“What was the word?”
“Once.”
Raya walked on, thinking about all the phrases that could have followed it and the infinite ways they could have steered a story’s course. The abandoned thought could have been anything. A poem. A short story. A long one. Maybe a song. But the scribbled thought had boarded a train car to nowhere, and no one, including the thought’s owner, was ever going to know what it could have become. Raya pressed her lips together harder than she should have to keep a breath from escaping. Metal, salt, and honey coated her tongue. Raya’s first thought was that she had bitten it, but teethwere too sharp to not notice. Sadness was stealthier, and tasted of guitar strings, tears, and all the sugary things she wasn’t supposed to have.
Q stopped, his gaze on an assortment of musical instruments. “Isn’t that your guitar? The one behind the cello? I remember its purple stickers.”
“No.” Raya walked ahead.
Q caught up with her. “You didn’t even look at it.”
“I didn’t have to. I know it isn’t mine. I destroyed the guitar you saw at the gallery after Jace’s funeral. It can’t be here.”
“But that’s not the image you picture whenever you miss it, is it? In your mind, your guitar is whole. Pristine.”
“How did you—”
“Look around you, Raya. None of the things in this valley are shattered. We long for things, people at their best, not at their worst. As much as I hated how my father’s smile was a lie, I can’t paint him in my mind without one. The man with a bright smile was and always will be the father I knew. That’s the person I miss even if the happy and content man I thought he was might have never really existed. Maybe…that’s why your guitar is whole too.”
Raya shook her head. “Even if you’re right, it doesn’t matter. This valley is a cemetery, Q, and all these mounds are graves. I could walk over there and find my guitar as good as new, and nothing would change. My own dream would still be dead, and I would still be stuck on this train.”
The knot on her palm tingled as more threads frayed and came loose.
The whirlpool spanned the width of six backyard pools. Or maybe sixteen. It was impossible for Raya to pay any attention to it while Olly’s twin stood by its edge. The man with Olly’s face stared into the swirling current as intently as the Olly they had met at theDragonfly lost himself in pots of stew. Raya crouched next to Q behind a grand piano, the maelstrom of questions in her eyes putting the whirlpool to shame. “Is that a version of Olly?”
“I can hear you, you know.” The man turned in their direction. “Why don’t you come out and ask me your questions yourself?”
Raya and Q stood up, their tether as taut as their spines.
“Hello. Welcome to the Missed and Misplaced Department.” The man walked over to them. “My name’s Olly.”
“I’m…uh…Raya, and this is Q.” Raya studied his face. This man and the Olly at the Dragonfly were identical, down to the reddish birthmark on their chins.
“It’s great to meet you.” Olly extended his hand.
Raya’s fingers closed around air. She jerked her hand back.
“Sorry about that,” the man who called himself Olly said.
“Who are you?” Raya backed away from him.“What are you?”
He smiled. “I’m Olly.”
“You’re not.” Q drew his shoulders back, his eyes sharp. “We met Olly at the Dragonfly.”
The man shrugged. “That doesn’t mean that I’m not Olly too.”
“Are you a version of him?” Raya said.
“You mean like the versions of Mr. Goh?” The man shook his head. “I’ve only boarded the train once, as far as I know.”
“Then are you wearing Olly’s face?” Raya kept her distance. “Or is he wearing yours?”
The man laughed. “That sounds like fun, but you can only wear the faces of people who aren’t on board the train. You should suggest it to the conductor, though.”
“Then what are you?” Q’s voice drilled into him.
“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m Olly?”
