A Thousand Pieces of You

  The two of us start layering noodles, sauce, and cheese in the glass baking dish. Everything goes smoothly. No curling pasta, no giggling, no Paul at my side. It’s less fun this way.

  As we work, I tell Theo in a low voice what I learned during those last moments in London. “If Paul had done it, there’s no way he could have looked so surprised. He honestly didn’t know.”

  “My response to that rhymes with shull-bit. Come on. You’re too smart to be fooled that easily.”

  Stung, I whisper, “You didn’t see him. I did.”

  “I don’t have to see Paul’s face to know what he’s done. You think you’re too smart to be lied to? He fooled your parents the geniuses, so I’m pretty sure he could fool you, too.”

  I can’t accept that. I can’t. If I know anything about Paul Markov, I know he’s not evil enough to murder my dad. And if I owe the Paul from Russia anything for loving me, and saving my life, I owe his other selves the benefit of the doubt.

  “He didn’t betray us,” I say. “And I won’t betray him again by doubting him.”

  Theo sighs as he starts spooning on another layer of ricotta. “You’ve got a tender heart, Meg. You get angry quick, and you simmer down quick, too. I love that about you, but this is not the time to keep changing directions. The world keeps shifting around us; that means we have to hold on to what we know.”

  “We don’t know anything. We didn’t even stick around for the funeral. They might have learned more once they were able to—” To examine the body. To perform an autopsy. I can’t even say those words aloud while thinking of my father. “Besides, in Russia, Paul died to save me. I don’t think he’s the villain here.”

  I remember coming to in the dacha, lying in Paul’s arms. His whisper echoes inside my head: Golubka. Little dove.

  Some flicker of what I’m feeling must show in my face, because Theo gets even more intense. “Okay. So Paul Markov isn’t a son of a bitch everywhere. Infinite dimensions equal infinite possibilities. There’s probably even a dimension where I’m not instantly desired by every woman I meet.” The joke doesn’t do much to lighten either of our moods. He continues, “Seriously. Anything can happen. Everything has to happen, in one dimension or another. So there has to have been a decent Paul somewhere. You met him. Congrats. But the Paul we’re dealing with on this trip? That Paul? He screwed us over, and he wants to do it again. Don’t let him. Don’t go soft on him now.”

  It doesn’t feel like I’m going soft. It feels like I’m holding firm. “I just don’t believe he did it, Theo. He admitted wiping the data, and of course he stole the Firebird, but—”

  “So he confessed to everything but the murder, and that’s all it takes to get back on your dance card?” Theo runs one hand through his unruly black hair, obviously trying to calm himself. “This is hard for me too, by the way. I loved Paul. I always thought—you know, we’d wind up on the same faculty at Cambridge or Caltech, be mad professors together.” His smile is wistful, and fleeting. “In some dimension, I guess we’ll get to do that.”

  “Even you see it,” I say, ladling on the final layer of tomato sauce. “You know Paul’s not a bad guy. He must have had a good reason for everything he’s done.”

  Theo sighs, and the look on his face is that of a man fighting a lost cause. “Take some time here, while we’re safe and things aren’t too weird. Think this over. Really think. And just remember, the man Paul could be doesn’t matter nearly as much as the man he actually is.”

  I know Theo genuinely wants to protect me—but I know he’s also realized that Paul and I became close in Russia. He doesn’t know exactly how close, but he’s guessed enough of the truth to be upset.

  To be jealous.

  When Theo’s eyes meet mine, I see that he knows everything I’ve been thinking. One corner of his mouth curves upward, like he wants to smile but can’t quite manage it. “I never claimed to be objective about you, Meg.”

  “I need you to be objective about Paul.”

  “One of us is being objective about Paul already,” Theo answers. “Guess we have to figure out which one. But it’s a high-stakes game. Bet on Paul, get it wrong—and we both might pay with our lives.”

  20

  THE KITCHEN DOOR SWINGS OPEN, AND THEO AND I LOOK up to see Josie standing there wearing a Coronado Island T-shirt and a backpack slung over her shoulders.

