Page 23 of Exchange of Heart

I gasped and released my grip. ‘Wait, wait. That’s it! The umbrella!’

The sauce bottle hit the floor, one last pathetic squirt shooting up between us.

‘What umbrella?’

‘The night I dropped you home.’

Nora stared at her palm, and I lifted my hand to compare the curved line that marked it to the one on hers.

‘The lightning,’ she whispered. ‘Of course. I wonder where the umbrella went.’

‘Maybe we only need to remove these lines from our hands?’

Nora nodded and scrunched her forehead in thought. ‘That would be easier, at least. Or, I think it would be easier. How do we remove a mark from our body? It’s almost like a scar. Don’t they take months to fade, even with oils that claim to help?’

Excitement sizzled inside of me. I’d been doubtful the photos would help, but now I was confident we were on the right track and would soon return to our own bodies. ‘Bleach.’

‘Bleach?’ Nora shrieked. ‘I’m not soaking my hand in bleach. You’re meant to wear gloves and a mask when you use chemicals for a reason.’

‘I’ve never used gloves or a mask and I’m still alive.’ I smiled proudly.

‘For now,’ she muttered.

I grabbed a handful of hash browns and walked to the bath-room. Crunching the crispy potato-filled batter, I shoved aside bottles of moisturiser, make up, and hair products underneath the sink. ‘Where’s the bleach?’

‘I’ve got it right here.’ Nora held up the bottle from the kitchen behind me.

‘Why am I in here amongst all your crap, then?’ I mumbled.

The entire room smelled of citrus. I was surprised the walls weren’t orange and yellow.

‘I thought you were looking at everything you’d want to use if this didn’t work.’ She shrugged.

‘I’m not going to even entertain the idea of this not working. Your life is less than ideal to live.’ My nose scrunched at the idea of using those bottles, so I settled for the delusional ‘out of sight, out of mind’ method and closed the door. Back in the kitchen, we argued about how to do it.

‘Let’s pour it into a bowl and soak our hands,’ I said.

‘That’s terrible for our bodies,’ Nora gasped. ‘We only need to trace the scar with a soaked cotton bud.’

‘Fine.’ I refused to admit her idea made much more sense.

Twenty minutes later, we examined our hands by the window in the remaining sunlight.

‘We should have taken a before photo, I have no idea if it’s made any difference,’ I grumbled.

‘We don’t need a photo for comparison. I can assure you, it’s no different. Besides, it didn’t work.’ Nora gestured at my unchanged body.

She kicked her toe against the pristine white wall, and Lucky meowed, winding between us and sniffing our legs.

‘Poor boy’s confused.’ Nora leaned down to cuddle him, but he reared back and hissed.

She sucked in a sudden breath, her lips downturned like a child whose ice cream had fallen from the cone to the ground. I placed the tips of my slender fingers on the edge of her shoulder. Barely touching, but enough to pretend I cared.

‘Why don’t we focus on the umbrella?’ I suggested, starting to fear this wasn’t as easy as we’d assumed.

She looked at me with hope and nodded. ‘We should find it.’

It wasn’t outside her apartment anymore; I’d glanced around each time I’d come here since. I wanted that umbrella for more reasons than she knew. The pictures on it were a reminder that my father wasn’t always a monster, a little piece of hope I clung to each day, praying he’d remember the person he used to be.