The Rehearsals Page 8

  He was sitting on a kelly-green perforated metal seat.

  On the ferry.

  In the same clothes he’d worn to dinner with the pharma clients two days ago.

  Two days ago. That had to be right. Yesterday had been dedicated to the catastrophic tragedy he wished he could erase from his memory forever.

  But why was he back on the ferry pulling into Friday Harbor?

  Instead of slowing down, his heart beat faster and with such fervor, Tom was positive it’d burst out of his chest if he removed his hand.

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  Tom turned, knowing who the voice belonged to and also knowing that it was impossible. A pain shot from the nape of his neck down to his shoulder blades. The Henry Winkler look-alike gave him a friendly smile.

  “Good morning?” Tom questioned with a nervous nod.

  Beneath his hand, his heart was slowing. Stopping, perhaps. This was what was happening. He was hallucinating. Did that happen when someone experienced cardiac arrest?

  His lips were as dry as his throat. He ran his tongue over his fuzzy teeth, wanting a toothbrush almost as much as he wanted to figure out what the hell was going on.

  The last thing he remembered was the fight.

  Jealousy and embarrassment pulsed as he replayed the night before.

  The rehearsal dinner. His father’s speech. Megan’s flight. And then—Leo saying he was in love with Megs. Tom’s fist twitched in muscle memory.

  He’d confronted Megs; they’d had the first real fight of their entire relationship.

  And Tom had chosen to hit the detonator on the wedding and run.

  He remembered thinking he couldn’t go to his parents’ suite. It would have been priceless fodder for his dad’s disappointment. Nor could Tom go to Brody’s hotel room. Hanging out with Brody and Emmeline even when Tom wasn’t in crisis was awkward enough. They were either so polite to each other they seemed like strangers or so passive-aggressive he wanted to bolt for the nearest exit.

  So Tom had dragged his feet into the hotel’s market, bought a bottle of Jack, and took refuge in the rental car. Sleeping in the back seat had aggravated the persistent ache in his neck, but he’d had to choose between facing his family and sleeping in the rental car, and the car was the lesser of the evils.

  He remembered sleep had been eluding him, not because he’d been origami’d into the back seat of a midsize luxury vehicle but because the foundation he’d built his whole world on had shifted. He’d counteracted his insomniac thoughts with long swigs from his bottle of whiskey as he’d tried to imagine a future without Megs. All he saw were blank pages, empty scenes, and heartache.

  And now he was back on the ferry, docking at the island he didn’t remember leaving.

  He pulled out his phone, cursed the lack of cell service, and settled for pressing the calendar icon. It reminded him that today was the day of his rehearsal dinner in Roche Harbor.

  The familiar aches and griminess he felt indicated he wasn’t hallucinating. This was real.

  So there had to be a rational explanation for why he couldn’t remember getting on this boat. And why he was wearing his work suit.

  Or maybe, if this morning wasn’t a hallucination, yesterday had been a dream. That was it. He’d just experienced a dream so vivid it’d felt like reality. A couple of weeks ago Megs had dreamed Tom ate the wedge of smoked Gouda she’d bought to reward herself for getting through a tough week and she woke up mad at him…until she saw the cheese was still in the fridge. Dreams could feel that real.

  Yes. That had to be it. Yesterday had been a dream. Definitely a dream.

  And if yesterday had been a dream, that meant Leo and Megs had never…

  He rubbed at the fist he’d used to punch Leo—which showed no sign of having hit anything—then let it drop. He could have burst out laughing from relief. His life, his relationships were all still intact. The world as he’d known it still existed.

  As soon as his best friend arrived today, Tom would tell him about the dream and they’d have a good laugh.

  A change in time zones and too many hours at the office. This was where his confusion was coming from. Whenever Tom pulled an all-nighter at work, he would come home and bellyflop into a three-hour sleep. And every time he woke up, it took him several minutes to figure out where he was. Megs loved teasing him about his coma naps.

