Page 120 of Mirror Image

“Right.” She tries for a smile, but it’s thin.

The PA system crackles to life overhead:

“Now boarding the Lake Shore Limited, service to Chicago. Track eight. All passengers, please prepare to step aboard.”

People start moving.

We step with them.

She stops a few feet from the open train door and turns to me, eyes steady in a way that feels older than twenty-three.

“Jenn . . . I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. You’re making all of this possible.”

“Well, we’re not completely out of the woods yet. You’ve got a lot of heavy lifting to do. Do you have the lawyer’s number? She’s expecting your call.”

She nods. “I’ll pick up a spy phone when I get there.”

“A . . . spy phone?” I echo, confused.

A smile fills her face—it’s wistful, and sad, and amused all at once. And it’s the first completely raw, unfiltered emotion she’s shown me to date.

“It was a joke . . . between me and my sister. Me and Sam.”

This makes me smile in response.

“You’re going to be okay. Just . . . please consider reaching out to your parents. Not today or tomorrow, necessarily. But maybe once things are settled for you and Jocelyn.”

She looks away for just a moment.

“I just don’t know how that would work, how we go back. There’s so much water under that bridge.”

I shrug.

“Yeah, well, you’ve handled Class IV rapids before, haven’t you? It might get dicey, but you’ll navigate it. And you know I’m always here to throw you a line if you need one.”

She launches herself toward me without warning, catching me up in a hug that nearly takes me down.

“Oof!”

I reach around, clutching her to me, pressing my face into her hair. It smells like apples and flowers. If I close my eyes, I can pretend, for just a moment . . .

She pushes me away as quickly as she enveloped me, holding tight to my forearms as she studies my face carefully. She knows what I was thinking. She can sense it with the creepy “twin sense” we’ve got going on between us.

“What you told me about Jess. About letting go.”

My breath stills.

She doesn’t hesitate.

“Jenn, you didn’t,” she says, uttering my name for the first time. “You didn’t let go. But you should have.”

Her words are unnerving.

“Wh-what? I-I don’t understand . . .” I stammer.

“Look, I know I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but I can see it. I saw it the first time we met. What you’ve been hauling around with you all this time isn’t Jess’s life. It’s her death. And what came after.”

I’m so stunned by the words that I can’t formulate a response. Not that she’s waiting for one.