Constance (Constance #1)(46)

Framed in the doorway, Levi Greer glitched at the sight of her, freezing in place, mouth moving silently like a singer who’d stepped out on stage and forgotten the words to the song. She’d been so wrapped up in how she would feel meeting him that she hadn’t considered what effect she’d have on him. Was there even a precedent for the clone of your missing, presumed-dead wife turning up at your front door? His expression was unreadable, but beneath the surface, she saw his emotions fighting a pitched battle for the right to dictate his reaction.

“Your hair is so short,” he said, staring at her, hard, the way a bartender held a hundred-dollar bill that they suspected might be counterfeit up to the light. “She really had a clone. Unbelievable.”

“You didn’t know?”

“The police said she did, but I didn’t want to believe them. But I guess it was her I didn’t know.” He leaned heavily against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest. “Man, you look just like her.” His eyes danced around her like she was an eclipse that would blind him if he looked at her directly.

“Cool T-shirt,” she said for something to say. She’d always been a big fan and regretted never seeing Kendrick Lamar in his prime.

Levi pulled it away from his chest to see what he had on. “Oh, this. Yeah, of course you do. She bought it for me.”

She.

Only a few feet separated them, but she could feel the gulf that yawned between them. She’d come to find out if she would feel anything for him. Well, she had her answer. He was a stranger to her, and she felt nothing. No spark. No attraction. Nothing. This wasn’t her husband. Her head started to throb as the implications came crashing down around her. A low-pitched sound like an air-raid siren filled her ears, her vision began to narrow, and the string holding all her limbs together frayed and split apart.

She came to lying on a plush blue-and-white sofa that matched the carpet, the curtains, and damn near everything else in the excruciatingly coordinated living room. Had she really fainted? She hadn’t fainted since gym class in eighth grade. Realizing that meant she was inside Levi Greer’s house, her curiosity got her back into a sitting position. On the end table was a wedding photograph in a silver frame. She picked it up. Her ears and neck got hot like she’d stumbled into someone else’s intimate moment. The happy couple was standing on the courthouse steps, arm in arm. Levi Greer and Con D’Arcy. Con didn’t even recognize the woman that he had his arms around.

Happy.

Smiling.

In love.

What right did she have to smile that way? It made Con angry, and then jealous, and then the guilt came. Dominoes falling in a row. What about Zhi? How could she have betrayed him this way? But, of course, she hadn’t betrayed anyone. She didn’t really live here, did she? And Levi Greer wasn’t really her husband. So who did that make her? What did it make her? She felt tears coming but forced them back down. Not here, not now.

And where the hell was Levi Greer? She stood up carefully, testing to see if her legs were steady enough to hold her. A framed athletic jersey on a nearby wall caught her eye. Curious, she went closer. It was for the Pathogens, the Richmond eSports franchise, and read “GREER” across the back. In the bottom corner of the frame, a photograph showed the team hoisting a trophy over their heads. She saw Levi Greer in the pack. He was grinning, one hand on the trophy, the other holding up one triumphant finger. She’d married a jock? What the hell was going on? She didn’t even like sports or play video games. But at least it explained how he could afford a house like this.

Levi Greer appeared in the doorway holding a glass of water. He looked surprised to see her standing. “You’re okay.”

He handed her the glass, and, embarrassed, she handed him his wedding photograph.

“Is it true?” he asked quietly after she’d emptied the glass. “Is she really dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he said. “Please don’t do that. You wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t. That’s how it works, right? So just tell me. I can’t take this anymore.”

Her head began to throb again. Every time he said she instead of you, it was like a blow to the side of her head. “That’s what Palingenesis says.”

“But you haven’t actually seen her? She could still be alive.”

“It’s possible,” she admitted.

Instead of being excited by the prospect, he became angry. “So why aren’t you helping the police find her? They said you’re the only one with access to her GPS coordinates.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s not complicated,” he snapped. “My wife is missing. You’re the only one who knows where she is. What’s complicated about that?”

“I wanted to meet you first. Hoped we could talk,” she said, aware of how selfish it sounded. Her existential crisis suddenly felt insignificant against this man’s grief and worry. She didn’t think she could live with herself if it turned out her original was still alive, hurt or in danger. Of course, if her original were alive, then Con wouldn’t have to live with herself very long. One of the hard-and-fast laws governing cloning in America—under no circumstances could there be two.

“Meet? What for? I thought you had her memories.”

“Not all of them.” It hurt to admit, especially to him.