  He put his eye drops back in his pocket and tried to shake off the nightmare. He was sure Megs would be there when he got off the ferry, and his world would shift back into place.

  Except when he got off the ferry, Megs wasn’t there. He carried his luggage up the ramp and looked around, hoping she was running late. He stood motionless by the curb, staring at the incline of the road and the restaurants and shops he could’ve sworn he’d seen just yesterday.

  “Fancy a ride? Where are you heading?” A pedicab appeared in front of him. The driver was a woman with long, silvery hair and leg muscles more impressive than his own.

  Wordlessly, Tom shook his head. His heart started pounding again as the pedicab soared off in search of other customers. Tom squinted in the sun and spotted a giant fishing hat across the street. His eyes traveled in slow motion down from the hat, and he saw a man wearing a baby carrier…holding a contented tabby cat.

  This wasn’t just déjà vu. This was déjà vu on speedballs.

  A taxi was idling near the ice cream shop. Tom awkwardly jogged over, luggage in tow, and climbed in. After asking the driver to take him to the resort at Roche Harbor, he pulled out his phone and saw that he had a text from Megs and a voice mail. When he listened to his brother’s familiar yet somehow new message (“It’s Brody. We’re already at the tee, Spare Parts. Get here now. Get here five minutes ago”), a chill ran through his body.

  He didn’t know what was going on—couldn’t even fathom it. But whatever it was had eclipsed the enormity of the terrible day before.

  So it was a new day…and yet it was going very much the same way Tom had known it would. Brody was sipping from his flask, making jokes about Tom’s longtime fear of flying and their mother’s “two planes and a ferry” complaints. John was slapping Brody on the back and taking little jabs at Tom, launching questions about the previous night’s client meeting.

  The whole morning, Tom barely spoke except to answer his dad as best he could. This clearly irritated Brody, who liked to get a rise out of him. They’d had this dynamic their entire lives: Tom seeking attention from his older brother, and his older brother delivering only teasing. It was a hamster wheel Tom couldn’t seem to dismount.

  “What’s your deal, Spare Parts? Getting cold feet? In a fugue state? Or is this one of those things where it turns out you’ve been dead this whole time?”

  “Are you asking me if I’m Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense?”

  “I was thinking more like Weekend at Bernie’s.”

  Tom tried to laugh but it came out strangled. Even he could feel the quiet mania he was projecting.

  “Are you on drugs or something?” When Tom ignored this, Brody tapped him on the forehead the way he used to when he’d pinned his little brother and wouldn’t let up until Tom named ten candy bars. Tap, tap, tap. “And if you are on drugs, young Thomas, will you please be a good little brother and share?”

  Tom shook his head, afraid of what he was disrupting in the space-time continuum. Maybe if he went through the motions of participating in this golf game, everything would go back to normal.

  Although…

  Tom wasn’t sure he wanted things to go back to normal. Yesterday’s “normal” was the worst of his life. He needed answers. Understanding. Something. Not knowing what else to do, whenever his dad and Brody got involved enough in the game, Tom turned away and tried to call Megs. She’d always been his touchstone, and even after the fight they may or may not have had the night before, somehow the prospect of hearing her voice seemed like the right next step. A way to start fitting the pieces of this puzzle together.<
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  But Megs didn’t answer. Unease continued crawling up and settling over him like a second skin.

  When it came to the point in the game—the ninth hole—where Tom had previously asked his father for advice, Tom realized he didn’t want to hear that speech again. Today he was staying silent and following a different trajectory.

  He nearly laughed at himself. All he could think was that this day was repeating. But that didn’t make any sense. The idea was so absurd, he nearly leaned over the water hazard to splash his face, wake himself up.

  So Tom silently lined up his putt. He was about to gently guide the ball into the ninth hole when John interrupted him.

  “You know, Tom, I’d say you’re doing all right this weekend.”

  Tom froze, praying his father was referring to his golf game. “Thanks?” he tentatively ventured.