  She grins wickedly. “Am I interrupting something?”

  We were having a serious conversation about a murder in another dimension, that’s all, but that’s not an explanation my big sister needs to hear. Besides, right now, I’m just too glad to see her.

  “Hey, you.” I go to Josie and hug her as tightly as I can with the backpack in the way. “Welcome home.”

  “Thanks.” Josie ruffles my hair in the way she knows I hate. Normally that’s my cue to scowl at her, but right now I even love her messing with me.

  The last time I saw Josie, she was sobbing hysterically in Mom’s arms. Now she’s her usual laid-back, beach-girl self, complete with flip-flops and a sunburned stripe across her nose. As I study her face, I recognize anew all the ways in which she’s similar to my father: the blue eyes, the square jaw, the chestnut color to her hair. I’m the one who looks like Mom, more like Vladimir and Peter—

  That stops me short. Only now do I remember I’m in a world where my brothers and little sister never existed.

  “Are you okay?” Josie gives me a funny look. Behind us, I can hear Theo putting the lasagna in the oven.

  “Yeah. I’m good. It’s just—” I make a fluttery gesture with one hand, which is supposed to mean something like, I haven’t got my act together right now.

  But Josie’s expression hardens, and I realize she thinks I’m talking about Paul, and the scars his betrayal have left on the family. That’s why she’s home for New Year’s instead of partying with her friends; she’s trying to help our parents get through it.

  “Mom and Dad are in the great room?” Josie asks, dumping her backpack at the door like she has ever since fourth grade. As she lopes in to see our parents, I lean back against the fridge, disquieted.

  When Theo gives me an inquisitive glance, I motion toward the great room. “Go on, hang out for a while. I need a second.”

  He doesn’t look 100 percent satisfied with that response, but he nods, giving me the space I need.

  After Theo leaves the kitchen, I stand there staring out the kitchen window. (At home, we have a suncatcher dangling there, a little orange and yellow butterfly. Here, the suncatcher is in the shape of a bird, all blue and green.) My heart aches, and this time, there’s no cure for it.

  I can see the irony. Throughout this journey, I’ve longed to be with my family again. Now I’m with them, more or less, but I have another family to miss.

  Katya and little Peter—I never even got to see them after the attack on the royal train. Peter must have been utterly terrified. He won’t be able to sleep at night; I ought to have a couch brought into my room for him, so he can rest nearby, so I can wake him if he has nightmares. And Katya? Probably she’s already arguing that the tsar should allow women in the army. And Vladimir will be urging the tsar to consider more constitutional reforms, so that no other pretender to the throne can rise up to capitalize on the dissent . . .

  I should be there, I think, before remembering that, of course, I am. The Marguerite who belongs in that dimension is back in charge of her own life. We are enough alike for me to know that she’s taking care of Peter, and that she’s adding her voice to Vladimir’s, for whatever it will be worth with the obstinate Tsar Alexander.

  She’s also mourning the loss of Paul Markov, her Paul, dead and gone forever.

  Does she even remember her final weeks with him? Does she know that she was able to spend one night with Paul, one night when all the barriers between them came down? If not, then . . . I stole that from her. Something sacred that ought to have been hers alone became mine forever.

  I told Theo earl
ier that I didn’t think Paul was the villain here.

  Now I realize the villain might be me.

  “So, I was wondering about the ethics of traveling through different dimensions,” I say at dinner.

  Mom and Dad exchange glances, and Theo gives me a look like, Are you crazy? I pretend I don’t see him.

  “We’ve had these conversations often enough,” Mom replies as she helps herself to a piece of the lasagna. “Forgive me, sweetheart, but I never thought you were interested.”

  I have to admit this is more true than not. If I didn’t tune out some of the heavy-duty physics talk from time to time, I’d go crazy. Besides, when was any of this theoretical stuff going to apply to my real life?

  Now, of course, I know the answer to that question.

  “When you guys were talking about it before, it was always, you know, ‘what if.’ Abstract, not concrete.” Hopefully I sound casual, just interested enough to make conversation. “Things have changed now.”

