Page 35 of Molt

“Compete with yourself.”

A laugh escapes me. “I need to know if 1897 Lenora was a bitch.”

“Absolutely.”

I grin. “Good.”

“You threw a wineglass at my head once.”

“Did you deserve it?”

“Absolutely.”

I laugh.

He laughs too.

And suddenly this isn’t funny. Because I can see it. Not a memory. An image my brain builds from his words. Another woman. Another me. Standing in some old house. Long dark hair. A glass in my hand. August ducking. Us laughing afterward. Maybe kissing.

Maybe…

I stop. “What were we?”

The laughter disappears.

I already asked him upstairs.

He called us a mistake but I don’t believe him anymore.

“August.”

“Don’t.”

“Were we married?”

“No.”

“Lovers?”

Silence.

“That’s a yes.”

“Lenora.”

“Did I love you?”

The other side of the door goes completely still.

I wait. “August?”

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t need the answer.”

“Maybe I do.”