Page 120 of When We Had Forever
Which is stupid. Travel writing can’t possibly be that glamorous. In reality, those people probably have lives filled with misplaced baggage and delayed flights, with whole-body sunburns and precious keepsakes lost on buses.
I transfer a container of organic strawberries. I should count myself lucky that I never went to Greece. I hate sunburns. Better that I ended up with theMedical Devices Monthlygig, which I can do from the comfort of my living room.
Soon, I run out of groceries, and my attention settles on the conveyor belt. Whirr and stop. Whirr and stop. The cashier scans each item with marked disinterest.
Oh, for god’s sake. Who am I kidding? I turn to the magazine rack.
Heat slams into my chest, like someone has punched me in the lungs with a molten fist. It takes at least five seconds to figure out why. I stare at the displayed issue ofNational Geographic, my mouth agape.
What is my husband doing on the cover, coated in snow and with a fake scar on his eyebrow? And why does he look so...so...
A high-pitched sound invades the quiet. It takes a moment to realize it’s coming from me. I clamp my mouth shut and snatch the magazine. Crisp yellow words run along the bottom.
“Grayson Drake Defies Death at Everest.”
My trembling hands rattle the pages. What?What?
No matter how long I stare, the headline doesn’t change. And I finally realize this isn’t my husband at all, but his brother.
Hisidentical twin, apparently.
Blood bellows in my ears as I roll up the magazine and shove past my cart. My shirt catches on the candy rack, making a box of bubble gum smack onto the tile, but I don’t stop. The cashier hollers. I turn just long enough to fish a twenty from my purse and push it across the counter, leaving my groceries behind.
In the car, I toss the magazine onto the passenger seat. The engine’s roar adds to the hurricane inside my skull. Every time I glance over, the familiar face of a stranger stares back. And every time, it absolutely guts me.
I stomp the gas pedal harder. I don’t understand the violence of my reaction. But it is. Violent. That aqua stare turns me inside out, pulling each nerve ending up to the surface.
The tachometer tips into the red. Rain lashes against the windshield. God, I never once pictured the man who upended our lives this way. I imagined Michael’s stoicism pasted onto different features. Instead, Grayson’s features are the same, but the open pain in his eyes? His beseeching expression?
Utterly different.
At home, I barrel up the stairs and into Michael’s office. He jerks up from his desk, surprise splashed across his features. “Mina, what’re you—”
“What the hell is this?” I brandish the magazine.
He freezes. His gaze travels fromNational Geographicto me and back again. In the silence, raindrops scrabble against the windowpanes.
I shove the magazine closer, as if he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. “You never once thought to tell me that your brother’s your identical twin?”
His eyes flick to mine, unreadable. Meanwhile, my heart tries to climb out of my body using my throat as a ladder.
“No,” he finally says. “It doesn’t matter.”
I give the magazine a shake. Of course it matters. It matters so much I can hardly breathe. I just...can’t find the words to explain why. “Why on earth would you have lied about this?”
“Ididn’t,” he says. “I just didn’t bring it up. Why would I have?”
I stand unmoving, locked in a mute battle with the fury scalding my throat.
Michael sighs and sets down his pencil. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” I shrill. “How about the truth?”
“You know the truth. I didn’t volunteer that he’s my twin because it doesn’t matter. What my brother looks like has no impact on our lives whatsoever.”
My whole body trembles. I try to find a flaw in that logic and fail spectacularly.
“Mina.” Michael watches me with steady eyes. He’s utterly in control of himself. Always so unbelievablycontrolled. “Why are you so upset?”
