“Thank you,” Elena said. “Proof that good can come from even the worst decisions.”
At the back of the courtyard was an old two-story carriage house. Elena paused with her hand on the doorknob.
“She’s been in here all day. Ever since we heard the news. Be a little gentle with her?”
“Of course,” Con said as if she knew who Elena meant.
They went into the control room of a small music studio. Overlapping Persian rugs covered the floor. Two plush couches piled high with pillows sat back from a recording console. It wasn’t high-end equipment, used by the look of it, but it was professional and well maintained. Through the rectangular window separating the control room and the live room, Con saw a woman playing a piano with her back to them. Over the monitors, she heard a familiar tune, an old Awaken the Ghosts song called “Incidental Perdition.” It was the first song Con had ever written, although the band rarely played it live. Chills ran up her spine.
Elena went to the console and pressed the talk button. “Hey, you were right. She’s here.”
The piano stopped, but the woman didn’t move. Con found herself holding her breath. Finally, the woman gathered herself and stood up from the piano. Con couldn’t see her face. The soundproofed door between the two rooms opened, and the woman stepped through.
“Stephie?” Con said in stunned disbelief. Stephie Martz was about the last person in the world she’d expected to see, but now, it all made a kind of sense. Of course this would have been where her original had been going. Making amends to Stephie had been one of those things that Con had been meaning to get around to for three years but then always found an excuse to put it off. She felt strangely proud of her original that she’d actually done it. And happy for her too. Con wished that she’d been the one to do it.
“I didn’t expect you so soon,” Stephie said. “Was just playing one of your old songs. And here you are, like magic.”
“I haven’t heard that song in years.”
“Me neither,” Stephie said. “Popped into my head this morning, and I’ve been messing with it all day.”
“Your hair is so long,” Con said, suddenly on the edge of tears.
“I grew it out. Yours is so short.”
Con’s hand went to her head. “It was a mess. Stephie, I—”
Stephie shook her head and closed the distance between them. She put her arms around Con, pulling her close. It came as a shock to Con’s system, and her arms hung limp at her side. This was the first time anyone had touched her. Really touched her. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed it. Even if it was only because of a horrible misunderstanding, it felt indescribably good. But it was a misunderstanding; it was all based on a lie. Con tried to pull away, but Stephie hugged her all the tighter.
“I’m not her,” Con whispered.
“I know.”
With that, Con began to cry, softly at first, then hard and ragged like a landslide, clinging to her friend.
Stephie just held her and said nothing at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Con kept out of the way while Stephie and Elena finished making dinner. Dahlia set the kitchen table, a wooden oval with mismatched chairs, and then showed Con where to sit. They were in the apartment above the music shop. Con had a thousand questions, but there would be time for that later. Right now, she felt content to sit and huddle close to the warm glow of this family. It gave her time to process the fact that Stephie had been living only a few hours from DC all this time. She was from San Antonio, and Con always assumed she’d followed Hugh’s body home to Texas. But no, here Stephie was, happy and in love.
When the food was ready, everyone sat and Elena held out her hands for grace. The table lowered its eyes, even Stephie, which surprised Con. In college, they’d bonded over escaping the suffocating expectations of their intensely religious parents. Stephie was about the last person Con would have expected to find their way back to God. She wondered if maybe Stephie was only going along to make Elena happy, but when Elena finished saying grace in Spanish, Stephie lingered for a moment, eyes closed, to say a private amen. When Stephie looked up, she noticed Con watching her and smiled as if she’d been caught going through Con’s purse.
Grace over, the table sprang to life. Salad and garlic bread were passed around. Stephie picked out music, and the opening track of The Bends began to play. Con looked over at her old bandmate. First grace and now Radiohead, a band that Stephie notoriously loathed. Con had spent most of freshman year trying to convince her of her abject wrongness. Once it became clear that Stephie wouldn’t change her mind, it degenerated into Con rickrolling her with Radiohead songs whenever and wherever possible. Con’s masterstroke came at a show in Dallas when the band launched into a pre-rehearsed cover of “Just” during an encore. Con had winked mischievously at Stephie, who had burst out laughing and given Con a defiant middle finger, then was left with little choice but to play along.