Chapter 14
14
“L ook at my phone,” Pearl said, shoving the phone toward Sam.
Sam was on her hands and knees, cleaning out the area under the kitchen sink—which was so loaded with unopened dish soap, various cleaners and packages of sponges that it was impossible to see the bottom. She sat back on her heels, tore off the cleaning gloves and grabbed the phone.
“What am I looking at?” Sam only saw the lock screen, with a photo of Sam and Pearl toasting champagne flutes on one of her trips to visit Sam in Paris.
“Something’s wrong with my camera. I took photos of the sunrise. It’s the wrong color.”
“The wrong color?” Since Sam had been back, she’d fixed enough tech issues on Pearl’s iPhone to qualify her for a spot on the Apple Genius team.
“Look.” Pearl took the phone back, opened the screen and pulled up a photo of the neon orange sunrise splashed across the screen. “The sunrise this morning was pink, not orange.”
Sam frowned. She missed the tiny Cessna with Damon. She’d gone from being in flight to being on the ground, quite literally. “Grandma, I don’t really know how to fix this.”
“There must be some button.” Pearl grimaced at the phone screen. An alert sounded. “Oh, my,” she said.
“What now?” Sam said as she slipped the gloves back on.
“You remember Roberta Jones?”
Sam cleared her throat as she considered the name. “No.”
“She was on my poker team. Anyway, she had a heart attack and died.” Pearl shrugged, then walked off toward the fridge like she’d just reported the weather.
Pearl’s friends were dying off one by one, which made Sam think about how long Pearl would have if she checked herself into a retirement home. She didn’t want her grandma to just give up.
“Speaking of...” death , Sam thought, but instead said, “new life changes. I found a Realtor who specializes in downsize homes. You know, something smaller. A little bungalow might be nice. More manageable.”
Pearl didn’t say anything as she got a spoon, opened the lid of a yogurt and took a bite.
So Sam carried on trying to make the sell. “She said you’d get a great price for this place and could use that money to pay in cash for a smaller one.”
“And are you going to help me look at these more manageable places?” Pearl waved the spoon in the air. “Fill out the paperwork? Apply for a loan? Cosign the mortgage when they see I don’t have any income coming in?”
“Well, the Realtor—” Sam started again.
“I’m going to take a nap.” Pearl held her hand up like a stop sign to end the conversation. And without even looking at Sam, she headed off to her bedroom, yogurt still in hand.
Sam pressed her palms into the floor and let her head fall between her arms. Pearl wasn’t even willing to talk about alternative options. She couldn’t force her grandma to do something, even if it would be better for her in the long run.
Yesterday she’d been flying high, quite literally, but now she was grounded like a delayed flight and feeling helpless. She should just keep cleaning out the kitchen, but she wanted to feel good again. So she pulled her cell out of her back pocket and typed to Damon.
Sam:
Cleaning the kitchen today. Going to need a drink later. I’ll swing by the bar?
She went to pocket the phone just as it pinged. She glanced at the screen, but it wasn’t Damon.
Rachel:
Twenty minutes out. Bringing snacks.
Sam blew at a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. Rachel was coming. She’d known this was happening, just not so soon. Having her friend here would be good, though, because she still needed to sort out the CD player. Something she couldn’t talk to Damon or Pearl about.
Twenty minutes was a long time, actually. Long enough for Sam to put the headphones on and listen to another song. After all, how weird and embarrassing would it be if nothing happened? She hadn’t touched the CD player in more than twenty-four hours, and she had to make sure it still worked, in the sense that it was a time machine to another reality.
When she found a comfy position on her bed and put the player in her lap, she decided to text Rachel.
Sam:
I’m doing something bad...
There. She’d admitted wrongdoing, and now she could do the bad thing.
The next song was queued up and waiting, so she put on the headphones. She hesitated, knowing that she should stop herself—but she couldn’t, and her finger hit Play. Sam closed her eyes and the immediate drumbeat of Fall Out Boy’s, “Dance, Dance” began.
A little smile crossed Sam’s lips as she was sucked out of her reality and into a different one. Sam opened her eyes to Damon’s family—Cathy, Humbe and Farrah—shouting for Damon and Alt-Sam to smile, please!
She peeled off the headphones and squinted to focus on Alt-Sam, who stood on the damp grass in a gunmetal black dress with poofy black tulle. Grandma Pearl stepped toward her and brushed something from her spaghetti straps while taking her aside.
It was jarring to see Pearl this young and strong. Her steps were sure. She wore contacts instead of bifocals. Even her hair was longer and thicker than it was now. This was the Pearl Sam saw whenever she thought of her grandma; the woman she knew didn’t belong in a retirement home yet.
“I remember my prom night,” Pearl said to Alt-Sam. “I took Owen O’Donnell’s virginity. A night he’ll never forget.”
“Grandmahh,” Alt-Sam whined.
But a small smile crossed Sam’s lips. Prom night of 2009. She and Damon hadn’t attended. They’d opted for a pizza and movie night, because prom would mean slow dances, and holding each other, and those were things that might make Sam reconsider kissing Damon. But in this version, they’d already kissed plenty. So Alt-Sam was going to prom with the guy of her dreams, just like every teen movie had promised her would happen. Sam should have been thrilled for her other self, but the pang in her stomach reminded her it was just one more experience she missed out on.
