We Were Never Here(53)

Silvery light filtered in from the bay windows, spotlighting swirls of dust. I took a shallow sip of air; the dankness needled at my asthma, and my chest constricted like a corset yanked tight. Second Chance was a wonderland of junk: a labyrinth of tall shelves piled with old dishware and ’80s Happy Meal toys and fusty board games. I lifted a dusty jade elephant and searched for a price sticker—Priya collected elephants.

“I remember coming here as a kid.” Kristen poked a porcelain poodle, inspected the pink bows at its ears. “My mom always let me pick something out. She knew the owner, Greta, who’s the real antique.”

“I didn’t hear you come in!” A tiny woman materialized between the shelves, her voice high and brittle. She shuffled toward us in white orthotic sneakers, her cloud of dyed black hair bobbing.

“Greta! It’s me, Kristen Czarnecki!” Kristen opened her arms and Greta made two laborious blinks, as if her eye muscles were old and tired too. Then her eyebrows shot up and her mouth crinkled into a grin.

“Kristen! You look more like your mother every day.” Greta buried her in a hug, so I couldn’t see Kristen’s reaction.

Greta spotted me and frowned. “Well, hello,” she clucked suspiciously.

“This is my friend Emily!” Kristen presented me with both hands, like a game show host. “She’s visiting from Milwaukee with me.”

“You know who she looks like? What’s-her-name.” She stared hard at Kristen, as if she could figure it out via osmosis. “That friend of yours. The one who was always up here with you when you were little girls. Jamie.”

    “I can’t believe you remember that! Jamie, that’s right. She does kinda look like her.” They both turned to me, appraising. I felt an uncomfortable ripple deep in my abdomen.

Greta screwed up her lips, thinking. “That girl, Jamie, I always thought—”

“How are things at the store?” Kristen’s interruption wasn’t as smooth as she hoped, and my antennae went up. Greta looked confused, then grabbed Kristen’s hand. “Oh, y’know, fine. And you’ve been somewhere far away, right? Australia?”

“Yep, Australia! Greta, you are sharp as a tack.”

“It’s running the shop. Keeps me on my toes.” She tapped the side of her head, then gazed at me. “I’m eighty-four years old. Can you believe that?”

I made a grand show of my surprise. To be honest, I would’ve guessed she was in her mid-eighties, but I admired her immodesty.

“I hope I’m half as badass as you when I’m eighty-four,” Kristen offered.

“Language, Kristen.” Greta creased her crinkly brow. “Well, how long are you girls in the North Woods?”

“Just through the weekend. Oh, but I’m moving back to Milwaukee!” Kristen pressed her hands together. “I found an apartment in the Fifth Ward.”

“I’m not surprised. Wisconsin has a way of pulling folks back. People try to leave, but it never sticks.” A phone began ringing in the back of the store, and it took Greta a moment to notice it. Finally she shuffled off and Kristen and I went back to browsing.

After a few minutes, Kristen announced she was going to the coffee shop next door, and I headed to the register to pay.

“You’re enjoying your time with Kristen?” Greta asked as she wrapped the stone elephant in newspaper.

“Yes! It’s so beautiful up here.”

“You gave me a real start. When I saw you with Kristen? I thought you were her little friend Jamie, all grown-up.” She smoothed a long piece of tape on top.

    I smiled, unsure how to reply.

She leaned forward. “But of course, you couldn’t be. That would take a miracle.”

I chuckled uncomfortably, the way you laugh when a man in power makes an off-color joke. “What do you mean?”

She handed me the newsprint bundle, and with a spasm of fear, I thought of the melted clump of Paolo’s belongings. Paper wrapped around our darkest secret. And the people in L.A. who’d give anything to uncover it.

“You know what happened to Jamie, God rest her soul.”

My chest clenched up. No way. No way that, in addition to Sebastian and Paolo and Anne and Jerry Czarnecki, Kristen’s childhood friend was…

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m sorry, what?”

She twisted her mouth into a sad smile. “If Jamie walked into my store, well.” She shrugged. “That would mean I was seeing a ghost.”



* * *



—

“So, who’s my doppelg?nger?” I kept my voice light as I set a pot in the sink and turned on the tap. Greta hadn’t had any more details to share, just murmurs along the lines of “That poor, sweet girl.” I couldn’t believe Kristen hadn’t mentioned a dead close friend. God, she must’ve been the unluckiest kid alive, tested like Job while the people closest to her dropped like flies…

“No, use the filtered water. And don’t forget the beer.”

“Beer?” I glanced at her.

“Eight years in Wisconsin and you still don’t know how to cook a brat? Typical.” She dug around in the fridge, then emerged with a brimming Brita and a can of MGD. “For cooking. The good stuff is for drinking.”