Guilt starts to gnaw at my insides that I might have made him uncomfortable. IhopeI rankled my grandparents, but Dad seems to be doing his best.
And this is the only time I’m ever going to have with him. It might only be a few more days before I leave him behind and never see him again.
I’m not going to regret giving up this ridiculous house or the closet full of fancy clothes or being ranked at the top of my class… but I will miss him.
Imposing Grandma aims a pointed look across the table at him, breaking through the back and forth of lighter conversation. “I’ve been hearing rumors that void activity is continuing to increase. Don’t you have colleagues who should be able to address that problem, Julien?”
Dad grimaces. “I have plenty who are trying. From the records we have, the incidents have been gradually increasing for as long as we’ve been keeping track. The escalation has just… sped up in the past decade. Believe me, everyone would very much like to figure out why.”
Grandpa Devine lets out a brief huff. “They’ll run out of plebs to throw at the damn things if they can’t stem the tide.”
I restrain a wince at his dismissive reference to the kids I was spying on just a couple of hours ago.
Dad shakes his head. “As far as I know, the squads are still well-staffed. Morale is more the problem, but I’ve been working on that.”
“They should be glad for the steady employment. It isn’t as if they could handle work that’s much more complex.”
Exactly the way my grandfather no doubt thought about me when he heard of my existence.
Tart words leap to my tongue. As my lips part, I notice Dad’s expression.
His jaw has tightened, his eyes gone dark. He doesn’t like them talking this way either.
My guilt coils around my throat. Is mouthing off at them really going to make me feel better when it won’t change their minds—and it’ll probably upset him to see their reaction?
“I’m grateful for the work they do,” he says in that same firm voice, and then lets his tone brighten. “How’s that garden of yours coming along this spring?”
I get through the rest of dinner without screaming like a banshee, which I consider a significant accomplishment. I’m starting to worry that I’m going to have to endure an entire evening of entertaining the grandparents when the doorbell rings.
Our housekeeper approaches Dad as we’re moving back into the family room. “Ms. Lupul has stopped by—she says there’s a somewhat urgent matter she’d like to discuss with you.”
Dad’s brow knits. He obviously wasn’t expecting the interruption, and I can’t help thinking he looks unsettled for an instant before he recovers from the surprise. “Yes, of course.” Then, to his parents, “She’s one of the consultants I work most closely with. I’m sorry. I’m not sure how long this will take.”
Either they were already planning on leaving, or Dad’s company matters a lot more to them than mine or Aunt Daphne’s. Maybe it’s a little of both. Either way, Grandpa Devine waves off Dad’s apology. “We should be heading home anyway.”
I trail after my grandparents into the front hall and take note of the woman Dad’s striding over to greet.
Ms. Lupul is lithe and willowy in her professional powder-blue pantsuit, with sculpted waves of red hair framing her face to her chin. As she turns her head, my mental evaluation scrambles—one second I’d say she couldn’t be more than thirty, the next she might be a graceful fifty-something, then at another angle I’d say she’s in her forties like Dad.
He motions for her to join him in his office at the back of the house, and I wave a very happy goodbye to my grandparents. May I never have to see them again.
As soon as they’re gone, Aunt Daphne retreats up the stairs. I follow her all the way to her third-floor rooms where there’s no chance of Dad or his consultant overhearing us.
She glances at me and then at my necklace. “I’m not sure now was the best time to make a statement, Butterfly.”
I wrinkle my nose at both her remark and the nickname with its reminder of all the disasters I may be inadvertently creating. “I’m not going to get many other chances, am I? It didn’t hurt them.” I hesitate. “How did my mom die—in this reality?”
A shadow crosses Daphne’s face. “Like your grandfather said, you were six. It was while Julien and your mother were in their placements with the European embassy—in Paris at that time, I think? Your mother was in a car accident.”
My heart stops. It takes a moment before I can push the question from my throat, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. “Like… a drunk driver hit her or something?”
“No. From what your father’s said, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was bad weather, and the car lost traction on the wet road…”
She pauses as if to check whether I want her to go on. She’s already said enough. My heart has started up again, thumping hard against my ribs.
Mom died the exact same way that Dad did in my reality. Is that really the one change that gave me a totally opposite life? She got into the car that day instead of him?
One little flap of a wing somewhere, and everything that mattered to me was reversed.