  “Yes, they have,” Dad says heavily, and I know he’s thinking of Paul.

  We are gathered around the rainbow table, temporarily cleared of its papers to make room for lasagna, salad, garlic bread, wine, and a ceramic pitcher filled with ice water. (The Nobel Prize is on the floor beside a stack of books, all but forgotten.) In so many ways, this scene is exactly the way it ought to be, cozy and shabby and unmistakably ours. Mom’s hair is pinned back into a messy ponytail with two pencils. Dad wears reading glasses with rectangular, tortoiseshell frames. Josie smells like cocoa butter. Theo has his elbows on the table. And I’m kicking the center pedestal of the table, a nervous habit my parents gave up trying to break me of when I was in junior high. There’s even a package of shiny hats Josie brought, like she does every year, though we won’t put them on until nearly midnight.

  Yet there’s an empty chair at the table, a place where Paul should be and isn’t. The most powerful presence in the room is his absence.

  “We thought it would be a chance to glimpse a few small layers of the multiverse though another set of eyes . . . and then we would return home, to share the knowledge.” Her gaze turns dark. “But apparently knowledge isn’t enough for some people.”

  “Come on, Sophia.” Theo gives her his most charming smile, which is pretty damn charming. “Don’t tell me you’re turning paranoid too.”

  Mom shakes her head; one of her curls tumbles loose alongside her face. “I don’t condone what Paul has done. He broke faith with us all. But that doesn’t mean he was wrong about Triad.”

  “Wait, Triad’s still pushing?” Josie says through a mouthful of salad. “I thought you guys told them to shove it.”

  Dad sighs. “We tried. Turns out it’s rather difficult to get a multinational corporation to shove anything. Particularly when they bankrolled your research.”

  “What exactly is it you’re trying to get Triad to shove?”

  Theo holds one hand up to my parents, an I’ll-take-this-one gesture. “Some researchers at Triad wanted to push the boundaries of what we can do. Which theoretically is all good! It’s not like we don’t want to learn more about the possibilities of traveling between dimensions. But Conley doesn’t want to only send energy through dimensions. He wants to send matter.”

  I shake my head no; this much I understand. “Consciousness is energy and can travel more easily. But matter is incredibly difficult, right? It’s kind of a miracle that the Firebird can make the trip.”

  “That’s correct,” Mom says, now in full professor mode. “However, the Firebird also proves that matter transfer between dimensions is possible.”

  “And it’s not like that’s so bad, on its own,” Theo jumps in. “I mean, how awesome would it be if we could bring back some amazing tech from a dimension slightly more advanced than ours? Bring it here, analyze it, figure out how to replicate the effects? That’s golden.”

  I recall the technology from London—holographic view-screens, smartphone rings, all the rest.

  “So far as that goes, I’ve no objections.” Dad looks weary. I decide to pour him a little more wine; normally he’d never have more than one glass even on New Year’s Eve, but tonight maybe he needs it. “But Conley’s pushing a more aggressive agenda. It sounds less like he wants to study other dimensions, more like he wants to, well, spy on them.”

  “Can you imagine it?” Mom says. “He wants to find ways to let the travelers fully take over the bodies of their other selves. For long periods of time, if not permanently. That’s not what we envisioned. We never wanted to harm anyone, and what Conley’s talking about goes beyond harm. The Firebirds would be used to . . . to steal people from themselves.”

  Dad shakes his head as though he’s just had a chill. “You could be talking to your best friend and have no idea they’d been replaced by a spy from another dimension. It’s bloody well terrifying.”

  Theo and I glance sideways at each other and sit very, very still.

  Mom takes a deep breath. “Anyway. As I said, Paul went too far. It’s too late to keep Triad from developing the technology further. Much too late.” She says this with obvious regret. “They’ve only been set back a few months. He would have done better to work with us; I still think we might be able to convince Conley that the risks outweigh the benefits.”

  “Exactly,” Theo says. “Change comes from within, right?”

