Page 40 of The Backtrack
“You have a bad day, you take a bath. You don’t put on the headphones that are making you see things,” Rachel said in a hushed tone. She held the player up and looked ready to smash it on the ground, which couldn’t happen. Not until she knew the fate of Alt-Sam and Damon.
“Right,” Sam said. “The thing is, in this last vision, it looks like maybe I died?” Sam waited for Rachel to react and, to her credit, she immediately did.
“I don’t want to be dramatic,” Rachel said.
“I know that.” Sam shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of where this was headed.
“But you look like a person I’d cross the street to avoid,” Rachel said. “I mean, you’re in a sports bra and denim shorts and I think there’s a tube of Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker stuck in your hair?”
Sam reached her hand up. She hadput the lip balm into her ponytail to save for later. What was so wrong with that?
“So this is the bad thing you texted about?” Rachel held up the CD player but didn’t wait for a response as she walked into the living room and plopped herself on the floral couch.
Sam sheepishly followed, suddenly feeling like a scolded teenager.
“And why are your hands moving like that?” Rachel gestured to Sam’s hands, which fidgeted at her sides.
Sam tried to still them but found it hard. “Ineedthat CD player back. Please.”
Rachel pointedly sat on the player. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to take a shower, wash your hair, blow-dry and put on actual clothes. I’m going to make you something to eat, and then I’m taking you to a bar where we are going to have a drink to calm down whatever the hell is going on here. Then andonlythen will we talk about this CD player.”
“Rachel, I hear you, but I just need to listen to the next song.” Sam approached her, but Rachel wiggled on the couch like a hen getting ready to roost.
“Shower. Hair. Clothes. Eat. Drink. Go do it,” Rachel ordered.
Sam stared at Rachel, who stared back, but somehow harder. So Sam decided to do as she was told, because maybe if she looked reasonable, her friend would be, too.
But despite the blow-dried hair, high-waisted shorts and silk top, plus a bit of makeup for good measure, Rachel was not willing to discuss the CD player. In fact, she’d hidden the thing so Sam couldn’t so much as try to grab for it.
“Eat,” ordered Rachel as she pointed to a very sturdy turkey sandwich.
Sam ate.
When Rachel asked for a bar to put into their Lyft destination, Sam gave her the name of Band Practice Brews. Damon hadn’t responded to her text, but she wanted to check and make sure he was still alive and the alt universe hadn’t somehow seeped into this one.
As they walked through the entrance of the bar, there was Damon pouring out a pale ale from the tap. He looked up and, to Sam’s relief, gave her a surprised smile.
She was so happy to see him standing there that she went behind the bar, wrapped him in a too-tight hug and held him.
“Woah, woah,” he said as he hugged her back. “What was that for?”
“I’m just glad to see you.” Sam pulled away, tucked hair behind her ear and looked up at him. Damon was okay. That was the only thing that mattered.
“Hi,” Rachel said, breaking the moment. “I’m Rachel, Sam’s best friend. And you are?”
“Damon,” Sam and Damon said at the same time.
Rachel gave Sam a stern look that she deftly avoided by admiring the ceiling fan.
“I’m Sam’s friend from high school,” Damon added.
“Damon,” Rachel said. “This is the guy you—”
“Yes,” Sam quickly hissed.
Rachel’s lips tightened. “Could we have two beers, please? I need something that pairs well with rage.”
“Uh, sure thing.” Damon wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder.