  “Megan’s a smart choice for a partner. You’ve done well on that. She’s driven. Works hard. Good-looking enough to be arm candy, yet smart enough to hold a conversation. But even when you select a partner who makes sense on paper, there are always variables that are unaccounted for.” He raised his eyebrows at Tom’s brother. “Broderick knows what I’m talking about.”

  “To my wife, Emmeline.” The vaguely amused look that had been on Brody’s face all morning vanished as he raised the flask in a toast, then took that long swig. Tom tried to block his father out. He tried a gentle swing and overdid it. His ball rolled farther away. He walked toward it, pressing his lips together so he wouldn’t say a word.

  “In Megan’s case,” John continued, “it’s her disastrous, infestive family. But look—marriage doesn’t have to mean compromise. We’ve already set the precedent of the two of you spending the holidays with our side of the family. When you start having kids, you don’t want that Donna woman influencing them. So you’ve got to be tough about that. You get what you want, you lay down the law, and if Megan ever complains about it…” He lined up his putt. “There’s always golf.”

  Just like he had the first time, John tapped his ball into the last hole.

  There was absolutely no way Tom could have dreamed so many minute details of a day that hadn’t happened yet. Which meant…

  No. That didn’t make sense either.

  Still, Tom could think of no other explanation.

  Could it be possible? Was this really happening?

  He thought of everything he’d seen and heard and felt twice now: Henry Winkler on the ferry. The crick in his neck. Brody’s drinking game. His father’s “advice” that couldn’t be stopped.

  Adding it all together could mean only one unthinkable thing: Tom was reliving this day.

  A prickle settled over his skin as the world seemed to wobble. How was something like this possible? Should he go to a hospital? To a psychic?

  He very nearly sat down right on the green, but he didn’t want to attract attention to himself and the inner panic rising like a flood inside him. This was an inexplicable situation and his best course of action, he supposed, was to keep moving forward. Pretend he was fine.

  Even though he was most definitely not fine.

  Because whatever was happening was impossible.

  And if yesterday wasn’t a dream…then what he’d learned was true.

  Megs and Leo really had slept together.

  Tom’s throat went dry; his stomach churned. His knuckles ached with the phantom pain of a punch that hadn’t happened. His anger felt as fresh as it had the night before.

  He’d been betrayed by the two people he’d thought would always love him, be loyal to him. Who’d chosen him. By his best friend and the woman he’d trusted more than anyone.

  He’d never felt so alone in all of his life.

  As quickly as he crumbled, he snapped out of it. Megan had betrayed him, so Tom was wasting his time here. He didn’t need to stay for the burger and pilsner at the restaurant his dad didn’t think was good enough; he didn’t need to witness his brother’s day-drinking or endure his dad’s reminder that he was an idiot for not telling his fiancée about Missouri yet. He considered leaving without a word, but he needed Megs to know that he knew what she’d done.

  And so the only thing Tom had to do was find Megs and call off the wedding again—this time before the sham of the rehearsal dinner celebrating their sham of a relationship even began.

  Chapter Ten

  Megan

  Whether it was out of morbid curiosity or because she was moving in some sort of trance, Megan continued on through the day as she already had once before. Although, by skipping the part where she’d met Tom at the ferry, Megan found herself in the hotel lobby at the same time Paulina arrived. She held on to that small change in her day like a precious heirloom. Proof she wasn’t losing her grip on reality.

  There were the family members you were born with and the family members you chose; Paulina Tate-Shahid was both to Megan. Despite being the much younger sister of Megan’s erratic mother, Paulina had a calming presence—and a wicked wit.

  While nervously sipping her extra-large coffee and waiting for Donna, Megan saw her aunt. Paulina’s husband, Hamza, was beside her, hauling their luggage. Megan ran to them. “Paulina!”

  Her aunt embraced her fully, her pregnant belly wedged between them. “Hi, my darling girl. Hamza and I are so excited to be here.”

