for symbols. There are none.

I look at my phone and pull up my texts. Typing to Conrad, I write, "I'm going to California alone. Ditching my ride for the safe house. They don't know anything. Our angry friends hit the motel we were at, so they're eager to be rid of me. Need cash and ticket."

"By the way." Paul stands by the driver's side door, waiting for me. "I searched the news. Nothing about the motel came up."

I nod that I hear him.

"Ready?" He pulls open the car door.

I answer by getting into the passenger seat.

"I miss Plop," Diana says as we shut the car doors.

"I know, honey. I'm sorry." Paul starts the engine. "Have you decided what you want to eat?"

"Not yet," she answers.

My phone dings and I glance down. Conrad texted, "On it."

I see Lorelai's number in his earlier message.

Conrad is my brother. He's the closest family I have. He's suffered the same traumas.

Lorelai is my blood, closest to me in genetics, biologically a part of me. She's also a complete stranger.

Paul and Diana have only been in my life for a short time. They're not blood. They did not grow up in my household. I'm ashamed to admit it, but if forced, I'd say they're the family I would choose. They represent all those things I have wished for in my life. Normality. Humanity. Love without conditions or boundaries.

Just wishing it makes me feel guilty.

Guilty about Conrad because there is a part of me that would leave him behind, even if it's only in a fantasy.

Guilty that I'm not excited to meet my birth mother, and I would skip going to see her if I could stay in Kansas City safely.

Guilty that I would consider bringing more danger to Paul and Diana for my own selfish need not to be alone.

The car dings a warning, and I reach to put on my seatbelt to make it stop.

Guilt does me no good. My desire to be someone else does no one any good.

There is only one thing that gives me hope. If I can figure out who started the fires and why, then I may be able to get my life back. Then, maybe I can be a part of Paul and Diana's futures…even if only from a distance.

"Tamara, what was your favorite food in the entire whole wide world when you were my age?" Diana asks.

My mind instantly goes back, and I answer, "Cake. My mother never let me have any, and so that made me want it more."

"Why didn't your mother let you have cake? Were you allergic?" She leans to better see my face. "Bobby's allergic to peanuts. If he eats them, he'll swell up like a balloon, and all his air gets trapped inside until he pops."

Diana puffs her cheeks as hard as she can to demonstrate.

"He won't pop," Paul corrects as he pulls into traffic. "It's called anaphylactic shock, and it's not funny. It's very serious. If it happens, you must run and get an adult right away."

"Right." Diana nods seriously but keeps focused on me. "He swells up until he shocks."

"My mother preferred I eat vegetables." It's the most diplomatic way I can think to say she didn't want a fat accessory in family photos.

"What kind is your favorite?"

"Vegetable? Broccoli, I guess."

Diana giggles. "No, cake!"

I think of the birthday I got a brother instead of a puppy. "When I was your age, all I wanted was a birthday cake as tall as I was, with fairies skating in the icing. I also wanted it to float and sparkle. I didn't care what flavor, but I think strawberry with vanilla icing. Or vanilla with strawberry icing."

"Maybe you should have told your mother you wanted carrot cake," Diana reasons. "Those are vegetables."

"Yeah, maybe." I try not to laugh in the face of her innocence. Even after last night, she still manages to see the world with childlike rationale. "What is your favorite cake?"

"I don't know." She presses her lips together. "I think I like strawberry with vanilla icing the best."

I wonder if my baby duckling is just saying that because of me, but I don't challenge the answer. Whatever memories these two take away from our time together, I want them to be good. Not monster-filled, funeral-fueled thoughts they avoid completely.

For all of Diana's mother's faults, she must have done something right. I think of my childhood days spent hiding from monsters in the protected wing of the country house, watching them come and go from the balcony. I think of logging treadmill hours as a teenager under the supervision of a nutritionist. Kids should be eating cake and skipping around concrete yellow bollards. Instead, I was running from history lessons to self-defense practice.

"All right, chipmunk, keep an eye out. We're coming up on some restaurants," Paul says. "If you see anything you like for lunch, shout it out."

Diana's attention is instantly diverted out her window.

I can't stop thinking about family and childhood and birthdays.

Someone in my life started that fire. It was my birthday. Sure, the party wasn't really for me, but it was still mine. If I'm the detectives' best suspect at this point, that means they have no clue what occurred that night. Although there were many people present, I'm certain that someone would have stood out. I just need to force myself to think back to the horrible night, moment by moment. The key to solving this mystery must be among the party guests.