Chapter 4
We wait in line, make small talk with relatives. When we finally get up to the bar, Cassie orders a double tequila soda, and I get a whiskey sour.
“We also have the couple’s signature drinks here,” the bartender says, pointing to a sign advertising “The Steph” and “The Jace” in loopy script.
“We’re good,” Cassie says, answering for both of us. We’re quiet as the bartender mixes our drinks. Cass scans the party; I keep my back to it. “Is that Vicky? Ew.”
“You and Evan sure know how to hold a grudge.”
Vicky used to be part of the group, but then sophomore year she hooked up with Alex Fitzgerald knowing full well that Evan was in love with him. She also briefly dated Luke before he and Cassie got together. She was never my favorite, but I always questioned whether her scarlet letter was earned.
“I forget that Steph is still close with her,” Cassie says.
I almost tell her Vicky got straight up decapitated in my dream last night but decide to just keep my mouth shut.
“Here we are,” the bartender says. I dig a crumpled bill out of my purse.
“Thank you,” I say, dropping the bill in the tip jar with a complete lack of finesse. I take my drink and move to cheers Cassie, but she’s already downing her tequila.
I cautiously pivot toward the party, adopting a casual posture—shoulders relaxed, chin down, drink at my lips. I let my eyes sweep the scene.
Evan and Wyatt have secured a spot on one of the couches. Luke stands in front of the married musical duo, nodding along to their cover of “Use Somebody” with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. Ravi and Tanya chat with Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, Jace’s parents. Tanya leans into Ravi, rubs his back.
Oof. Nope.
I gulp my drink and tear my eyes away, continue browsing the crowd.
And there he is. Danny. In a navy suit, white collared shirt, no tie. He’s alone, hovering near the floral arches, trying and failing to stay out of view as he takes a swig from his flask. He is exactly as I remember him. This person I’ve never met before.
How is this possible? Does it mean something? I need to know.
“Be right back,” I tell Cassie.
I start toward Danny. Maybe I should be nervous.
He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. Only…
what if I do? Maybe it’ll be a story I tell years from now.
It was intuition, I’ll say. I dreamt of him.
I’d obviously omit the other details of the dream.
All the brutal killing and eye removing and whatnot.
Everything else today—every other uncanny similarity and freakish coincidence, fucking Tanya existing—filled me with soul-crushing, nausea-inducing panic. But this, Danny being here and being real, fills me with something…something close to hope.
I come around the side of the arch to where he is. I catch him mid-drink, click my tongue, and shake my head. “This is unacceptable, sir.”
There it is—that goofy half smile. His dimples. His big green eyes. His wild hair. His awkward laughter that I already know the sound of, that I already adore.
“Whoa. Officer, it’s not what it looks like,” he says.
“Are you drinking whiskey out of a flask?”
“Ah. It’s exactly what it looks like. I’d offer you some but…” He gestures to the drink in my hand. “Hey. You’re drinking on the job.”
“Guess we’re both bad news.”
“I’m Danny,” he says, extending a hand. I slide mine into his. His touch gets my heart racing; my blood rockets through my veins and suddenly I’m cozy warm, suddenly I’m floating. The world smells sweet. Like fucking peaches. Danny, Danny, Danny.
“Willa. College friend.”
“Hey, Willa.”
I don’t let go, and neither does he. We look at each other. Hold eye contact.
Will you take me to Tokyo?
Will you prove to me that everything’s going to be okay?
“I’m stalling,” he says, nodding toward the cocktail area. “Are you stalling?”
“No,” I say, finally taking back my hand. “No, I’m having a nice conversation.”
He laughs, ruffles his hair. “Okay, okay. That, too. I just get anxious at shit like this. Formal. Stand here. Smile for photos. Sit-down dinner. Speeches. Family. Strangers. Not—”
“Not your thing. I get it.” If this déjà vu is a symptom of some sort of neurological disorder, is it wrong for me to use it as a cheat code to seduce Danny?
Probably. Fuck. I take another sip of my whiskey sour. Another.
“Not your thing, either?” he asks.
“Tonight’s not for us, babe.”
“It could be,” he says, grinning.
“Later.”
“Later,” he repeats. He bites his lip, and if I haven’t already, I might go insane.
“I’m going to head over. Be a polite guest.”
“I should, too.” He rolls his shoulders back, adjusts his collar. “How do I look?”
“Good. Very good.” I smooth my dress. “And me?”
He gives me the once-over.
“Whoa,” he says, noticing my foot. “You okay?”
“It’s nothing.” I’m completely mortified.
He takes a step closer to me, brings his face to my face. “Who did this to you?”
I laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s a serious actor. I play along. “My…my…suitcase!”
That gets him. He cracks a smile. “Ah. I was going to avenge you, but I don’t fight luggage.”
“As a rule?”
“I have my morals, Willa.”
“You sure do,” I say, tapping a nail against his flask.
He slips it into his suit pocket and holds a finger up to his lips. Shh.
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I trust you,” he says.
Seconds pass. Minutes. We continue to just stand around, looking at each other, smiling. Wordlessly flirting.
“I’m waiting for you to go first,” he says. “I’m following your lead.”
“My lead? All right. They’ll probably start to—” I’m interrupted by the pianist. She plays that jaunty tune to quiet the crowd. It’s a real mood-killer. I turn to Danny. “Believe it or not, I think that’s our cue.”
He claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.
“I’m going to go find my friends,” I tell him.
“Okay. Hey. Later?”
“Yeah. I’ll find you.” I wish I could manage a sexy walk-away, but my mangled foot makes it impossible.
The pianist stands and announces, “On behalf of Stephanie and Jason, we welcome you to this celebration of their love. If you would please make your way to the lake and find a seat, the ceremony will begin shortly. Thank you.”
It’s hard to have déjà vu at a wedding because it’s all so fucking generic.
It’s ninety-nine percent platitudes. Celebration of love.
Of course I’ve heard this before. Everything is beautiful, but none of it is unique or surprising.
I’m struggling to parse out the specifics, to gauge how concerned I should or shouldn’t be about my affliction.
But then there’s the Tanya of it all, and the Danny of it all, and if denial is a river, maybe I should surrender to its current just to get me through this day.
I catch another glimpse of Ravi. He abandons two empty glasses on a cocktail table.
He keeps his chin to his chest, gaze down, maybe because he’s deliberately avoiding seeing me, or maybe for no reason at all.
He turns his back and heads toward Tanya, who waits for him nearby, hand outstretched, ready to be taken. I down the rest of my drink.
The crowd slowly filters over to the ceremony space. Not my friends, who linger on the couches nursing cocktails.
“There you are,” Evan says as I approach. “I thought you took off.”
“Still here.”
“Good for you,” he says.
“Should we…” Wyatt says, standing.
“Yeah, we should probably go. We’re gonna get shit seats,” Cassie says, finishing off what’s likely her second cocktail. Or third? She’s a little wobbly heading over to the ceremony space.
Then again, so am I.
Evan links arms with me. “Where’d you disappear to?”
I sneak a look over my shoulder. Danny’s behind us, too close to talk about. “Nowhere.”
“Please,” Evan says. “I saw you with—”
“Not now,” I whisper-yell.
He turns around and stares at Danny, because he’s incapable of discretion.
“Well, well, well,” he says. “Well, well, well.”
—
Fourth row back on the right. I appreciate the different vantage point, a brief disruption to my déjà vu.
The ceremony happens just like my dream, with Olivia officiating, with “Love in This Club” playing as Steph walks down the aisle holding a bouquet of pale roses and purple dahlia and fuzzy moss.
They exchange their vows, and I watch the woods, my thoughts cycling from dream paranoia to medical paranoia to Danny to Ravi to Tanya back to dream paranoia. I feel vaguely guilty for not paying attention, but I can’t quiet my mind.
Steph and Jace kiss to raucous applause. Luke does his crazy loud finger whistle. Everyone jumps to their feet. I’m slow to mine.
I keep my eyes beyond the bride and groom, beyond their altar, across the lake, searching the distant woods, the shadowy spaces between the trees. There’s nothing. No one. I should let it go. Move on.
Except that’s what I told myself in the dream. That I was being crazy. And then we all got murdered. Just because I can’t see him doesn’t mean he isn’t there. Doesn’t mean he can’t see me.
I see you.
“Let’s go eat and drink and party!” Jason shouts as he runs past us, Stephanie beside him, holding her bouquet overhead like a trophy.
Everyone wanders over to the cocktail area.
I follow. The chorus of conversation muddles together, the music plays again.
“Two of Us” by the Beatles. Above the noise, the music, I hear it—a groaning.
It’s in my head, I know. Like the brush of Steph’s cold skin—louder than the breeze.
My hand hovers over her mouth, waiting for the gift of an exhale.
It’s not coming. It’s not coming. She’s dying in my arms.
She’s over there taking photos with Jace and their guests.
Am I crazy? Am I mad? I can summon it so easily, with all my senses.
So acutely. I’m ceding to a nightmare, to strange mania, and I know I should just let it go but I can’t.
It’s over my head like a dark cloud, and I can’t sidestep it.