  “Which is why we let you take on that Triad internship, but we shouldn’t have,” Dad says. “They’ve overworked you these past few months; we weren’t even sure we’d get to see you tonight. You’re aware you’re running dangerously behind on your dissertation, aren’t you?”

  Theo groans. “Please, can we not invoke the name of the dissertation on a holiday? It’s like saying ‘Bloody Mary’ three times in front of a mirror at midnight.”

  Dad holds up his hands, like, I surrender. I remember him making that exact same gesture when I argued that I should get to paint in my room, because any stains would be my own problem. The memory makes me smile, and yet want to cry at the same time.

  “Anyway, I didn’t mind being at Triad,” Theo continues. “It gave me a chance to defend our work. And, you know, I get that Conley wants some return on his investment. We simply have to make him understand the limits, ethical and literal. Because, seriously, there’s only so much we’re ever going to be able to bring across dimensions.”

  “Let us pray. Now can we discuss something else? I confess, I can’t yet think of Paul without—” Dad’s voice trails off, and I know he wants to say something about being angry, but that’s not right. He’s not angry; he’s heartbroken.

  Quietly Mom says, “I made him a birthday cake.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself.” Theo takes Mom’s hand and squeezes it tightly, a gesture as loving as any I’ve ever given her. “Okay, Sophia?” She nods sadly.

  Then Dad straightens in his chair. “Marguerite, we’re distracted, but we’re not that distracted.”

  What is he talking about? Then I realize that, after pouring wine for everyone else at the table, I had helped myself to some. We drank wine in the Winter Palace; I’d honestly forgotten there was such a thing as an age limit. “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Go ahead,” Mom says. “It’s New Year’s Eve.” She raises one eyebrow. “But don’t go making a habit of it.”

  “All my fault, I’m sure.” Theo grins. “Everybody knows I’m a bad influence.”

  Josie shoots him a look. “You’d better not be too bad an influence.” She’s talking about what she thinks she saw in the kitchen, which brings up the whole question of what I do or don’t feel for Theo, on top of every other confusing thing that’s happened . . .

  I take a sip of the wine. It doesn’t help.

  After dinner, Dad does the dishes. When he starts humming “In My Life,” at first it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Then I remember that this is the last time I’ll ever hear him humming his beloved Beatles—and I have to bite my lip to hold back the tears.


  Or I could just stay here, in this dimension, forever.

  It’s tempting. Dad’s alive. Our family is together. Whatever happened with Paul, we can get to the bottom of it, put things right.

  But back home, Mom is mourning Dad, worried about Paul, and scared to death for me and Theo. I have to get back to her. This dimension may look like home, but it’s not, and never will be.

  I stay right outside the kitchen, listening, until Dad finishes. Then I slip out to the back deck, needing a few minutes alone to steady myself before we start watching the festivities in Times Square on TV.

  It’s the same deck, the same weird sloping backyard that’s not even flat enough for a folding chair. Even the electric lights are identical, Josie’s plastic tropical fish glowing along the rail. The tall trees that ring our yard obscure the houses near us; even though we’re in the heart of the Berkeley Hills, it’s possible to imagine that we’re isolated, alone. When I was a little kid, I used to pretend the trees were a stone wall around our castle. I wish that were true.

  The sliding door behind me opens. I don’t turn my head as I remain sitting on the steps of the deck.

  Theo drapes Mom’s apple-green cardigan around my shoulders before he sits down next to me. “And here we are again.”

  I laugh despite myself. “This is where this whole crazy trip began.”

  “You must wish I’d never even told you about the Firebirds.”

  “No, I’m glad you did.” I think of everything I’ve seen, every aspect I’ve discovered of the people I love. Especially Paul—always, always Paul.

  Where is he right now? If he were here, maybe I’d know whether what I love in him is the same, whether it lives on. All I know is I want him here with me so desperately it almost hurts.

  “You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes.” Theo rests his forearms on his knees, leaning forward to study my face. “How are you doing?”

  “I think I could try to figure that out for most of the next year and still not know.”