he’s offered to let me go with you if you wanted to get out of Houston for a while.”
I knew about the time off, of course. I hadn’t known about his offer to Eric. Before Lottie’s death, I had been convinced Daniel hated me. His reaction to her death, the way he had acted since then, had made me reconsider a lot of things about the man who had almost certainly only grown to appreciate what I could do for him over the years rather than any genuine affection for me. But he had liked Lottie. She was impossible not to like.
“This just seems … wrong. I promised her. Sort of. I don’t know, even if it’s only partly Lottie, how could I betray her like that?” I was shaking my head again. What was I thinking?
“You’re not betraying her. Lottie’s dead, Dietrich. This woman … she told you. She’s not Lottie.”
But he hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t touched her or heard her voice or smelled her, that scent of pears and honey that not even death could erase. I knew what Eric meant. His belief in the metaphysical still baffled me; how someone so intelligent, so logical and reasonable could believe in something like souls and Heaven would always perplex me, almost as much as American idioms. “She’s Lottie enough,” I finally offered. Truthfully, it was a half-assed attempt to end the discussion and he knew it. He had won. He had me. I wanted to find her.
“Maybe. But there’s only one way to find out just how much of her is still there.”
And that was how he finally convinced me. If he had been holding onto that reasoning, that line of thinking that I would never know how much of my dead fiancée had been resurrected by this …whatever this was … then he could have saved us five minutes and just started there.
“Ok, Eric. Then here’s what we know. She looks just like Lottie and is still living as either Charlotte or Lottie, and she made it sound like she was living with her friend Lydia, who looks just like Jamie. She knew she used to live in Houston, which is why she was visiting here, so she may remember she grew up in Baton Rouge and may even remember her mother moved back to Alexandria after her father died. She drove here though, and it also seemed like she was within a day’s driving distance because Lydia was expecting her. Personally, if I were trying to avoid anyone noticing me, I would avoid Louisiana altogether, and Texas, but Texas is a huge fucking state.”
Eric picked up his drink again and drummed his fingers against it. The circles of condensation had widened, forming overlapping circles of moisture. I shoved the box of Kleenex toward him and nodded toward the spreading wet pools on my desk. “How do they get around? What social security numbers do they use?” Eric asked.
“I was talking to my dead fiancée. Do you really think I asked her about fake social security numbers? Wipe that up.”
Eric grabbed a few tissues and swiped at the puddles, but his mind was still reeling with the possibilities that any of Lottie’s story could conceivably be true. “Think about it, Dietrich. What it would take for someone like that to just disappear in America.”
It certainly wasn’t impossible to live in the U.S. illegally, but I knew the complexities of it; how difficult it would be for someone to find herself suddenly in a strange world, not knowing the language or laws or customs and needing, somehow, not to draw attention to herself. Which meant if she was telling the truth, someone had already been here to help her and her friend adjust, to hide them, to integrate them into a new world.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, “how long do you think they’ve been doing this?”
Eric shrugged. “Who knows? But if any of this can be proven … Dietrich, it’s kind of a national security problem.”
“No. This is why you need to stay out of it then.”
“Oh, please. We don’t have to report her . But the others…” I stopped him. He wasn’t taking her friends away from her.
I knew about the time off, of course. I hadn’t known about his offer to Eric. Before Lottie’s death, I had been convinced Daniel hated me. His reaction to her death, the way he had acted since then, had made me reconsider a lot of things about the man who had almost certainly only grown to appreciate what I could do for him over the years rather than any genuine affection for me. But he had liked Lottie. She was impossible not to like.
“This just seems … wrong. I promised her. Sort of. I don’t know, even if it’s only partly Lottie, how could I betray her like that?” I was shaking my head again. What was I thinking?
“You’re not betraying her. Lottie’s dead, Dietrich. This woman … she told you. She’s not Lottie.”
But he hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t touched her or heard her voice or smelled her, that scent of pears and honey that not even death could erase. I knew what Eric meant. His belief in the metaphysical still baffled me; how someone so intelligent, so logical and reasonable could believe in something like souls and Heaven would always perplex me, almost as much as American idioms. “She’s Lottie enough,” I finally offered. Truthfully, it was a half-assed attempt to end the discussion and he knew it. He had won. He had me. I wanted to find her.
“Maybe. But there’s only one way to find out just how much of her is still there.”
And that was how he finally convinced me. If he had been holding onto that reasoning, that line of thinking that I would never know how much of my dead fiancée had been resurrected by this …whatever this was … then he could have saved us five minutes and just started there.
“Ok, Eric. Then here’s what we know. She looks just like Lottie and is still living as either Charlotte or Lottie, and she made it sound like she was living with her friend Lydia, who looks just like Jamie. She knew she used to live in Houston, which is why she was visiting here, so she may remember she grew up in Baton Rouge and may even remember her mother moved back to Alexandria after her father died. She drove here though, and it also seemed like she was within a day’s driving distance because Lydia was expecting her. Personally, if I were trying to avoid anyone noticing me, I would avoid Louisiana altogether, and Texas, but Texas is a huge fucking state.”
Eric picked up his drink again and drummed his fingers against it. The circles of condensation had widened, forming overlapping circles of moisture. I shoved the box of Kleenex toward him and nodded toward the spreading wet pools on my desk. “How do they get around? What social security numbers do they use?” Eric asked.
“I was talking to my dead fiancée. Do you really think I asked her about fake social security numbers? Wipe that up.”
Eric grabbed a few tissues and swiped at the puddles, but his mind was still reeling with the possibilities that any of Lottie’s story could conceivably be true. “Think about it, Dietrich. What it would take for someone like that to just disappear in America.”
It certainly wasn’t impossible to live in the U.S. illegally, but I knew the complexities of it; how difficult it would be for someone to find herself suddenly in a strange world, not knowing the language or laws or customs and needing, somehow, not to draw attention to herself. Which meant if she was telling the truth, someone had already been here to help her and her friend adjust, to hide them, to integrate them into a new world.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, “how long do you think they’ve been doing this?”
Eric shrugged. “Who knows? But if any of this can be proven … Dietrich, it’s kind of a national security problem.”
“No. This is why you need to stay out of it then.”
“Oh, please. We don’t have to report her . But the others…” I stopped him. He wasn’t taking her friends away from her.
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