Universal Alien (10 page)

T
HE KIDS LOOKED CONFUSED,
Pierre looked suspicious, and Chuckie had heard this from me already so he had his poker face on. But my C.I.A. accusation caused Reader to jerk. He pulled it together quickly and slapped an innocent and confused expression onto his face, but his reaction was the final proof I was looking for.

“No idea what you're talking about,” Chuckie said.

“Bunk. How did my mother die?”

“She was in an accident—” Chuckie started.

“Bunk again. If she didn't die of a disease, and I didn't witness this death—and based on you saying that you hated having to tell me that she was dead
again
, I didn't know about her death until you broke the news—then she died on a covert op. One I'd imagine she had both of you working.”

Both men were ready to lie to me, I could tell. But Dad, Aunt Carla, and Caroline entered the room, forestalling the fibbing.

The kids ran to our new arrivals and got hugs and confirmation of their well-being. Chuckie helped me up from the couch—I didn't need it, but he seemed to think I did, and I didn't want to have an argument or the discussion we needed to have in front of Aunt Carla.

I examined the three newcomers. Each looked slightly different than the last time I'd seen them—mostly hairstyles and clothing choices. All off, just a little, but off from what I knew to be reality.

True, I didn't see Aunt Carla a lot, but she was wearing a wedding ring—the ring I remembered was from her third marriage, indicating she was still married, which wasn't the case as I knew it.

Caroline looked happier than I'd seen her since Michael Gower had died. Not that she'd spent the past year and a half moping but still, some of the light had gone out of her eyes when she'd lost the only man she'd found that she'd wanted to marry, and that light was still in those eyes here.

And Dad . . . Dad looked like he'd been heartbroken and trying to hide it for a long time. Had no idea what was really going on, but whatever it was, it hadn't been good for my father. Meaning that Chuckie's insistence that Mom was dead had a lot more weight.

Dad came over and hugged me tightly. He was shaking. “To think we almost lost all of you . . .”

Decided that, regardless of what I was thinking, my father needed comforting and reassurance, not me to sound crazy. I could save that for later. “It's okay, Dad. We're all alright.”

“You're a wreck, Katherine,” Aunt Carla said as she extracted me from Dad and hugged me as well. “Why haven't you all had her get cleaned up?” she asked the men chidingly.

“We were waiting for you and Caro to get here,” I replied quickly. “So you two could help me.”

Caroline looked confused by this, but Aunt Carla beamed. “I'm happy to cover what Angela would have, dear.”

Saw Chuckie wince out of the side of my eye, and felt Dad stiffen next to me. Chose to use the diplomacy I'd been forced to learn these past several years. I hugged Aunt Carla again. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

Every jaw in the room dropped, other than Aunt Carla's—and I knew that because I didn't feel her jaw hit my shoulder—and Jamie's. Even the boys looked shocked. Jamie, however, looked pleased.

“Okay,” Caroline said, sounding as confused as she looked. “Normally you want Charles to help you.”

“Not today. He has to figure out who ran us off the road and why.” Figured now was a terrible time to say that I didn't think he was my actual husband and wanted to avoid intimacy, because that was only going to lead to bad things.

Chuckie sighed. “She's hit her head, as I keep on saying. Right now, Kitty doesn't remember us correctly. She doesn't think I'm her husband. In fact, she believes she's married to a space alien and has a completely different life.” Apparently Chuckie felt the Full Disclosure Option was the way to go. Nice of him to cover that for me. “Until proven otherwise, I still think her concussion—which I'm certain she has—caused her to mix up our
Traveler
game in her mind.” He was set on this one.

“Wedding rings,” I reminded him.

“You lost your set and got one to replace it without telling me,” Chuckie said. “You've done similar with other things we like that got lost or broken. That's just one reason, but it makes sense.”

“Does it?” My head throbbed, which it shouldn't have, since I was basically all healed up. Of course, there was always the nagging possibility that he was right and I just had a major concussion and wasn't as healed up as I thought I was. “My head hurts again.”

Aunt Carla raised her eyebrow. “Really?” She gave me a long look. “She looks peaky, I'll give you that. Caroline and I will help you and hopefully we can reassure you that Charles is your wonderful husband and the father of your beautiful children.”

“Yeah.” We stood there for a couple of seconds. Everyone looked at me. “What?”

“We're waiting for you three to leave to get you cleaned up,” Reader said.

“I have no idea where to go. I've never been in this house before.”

Aunt Carla, Caroline, and Dad exchanged the “oh dear” looks. “Not to worry,” Aunt Carla said gently, as she put her arm around me. “Caroline and I will show you.”

Max opened his mouth—to tell everyone I wasn't his mother, I was sure—but I caught his eye and shook my head just a little, and he closed his mouth. Chuckie and Reader weren't the only ones who could pass little signs around.

We went upstairs and Jamie came with us. She trotted into a room, but it wasn't the one Aunt Carla was heading me toward. “Can I see where Jamie's headed?”

“Certainly, Katherine. It's her room.” Aunt Carla was being much nicer and far more solicitous than I was used to. Chose to accept this as the way things were wherever here was and go with it.

Jamie's room was a shock. First of all, it wasn't pink. Jamie loved pink. To the point where we weren't sure that, if she had the means, she wouldn't remove all other colors from the spectrum. This room was pretty—clearly done up in Little Girl Pastels, but it wasn't the Shrine to Pink that I was used to.

The other oddity was the mirror. There was a very large three-way mirror dominating this room. Jamie was sitting in front of this mirror, just staring at it. She looked happy and intent. She also didn't turn around or even look at any of our reflections in the mirrors.

“What's she looking at?” I asked softly.

“Herself,” Caroline said. “At least, we think so.”

