Page 41 of The Backtrack
Sam made her way back to Rachel, but Rachel squeezed her hand so tight Sam winced. “When I told you to bring us to a local bar, I didn’t meanhisbar.”
Sam shook her hand free. “Then you should be more specific next time.”
“You don’t even drink beer,” Rachel said, incredulous.
“I just needed to find the right kind.”
Rachel glanced at Damon. “And you didn’t tell me he was this hot.”
Sam glanced at him, too. “Well, he is.”
“Yes, he is.” Rachel smacked her lips.
Damon slid two tall glasses across the bar top. One was the sour beer that Sam liked, and the other was a darker and richer color that smelled like honey. Rachel moved to take out her credit card. “What do we owe you?”
“Sam drinks on the house, and so do her friends.”
“You might regret saying that,” Rachel told Damon. “Okay, let’s go. We need to talk,” she said to Sam.
They sat in two Adirondack chairs on the back patio and watched seagulls run across the sand in search of discarded french fries. A flight of the bar’s most popular beers was sent over a few minutes later, as well as a large pitcher of the sour beer for Sam.
“Are you mad at me?” Sam took a preemptive sip of her beer to ease the sting of the inevitableyes.
“Mad is not the emotion I’m feeling. Shocked? Yes.” Rachel took a thoughtful exhale. “Well, actually, I take that back. I’m a little mad that you brought me to this bar where your ex-boyfriend works without any kind of warning.”
“Not my—”
Rachel cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Yes,notyour ex-boyfriend, so you keep saying. But then why were you all over him?”
Sam didn’t have an answer for that. Well, she did, but Rachel wouldn’t like it. “Do you want the truth?”
“My rental car smells like sour milk, but I still drove here to see you. Which is all to say that yes, I want you to tell me the truth.”
Sam sat forward and decided to be honest, then. “When you came to my grandma’s house, and I’d just finished listening to another song—don’t roll your eyes, hear me out.”
Rachel still rolled her eyes all the same.
“In the alternate version of my life—or whatever—Damon and I were going to the prom. He was driving us there, way too fast, and then...” Sam closed her eyes, remembering the sound of Alt-Sam screaming for Damon to stop. “I don’t know. It seemed like we got in a car crash. I woke up before I could find out what happened.”
Rachel carefully studied her. “That’s why you looked like you’d been dragged through a swamp?”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“Yeah, you were.” Rachel bit her lip as she looked out. “Okay, so here’s what I think. I think you arenotlosing it.”
“Thank you.”
“What you’re sayingistotally bonkers, but I’m going to just kind of go with this and believe you. Because the Sam I know doesn’t make shit up. You hide things, apparently, but you don’t just spin weird stories. I believe that when you listen to this CD, you are seeing things.” Rachel leaned back into the chair and smoothed out her bob.
“Okay, so, now what?”
“I don’t really know. I mean, the easiest solution would be to not listen to the CD, right?” She squinted at Sam.
But Sam couldn’tnotfind out what happened to her and Damon on prom night—that just wasn’t an option.
“Okay, I can tell you don’t like that solution. But we’ve each had three beers, and I need to be sober to figure out alternate universes. So how about we finish up, call a Lyft home and figure out what to do in the morning. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, okay.” Sam gave her a weak smile. And then Rachel raised her glass, and Sam did, too, and they clinked them together in an understanding.