“I’m not saying you have to take Damon’s virginity,” Pearl clarified. “But I put some condoms in your clutch, just in case.”
Alt-Sam quickly glanced at Damon, who was adjusting his long shiny black tie. “That’s really, um, not necessary.”
“I don’t need to know. Just want to make sure I’m not a great-grandmother anytime soon.” Pearl and Alt-Sam walked back toward the Rocha family. Though Pearl stiffened as a few piercing barks erupted from the house. Through the front window, a miniature pinscher—OG Rusty—growled at them.
Pearl discreetly growled back.
Damon approached Alt-Sam with a vibrant pink wrist corsage, and her teen self brightened.
“I picked out the corsage,” Farrah said. She wore purple Soffe shorts that were rolled up a few times so they fell just below her butt.
“Really? Thanks, Farrah,” Alt-Sam said, way too eager.
Damon held Alt-Sam’s hand. “You look so beautiful,” he said.
Alt-Sam deeply blushed through a smile. “And you are very handsome.”
Farrah groaned. “Get a room.”
“It’s their prom night,” Cathy said as she grabbed Farrah’s shoulders in a gentle way. “Let them be happy.”
And they were happy—Alt-Sam and Damon—as his thumb stroked the top of her hand, and she beamed at him through thick glittery eyeshadow.
“I have a surprise,” Humbe said. Then, with a flourish, Humbe removed the tarp from the salmon-pink convertible Mustang parked in the driveway.
“Dad?” Damon asked, clearly stunned.
“It’s a special night. Just drive safe.” His dad threw the keys to Damon, but it was Alt-Sam who ended up catching them.
“Are you sure?” Damon asked again.
Humbe nodded and Damon gave Alt-Sam a smile so genuinely happy that she almost burst from the sight of it.
“This is so awesome, thank you, Mr. Rocha!” Alt-Sam gave Humbe a hug, then let out an excited squeal as she raced to the passenger’s side, opened her door and slid in.
Humbe’s car was the kind of precious that made everyone nervous to so much as breathe near the thing. He wiped it with baby diapers and an oil you could only buy from Italy. He loved that car more than he loved Damon, or so Damon claimed. So for his dad to lend it to them for the night was, well, monumental.
“Room for three?” Sam asked as she jumped over the door of the car and landed in the back. She had another minute and a half left on the song. She tried to categorize what she was seeing for her notes later: prom night, Humbe’s car, Damon’s happy family, Alt-Sam’s bright eyes as she watched Damon in the driver’s seat.
Damon put the key in, turned the car on and “Dance, Dance” blasted from the radio.
He flashed a wicked grin as he pulled out of the driveway with a stop and start. He waved apologetically to his dad. The Mustang was a stick shift, and despite Damon’s lack of experience, the engine purred.
“I can’t believe Humbe let you borrow the car.” Alt-Sam touched the corsage absentmindedly.
“He must be in a really good mood or something.” Damon’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“Maybe he and Cathy...” Alt-Sam made an obscene hand gesture.
“Don’t finish that sentence, please.” Damon reached over for Alt-Sam’s hand and she gave it to him.
“Speaking of...” Alt-Sam reached into her purse and pulled out a Trojan, flashing it at Damon. “Pearl gave me condoms.”
“Really?” Damon laughed nervously. He revved the engine and Alt-Sam’s grin widened.
“Damon!” Adult Sam squeaked out as he put his foot to the metal and the car kicked off like a racehorse leaving the gate.
Sam held on to the back of both of their headrests as the car sped down the residential street. A squirrel awkwardly darted out of the way as Alt-Sam let out a loud and satisfied “Wooooo!” and flung her arms over her head and up into the air.
Sam couldn’t help but remember the day before, and the loud whoop she’d let out as she flew Damon through the sky. Now the steering wheel was in his hands, though.
“My dad may never let me drive his car again. We’ve got to make the most of it,” Damon explained as he switched gears.
Damon’s inner adrenaline junkie was coming out. The same way it had at the annual school fair, when he’d make them ride the Tilt-A-Whirl until they were borderline nauseated. But now that Sam flew for a living, she didn’t crave the constant proximity to danger the way she sometimes had growing up. And to be honest, the speed and Damon’s driving style made her queasy.
It didn’t help that Damon kept looking over at Alt-Sam to gauge her reaction. Almost like he was doing all of this for her. Like he was trying to impress her.
“Damon.” Alt-Sam’s voice burst through her own thoughts and Sam blinked at the road ahead. Which is when she saw it—the stop sign that Damon was careening toward. A sedan started to move across the intersection. If Damon kept driving the way he was, he’d run right into the car.
Damon grinned at Alt-Sam, still unaware, and picked up speed.
“Damon! Stop!” Alt-Sam shouted.
There was twenty seconds left on the song. “Oh, God,” was all Sam could say as she felt the car turn, and then saw the stop sign they were heading straight toward.
The final “Dance, Dance” lyrics raged from the radio. Sam wrapped her arms tightly around her body as she braced for impact.