Aunt Carla backed us out of the room and headed us down the hall. We passed three more bedrooms, all larger than Jamie's. Aunt Carla had me look into each room.

One was clearly for Charlie and Max—the bunk beds and Junior Science Wizard and Future Sports Star motifs were in full force, as was the proof that Legos were the model airplanes of this generation. Unlike Jamie's room, this room was pretty normal. Filled with all the top-of-the-line stuff little boys liked, but still, normal.

The bedroom across the hall from the boys' was Reader's. I'd never seen how he decorated outside of Centaurion Division properties, which tended to conform to the Elves' preferred Functionally Austere style. The evidence showed that Modern Hipster Chic was apparently Reader's personal look. There were framed prints of a selection of his fashion covers all over, too. Some I recognized—the Calvin Klein ad that I'd had up in my dorm room, for example—but most I didn't. He looked fantastic in every one, of course.

The next bedroom was Pierre's, or rather, Mini Paris Done Tastefully. Had to admit I liked it, but then, Pierre never made a misstep in anything as far as I'd ever seen. Monet was the artistic theme here.

“What's wrong with Jamie?” I asked as we entered what was clearly the master bedroom. This was decorated exactly like I'd expect a room where Chuckie and I spent a lot of time to be decorated. Framed rock posters on the walls—all of them signed—were mixed up with eclectic artwork, much of which looked original. Smaller art pieces and little knickknacks adorned the tops of the gigantic bookcases, all packed with books, along the longest wall, a king-sized bed that looked extremely comfy, a lounger that reminded me of the one I used when Jamie was a baby, and a gigantic walk-in closet, attached to a bathroom reminiscent of the one I'd shared with Jeff in Vegas, right before we got married.

“We're not sure,” Aunt Carla said carefully. “You and Charles don't like to talk about it a lot.”

“Ah. Okay. Um, I have to say, this is a great house. And I've only seen some of it.”

“Yeah, you guys love it,” Caroline said. “Your place in Australia's great, too. Do you remember it at all?”

“No. I know no one believes me, but I don't belong here.”

Caroline hugged me. “It's okay, Kit-Kat. We'll get you cleaned up and then you can relax and we'll show you pictures and remind you of things. It'll all come back to you.”

Aunt Carla cleared her throat. “Ah, Katherine? Is there a reason you might not remember? Aside from a concussion, I mean.”

“I honestly have no idea what you're suggesting.”

She sighed. “Pressures due to all of Jamie's issues. Your nagging concern that Charles might sometimes . . . stray. The loss of your mother.” She looked very sad. “You and Sol haven't handled it well. It's why I try to come by when you're in the States, at least as much as my travel schedule allows. This is the first time you've . . . let me help. I'm just wondering if there might be a trigger Caroline and I can discover that would have caused you to have this complete memory loss of so many things that you treasure.”

“No, not that I can think of. In the world I'm from, Mom isn't dead, I don't worry about my husband cheating on me because A-Cs mate for life, and Jamie is a precocious, happy little chatterbox, who has no issues.” Well, she was potentially one of the most powerful hybrids around, and was housing a superconsciousness in her mind, but those were very par for our particular course.

“Ah.” Aunt Carla and Caroline exchanged a look. Or rather, a “look.”

“What? I mean, seriously, you both seem to have reached the same conclusion.”

“It sounds like you've made up a life that's just a little better and more exciting than the one you have in reality,” Caroline said carefully. “It's a natural thing, especially because you told me earlier what a tough trip home you'd all had. I can understand wanting to escape for a little bit, even if it's just into your own imagination.”

“I'm not making any of this up.”

“Is anything in here familiar?” Aunt Carla asked.

“Well, sure. The bathroom is a lot like one at The Hotel when I was there right before I got married. To Jeff Martini. Not to Chuckie. Sorry, Charles.”

“You've told me you only call him Chuckie in bed now,” Caroline said. “Because it didn't sound adult enough and he was a successful businessman and deserved respect.”

“Yeah, he said the same. I call him Chuckie all the time where I'm from.”

“Or else you still want to call him Chuckie and don't because you feel pressured, and so in your fantasy, you call him the name you prefer,” Aunt Carla suggested.

“Maybe. I think I just want to get cleaned up. Do I wear jeans, concert T-shirts, and Converse here?”

They both nodded. “When you're relaxing,” Caroline said.

“Great. Then I'll change into that. I think I'm okay to shower alone, but I promise to call if I need you guys.”

Aunt Carla shook her head. “We've both seen everything you own. Leave the bathroom door open. Just in case.”

Chose not to argue about this compromise. Got out of these clothes and into the shower. It was a great bathroom and I felt physically better after showering using the highest-class hair and personal care products I'd ever seen. Contemplated using hyperspeed for it, but decided that it would be better to wait, in part because I needed to relax a little.

Shower done, I dried off with the fluffiest towels in existence. If this was really the life I was “trying to escape,” I had to ask myself why anyone would think I'd want to.

Contemplated things Chuckie had said to me before I got married. He'd mentioned that he'd have found a smooth, casual way to get me used to living a wealthy lifestyle. Clearly, he'd managed well. Though nothing was overdone—unostentatious was still Chuckie's watchword and apparently it was this family's as well.

Combed my hair back into a ponytail and trotted out. They'd laid clothes out for me and I stared. The underwear, jeans, and Converse were not an issue, nor was the Aerosmith hoodie. It was the T-shirt they'd picked that had me confused.

“Why the hell would I wear, let alone own, a Jack Johnson T-shirt?”

Both women stared at me as I started to get dressed. “Ah, because he's a personal friend?” Caroline asked. “You guys went to a concert a few years ago, went backstage, bonded. You never miss him when he's on tour. The kids know him. He's their favorite.”