This…this shadow of death. God, it’s so morbid. So melodramatic. But…
“Where are you going?” Cassie asks me.
“Bathroom,” I lie.
I start in my heels but quickly give up and take them off. I stagger barefoot along the path to the cabins. I don’t care if I’m being irrational. This is when it will happen. If it happens.
If not, I’ll make an appointment with a neurologist on Monday. Or a psychiatrist. Both.
I get to the first cabin—Steph and Jace’s cabin. I circle it, heels in one hand, my phone in the other. I don’t see anyone outside, all clear, so I let myself in. The door is open—it didn’t latch, so it didn’t lock.
My heart jumps into my throat as I tiptoe around. Their cabin is laid out differently than the others—with only one bedroom, the bed strewn with rose petals. There’s a closet. A bathroom. Hiding places.
I remember my death. The taste of my own blood dripping into my fear-limp mouth. The sound of the knife cutting into my skull. My killer’s wheezing.
Before I lose my nerve, I rush forward and yank open the closet doors.
I confuse the hanging clothes for bodies, and my legs collapse under me.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I carry on muttering to myself as I push the clothes around, check the back of the closet.
I crawl toward the bed and lift the covers to make sure no one’s concealed underneath.
I grab onto the nightstand and pull myself up, shuffle over to the bathroom.
Flip the switch. Peer into the claw-foot tub, anticipating too many eyes peering back.
But it’s empty.
My bare feet go cold on the tile. I wait for relief that doesn’t come, because I can’t get past it. The sense that something bad is about to happen.
Steph’s laughter carries in from outside.
“Put me down,” she says.
“No, I have to carry you over the threshold,” Jace says. “You’re my bride.”
“I’m too heavy.”
“No, you’re not.”
I hear the door swing open, bang against the wall. Steph bursts into a fit of giggles. “You’re about to drop me.”
“I’m not!”
Somehow this panic feels just as shitty as running-for-your-life panic. What do I do? Hide in the bathroom?
I close the door.
Actually, no. This is a bad idea. They will definitely find me and that’ll be even weirder than if I just come out now. Reveal myself.
They’re stumbling into the bedroom. He’s throwing her on the bed. They’re—
“Um, hi!”
Steph screams.
“It’s Willa. I’m in the bathroom. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Willa?” Jace says. “What are you…”
There’s no time to come up with a lie. I’m not great at thinking on my feet.
I use index cards for presentations at work.
I keep lists of things I want to talk about with specific people in my Notes app, so I don’t forget, so I can reference them during future conversations.
I silently practice my coffee order while waiting in line.
If I know I’m going to a particular restaurant, I will study that menu in advance like there’s a fucking test. “I…I swear I’m not being a creep. ”
“You’re not here to watch?” Jason asks from the other side of the bathroom door.
“No! Ew. I mean, sorry, no offense.”
He laughs. “Are you decent?”
“Yeah,” I say, opening the door.
“Come here! I haven’t seen you,” he says, pulling me in for a bear hug.
He’s freakishly strong—a once prodigious wrestler poised to go to the Olympics until injuries forced him to hang up his singlet.
He drank too much in college, but Steph got him on the straight and narrow.
Now he works construction. He looks intimidating—muscled and tattooed, but he’s gentlehearted, and one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.
He releases me from his vise-grip. “What’s up? ”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m…”
“Are you okay?” Steph asks, popping her head into the bathroom.
“I…Your cabin door was open.”
“Oh yeah. It’s not really latching. My mom threw a little fit, but I said it’s fine, right? We’re all friends here,” she says, attempting to remove her birdcage veil. It gets stuck, which gives me an idea.
“I thought you might want help changing. I assumed you were in here. Because the door. Because it was open.” Good for me.
“That’s so thoughtful of you! Oh, I’m sorry we came in all—”
“No, no, no. It’s my fault,” I say. “Completely invaded your privacy.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says. “I really could use your help getting into my jumpsuit. And touching up my makeup, please with sugar?”
“Of course. Do you want me to give you two a minute first or…”
“Nah. I’m supposed to be looking for…Ah. There it is.” Jason grabs a small satin clutch off the nightstand.
I click my tongue. “You looked good before, Jace, but I have to say the bag really makes the outfit.”
He laughs. “My mom’s. I told her she must have left it in here. All right. I should get this to her; it’s got her meds. See you in a few. Love you!”
“Love you! Bye!” Steph says, blowing him kisses as he jogs out the door. She turns to me. “What did you think of the ceremony? Too long?”
Her eyes are wide and pretty, sweetly searching mine for approval. Her eyes, her eyes, her eyes, her eyes, her eyes.
“Not at all. It was perfect. Perfect.”