Page 88 of Memories of the Lost

They walked to Liam’s aunt’s house. It was no more than a mile down a country road that had houses on one side, meadows and undergrowth on the other. Tillie could see through the row of trees lining the road that sheep grazed in a series of rolling hills. Cars came by every so often, but not many, and they made room for the walkers.

The house was down a smaller lane. A hedge provided a fence, but over the top, the roof and windows of the highest floor were visible. “That’s not what I was expecting,” Tillie said.

“It looks better on the outside than on the inside,” he said.

As they came up the lane, a dog howled. “I forgot to tell you there’s a motley crew of misfit creatures,” Liam said. “Levi is a vet, and they have all kinds of critters.”

Tillie laughed. “How wonderful!” The dog, a shiny black Labrador with a big head who was clearly blind, waited for them. He nuzzled Tillie’s hand and whined in sweet greeting. She got down low and spoketo him in a soft voice. “Thank you for that, sweetheart,” she said, rubbing her hands over that giant head. He groaned and licked her face.

“He is never like that with anyone,” a man said, coming out of the house. “You must have the touch.”

Tillie stood to greet a tall man with reddish-brown skin and a thick beard. “I don’t know about that,” she said.

“You must be Levi,” Liam said. “I’m Liam.”

“I know who you are, lad. They’ve been all atwitter waiting for ye.” He shook Liam’s hand, clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“And this is Tillie,” Liam said.

He enclosed her hand in both of his, peering intently at her. “Tillie, is it?” he said as if it wasn’t the name he’d expected. He looked over his shoulder at Liam, then back. “Remarkable. Come in, come in.”

Tillie didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she simply followed them up the rest of the walk. Flowers grew on either side, just now putting out green shoots.

A gray cat with half an ear wandered out to see what was going on, and Tillie greeted her. Right behind her came another cat. Tillie froze. She grabbed Liam’s hand. Pointed.

“Who is this?” Liam asked, leaning down to scratch the cat’s ear.

But Tillie felt a wildness as she bent down to pick up the big solid animal, white and light brown with a tiger-striped Siamese mask. He happily melted into her, bending his head to press his nose to hers. She closed her eyes. Sheknewthis cat. How was that possible? Tears rose in her eyes, and she kept her head down to hide them, the cat purring low against her hands.

“This is River, one of the local breed,” Levi said. “They’re unique to the area, maybe a mix between somebody’s pet Maine coon and a local Siamese or Ragdoll that spawned a new breed. There are dozens of them, and they’re good pets, good mousers.” He scratched the cat’s back. “Aren’t you, love?”

The cat meowed, and Tillie let him down, feeling off-kilter but also intrigued. The cat followed them into the house.

They went in through a back door, Levi leading. “Look who I found!” he called out.

A trio of women were gathered around a big, freestanding butcher-block counter, backlit by a large window that looked out to the fields. Tillie had to blink to see anyone at all. The one closest to her had long blonde hair and red cheeks, and Tillie recognized her instantly as Paula Davies. A little flush of pleasure ran up her neck. “Hi.”

Liam said, “That’s Paula, which you already know—she’s a fan.” He stretched out a hand. “Me, too. I’m Liam.”

“Oh, that one American fan,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve wondered who that was, buying my records over there.”

Tillie laughed. “You’re too modest. I love the music. I paint to it all the time.”

An older woman, very thin and long-limbed, said, “Wow, your voice,” and Paula said at the same time, “You sound exactly like Sage.”

“Sage?”

“Me.” The woman was haloed by the light, so Tillie could only see the nimbus of light around her hair and the curve of a belly. “Is that how I sound?”

“Bro,” Liam said, and Tillie picked up the slightest disturbance from him, an alert or concerned note that made her look up at him. He stared at Sage, then looked to Tillie, and shook his head.

“What?” she asked.

He put a hand on either shoulder, warm and heavy, and walked her to the other woman’s side.

Tillie looked at Sage. Sage looked back at her.

And here was the mirror she’d been staring into earlier, a woman a few years older than she, with sharper cheekbones and more lines around her eyes, but the same face otherwise. The same dark hair, though Sage wore hers shorter. The bodies were different, because Sage was pregnant and Tillie was not.