Page 84 of The Wrong Heart

The sound of her voice sends more tingles of déjà vu down my spine, but there’s static, so I can’t be sure. I fiddle with the settings again, unsure if my microphone is on. It seems to be muted, so I use the chat feature to send my reply.

Me:I hear you.

My reply pops up on the screen, and Magnolia speaks again.

“Okay… great. Are you ready?”

Definitely not.

Me:I’m ready.

There’s a dramatic pause, and my pulse revs with anticipation as I wait for her to reveal her identity. I feel it in my ears, my temples, my throat. My hands are folded in my lap, fisted tightly, and my jaw aches as my teeth clench together.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

The camera jiggles, and a piece of white-blonde hair floats into the frame.

My stomach sinks. My heart snares on a jagged beat.

That wall.

That voice.

Widowed and wilting.

Another beat passes, and Melody situates herself in front of the camera, timid and demure, rosy-cheeked and practically shaking.

I blink. I blink again.

No, no, no.

Fuck. No.

“Hi.”

She says it in the sweetest, softest voice, her smile as bright as the sun, while everything else crumbles around me, an avalanche of wreckage and astoundment.

Magnolia is Melody.

Melody is Magnolia.

And I should have known.

I should havefuckingknown.

This is supposed to be the point where I send her ahello, tell her she’s fucking beautiful, let her know she’s everything I never knew I wanted.

But I don’t do that. I don’t do that at all.

Instead, I slam my laptop shut, pick it up, and hurl it across the room with a violent growl, watching as it breaks into a million fractured pieces against my living room wall. Even my dog jumps up and shuffles over to his dog bed, rattled by my wrath.

My chest heaves, my body tremors, my mind reels with impossibility.

What are the odds? What are the goddamn odds?

Another wave of raging disbelief ripples inside me, and I manifest it into a typhoon of self-destruction. I trash my whole house, pulling things off walls, smashing dishes, clearing countertops, shouting obscenities, and then I collapse into a heap on the floor, my back flush with the kitchen wall.

Magnolia is Melody.

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