Брайан Фриман - Alter Ego

“Yeah. Maybe he would have figured out a way to turn his father into the hero.”

“Actually, I think Chris Leipold hates Art as much as you do,” Serena said.

As the words left her mouth, Serena knew she’d said the wrong thing. Lori’s eyes turned to flame. “Not. Even. Close.”

Serena nodded. “Of course. I’m so sorry.”

The woman was silent, breathing hard and fast.

“Why did you help Aimee if you’re so opposed to the film?” Serena asked, trying to recover from her mistake.

“If they’re going to do it, they should do it right. And my mom bugged me about it forever. She thinks it will make me famous. Like I want to be famous for that.”

Serena looked around the living room and noticed cracks in the wall among the junk and a few photographs of Lori as a child, standing next to someone who was probably her father. Yellow flowered wallpaper peeled at the ceiling.

“Have you lived here long?” Serena asked.

“Ever since I came back to town. It was all I could afford, and it’s close to my job. Plus, I grew up on the other side of the freeway. I wanted to be back in my old neighborhood.”

“Does your mother live near here, too?”

Lori snorted. “No. When she left Duluth, she took me as far away from my father as she could. She always said she’d never set foot in this city again. She calls, but I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Is that your father?” Serena asked, gesturing at the photos on the wall.

Lori glanced at the pictures. “Yeah. Those were taken at the playground near the freeway when I was six. It’s not even fifty yards away from here. It still looks exactly the same. Nothing ever changes in Duluth.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I do purchasing and accounting at an auto parts store over on Grand. I can walk to work in the summer.”

“Nice.”

They were silent for a while. The Yorkie in the kitchen gnawed loudly at his rawhide treat.

“So what are you really doing here?” Lori asked.

“Like I said, I wanted to make sure you were okay. The things you said to Aimee were pretty emotional.”

“And I told you, I’m fine.”

“The movie brings it all back, though, doesn’t it?” Serena asked. “I know it does for Jonny.”

“Yeah. It does. So what? Let me guess: Stride told you I have a gun. He’s worried I’ll blow my brains out. And he sent you over here rather than come himself, because he knows I don’t like him.”

“You’re exactly right,” she admitted.

“If you lived in this neighborhood, wouldn’t you have a gun?” Lori asked.

“Probably.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Why don’t you like Stride?” Serena asked.

“You mean, because he rescued me and I should feel grateful?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see your husband as some kind of saint,” Lori said. “And every time I see his face, I’m right back there on the worst day of my life. So no, I don’t like him.”

“That’s all right. I understand.”

“You can tell him I’m not going to kill myself. You don’t need to worry about that. Your work is done, okay?”

“Okay.”

Serena stood up. There was nothing else to say.

“You can let yourself out,” Lori told her.

“Of course. Good night, Ms. Fulkerson.”

Serena headed for the storm door and went back out into the cold. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. As she took the treacherous front steps, she twitched as she heard Aimee Bowe screaming again from the television inside.

The voice sounded way too real.

“Save me.”

Cat did her math homework at the dining room table in Stride’s cottage. She played “Hard Times” by Paramore at a volume loud enough to fill the house, and she danced in the chair and sang along to the music. When she heard the faint ping of the doorbell in the other room, she switched off the song and skidded in her socks across the hardwood floor to the front door.

It took her a moment to recognize the woman on their porch. She wore sunglasses at night, as if in disguise, and she had the fur-lined hood of her coat tied snugly around her face.

“Oh, hey, you’re—” Cat began. “You’re Aimee Bowe, right?”

The actress glanced over her shoulder at the empty street. Her eyes were uncertain. “Yes. I was looking for Serena. Does she live here?”

“Serena and Stride are out right now,” Cat said, “but Serena just texted and said she’d be home pretty soon. You want to wait?”

Aimee hesitated. “Sure. If I’m not bothering you.”

“Well, Jennifer Lawrence was supposed to come over with Emma Watson, but I guess they blew me off,” Cat replied.

Aimee gave her a warm smile. “You really can’t count on those two.”

Cat let her into the house and squeezed the door shut. It was warped and usually stuck. The great space of the cottage was furnished with two red leather sofas, antiques, and bookshelves. A fireplace took up most of the far wall. Walnut steps led up to a closed door that led to the attic. Aimee followed Cat into the dining room, where Cat’s schoolwork was spread across the table. The actress undid her coat and took off her sunglasses.

“Do you want anything?” Cat asked. “Stride thinks I don’t know how to get into the liquor cabinet, but he is so wrong.”

“No. I’m fine.” Aimee glanced down at the open pages of the calculus book on the table. “Math, huh? That was never my subject.”

“I’m kind of wired for it,” Cat said. “I sort of see it all in my head. Like Sudoku. Serena can’t solve one of those puzzles to save her life. She hates it when I give it back to her all done in like thirty seconds.”

“Don’t let me take you away from your homework,” Aimee said.

“I’m almost finished anyway. I’m going to get a Diet Coke. You sure you don’t want something?”

“That would be great,” Aimee replied.

Cat grabbed two cans, and then she and Aimee returned to the great space and took up places on the sofas. The actress brought her feet casually under herself, and so did Cat. She watched Aimee study the artwork on the living room walls, which included a painting of Cornelius Vanderbilt and a century-old line drawing of Duluth city streets. On the mantle was a wooden plaque that said believe .

“It’s sort of Addams Family, huh?” Cat said. “Stride likes it that way. Serena keeps trying to slip in some new stuff.”

“I like things a little old-fashioned,” Aimee replied.

Cat took a sip of Coke. “Just so you know, I’m working really hard not to go all fangirl on you. Part of me wants to sneak out my phone and stream it live so everybody at school can see. But I won’t, don’t worry.”

“I appreciate it. You want a selfie together before I go?”

“That would be great! I mean, really, this is so cool, having you in my house. The whole idea of the movie thing happening in Duluth is just wild. Usually for us, freighters going under the lift bridge is about as exciting as it gets.”

“That’s sweet. You’re Cat, right? Is that short for anything?”

“Catalina.”

“What a beautiful name. I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Serena shared some of your background with me,” Aimee told her. “You’ve had a rough time. I hope you know she’s really, really proud of you.”

“Oh, yeah. Serena and Stride are both great. My mom got killed when I was six, so I feel like I got a second chance with Serena. And Stride is Stride. He’s more than a dad. To me, he’s like the best man in the universe.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I know. I just wish I wasn’t such an idiot sometimes.”

“For a teenager, I think that’s part of the job description,” Aimee said. “Believe me, I’ve done a lot of stuff that I regret. And not just as a kid, either.”