“When he dies . . .”
“Then he’ll be a ghost too. And maybe he still remembers me. What if he can find me, even in the closet?”
I shook my head. My heart was thumping in my chest, and without Mindy pressed against me, the world began to shift again.
“I won’t let him touch you.” The gray was fading from the room.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She smiled, which squeezed a single tear from her eye. I reached out, still enough of me on the flipside that I could feel it for a moment, wet against my fingertip.
I brushed her tear away, and then we were in different worlds again.
CHAPTER 13
“AND IT HAS THESE AMAZING windows,” Darcy said. “You can see the rooftops of Chinatown. It’s perfect.”
Aunt Lalana smiled. “It sounds like an exciting place to live.”
“I can’t wait to move in.” As Darcy took a bite from her burger, she felt a guilty trickle of juice run down her left wrist. She’d ordered without thinking. “Um, you don’t mind that I’m eating a cow, do you?”
A laugh came from Lalana. “Darcy, I was there at dinner when you announced you were becoming a carnivore. You were, what, thirteen?”
“Right, but it still feels rude. Especially since I’m asking you for a huge favor.”
They were in a café in the West Village, near Lalana’s apartment, which was small and prim and elegant, like Lalana herself. She was as coordinated as always today, wearing a blue collared shirt under a bright yellow jacket, one dangling earring in each color.
“It’s not your diet I’m worried about, Darcy. It’s your rent.” Lalana glanced at the lease, which lay on the table between them. The offending number was there on the first page. “Isn’t it a little expensive?”
“It’s more than I wanted to spend, but it’s the perfect place to write.”
“So that’s why it’s so much. Good writing vibes. Of course.”
“My writer friend Imogen looked at it with me, and she agreed.” Darcy imagined Nisha rolling her eyes at this conversation, and making up new rules about saying “my writer friend.” “If it’s a good place to work, it’ll pay for itself.”
“I suppose those publishers are giving you an awful lot of money. No offense, Darcy, but sometimes I can’t quite believe it.”
“Me either,” Darcy said with a shrug. “My agent says it was the first chapter. She says the buyers from the big chains only have time to read one chapter. So if a book’s got a killer opening and an awesome cover, it’ll be in all the stores.”
Lalana looked dubious. “But the people who buy it, don’t they read all those other chapters? Shouldn’t the rest be good too?”
Darcy felt a twist in her stomach, as she did every time she thought of a stranger (or thousands of strangers) reading her novel.
But she put on a smile. “Are you saying my book sucks?”
Lalana laughed. “How can I tell? You won’t let us see it.”
Darcy didn’t answer. Of the family, only Nisha had been allowed to read Afterworlds, and she was sworn to secrecy.
After all, Annika Patel had never told her daughters about her murdered childhood friend. So in return, Darcy had never told her mother about discovering the story. Instead, she’d directed all her questions into her writing.
But it still felt strange to have borrowed her mother’s childhood tragedy as a plot device.
“Like I keep saying, you can read it once it’s officially published. I just want you guys to see it as a real novel, not just some story by, like, me.”
“I can’t wait, Darcy, and I’m sure you’ll write many more.” Lalana’s eyes fell to the lease again. “But don’t you want to have some of your advance left over?”
“The important thing right now isn’t saving money. It’s making my books as good as I can.”
Lalana finally gave up, laughing. “You’re just like your mother. Nothing in half measures, always so certain of herself.”
Darcy wasn’t sure what to make of this compliment, if that’s what it was. Lalana was the glamorous sister, the one who lived in New York, had a job in fashion and a revolving cast of handsome boyfriends. To Darcy and Nisha, she was the more driven, the one who’d always done what she wanted.
Which was why she was the perfect choice to ask for this favor.
“I’m certain about some things,” Darcy said. “Writing, and New York, and this apartment.”
“I know you are. But certainty has a slippery side. You’re sure I won’t get in trouble if I cosign this lease?”
“Of course not. Paradox owes me a hundred grand, any day now. It’s just that the building management company doesn’t believe some eighteen-year-old is getting paid that much.”
Her aunt laughed a little. “Listen to you: ‘a hundred grand,’ like a gangster.”
“Sorry. That’s the way Nisha always says it.”
“I’m not worried about the money, Darcy. What I meant was, will I get in trouble with your parents? Why aren’t they cosigning?”
“There’s no time to get the lease to them. Other people want the apartment, like, yesterday.” Darcy took another bite, which muffled her next words. “But yeah, they might freak out about the price. A little.”
“More than a little.” Lalana neatly speared a chickpea with her fork. “And if I’m the cosigner, Annika will blame me if you starve to death.”
“Nisha says I’ll have enough money.”
“She does?” Lalana cocked an eyebrow. When it came to practical math, Nisha’s word was gold. Even their engineer father had her check the family tax returns.
“Her budget says I’ve got seventeen dollars a day after rent.” Darcy looked down at her burger, which would cost at least that much after tip and tax. “That means I’ll be eating less meat. That’s good, right?”
Lalana shook her head. “It takes more than food to cook, Darcy. Do you own any dishes? Any pots and pans?”
“Um . . .”
“Or anything to clean your house with? A mop? A broom? Rubber gloves?”
Darcy laughed at the thought of herself wearing rubber gloves. But it was true that she didn’t have any of those things. Not a single scouring pad or frying pan.