  “So excited she may piddle on the floor,” Hamza added, a twinkle in his warm maple-syrup eyes.

  Paulina spun on him, her endless auburn locks twirling with her. She held up an index finger. “Once. That happened once. And in my defense, this kid of ours seems to have set up camp on my bladder.”

  “You look gorgeous,” Megan said as Hamza kissed Paulina’s forehead sweetly.

  “I look like I swallowed another person. Who’s also pregnant.”

  Megan laughed despite her unease at the inexplicable day she was having. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to have some voices of reason here.”

  Paulina and Hamza exchanged a knowing look.

  For the first fourteen years of Megan’s life, Paulina had lived down the street, babysitting her and her siblings whenever Donna would abruptly leave, claiming she had a job interview, only to return smelling of cigarette smoke and perfume samples.

  Megan had been crushed when Paulina left to do her undergraduate degree at Boston University, which felt light-years away from Great Falls. But it was one of their first long-distance conversations that had clarified her own path. Megan had told Paulina about a photography class she was taking in which she was documenting how a recent drought had affected Montana, and Paulina said, “Oh, Megan, that’s amazing. I can definitely see you spending your days telling stories. Artists aren’t created, you know. They’re born. That’s who you’ve been since day one.”

  Her words had flipped a switch in Megan. She began watching documentaries, admiring how filmmakers brought focus to overlooked stories, infused them with atmosphere and context. Paulina went on to pursue a graduate degree in England, where she fell in love with Hamza and decided to stay permanently, so Megan’s horizons expanded even further.

  Applying to Ivy League schools was Megan’s version of making a wish and blowing dandelion seeds into the wind. She didn’t expect her wish to come true. And yet the acceptances rolled in, so she chased the legacy of her aunt, the only role model she’d ever had, to Massachusetts, believing she had two options: become Donna or emulate Paulina.

  At Harvard she’d found purpose. And Tom.

  “How are you holding up?” Paulina tucked some stray hairs behind Megan’s ear. “Where’s everyone else?”

  As though on cue, Brianna breezed into the lobby, already halfway through a monologue about how she’d exacerbated Donna’s self-consciousness with one “innocent” comment about her bazongas.

  Paulina gave Megan a quick squeeze and took Hamza by the hand. “We’re going to get checked in and settled. Good luck.”

  The day took a familiar shape from there. Megan rode to Friday H
arbor for an impromptu and wholly unnecessary shopping trip with Brianna and Donna. When Brianna brought up staying with her and Tom in New York, Megan stopped herself from saying that she was apparently moving to Missouri, because with any luck, that part would stay in her dream. A small relief amid all the confusion.

  “Has anyone heard from Alistair?” Brianna asked out of the blue as they drove back to Roche. Brianna had never been comfortable with silence.

  Donna openly ignored the question. Megan shook her head, both an answer and a Don’t go down this road gesture. Donna was very sensitive about matters concerning her firstborn, and Megan wasn’t sure she could take any more of her mother’s antics this morning.

  “Well,” Donna huffed, “if you hear from him, remind him he still has a mother, should he ever want to speak to her.”

  “I’d text him, but he told me not to,” Brianna continued, oblivious to the emotional temperature shift. “He said he doesn’t always have international plans on his phone and my messages were costing him too much money.”

  This time Megan ignored Brianna too.

  Despite a few variations here and there, Megan was experiencing everything she had the day before and the repetition left her feeling more and more disoriented. As the details added up, she was finding it increasingly difficult to believe it had all just been a dream.

  She was so thrown, she ignored every call and message from Tom. She couldn’t trust herself to have a normal conversation with him, was terrified she’d blurt out echoes of their fight from the night before or let something slip about Leo. Until she could fully understand what was happening, she needed to keep her head down.

  And she did. Right up until she realized she was approaching her potential run-in with Leo. That, she definitely could not handle a second time. She’d barely survived the first.