The Duplicate

Chapter Thirty-one

"Your life is special."

While climbing the porch stairs I swear I see the living room curtain twitch. It must have been Leah. Three steps into the house, I'm nearly knocked out when she swings herself haywire around the living room archway, into the hall. Both of us skid to an abrupt stop before she can slam into me.

"Oh, hey." She's a little breathless. Must have ran too. "Sorry, didn't see you there—oh my gosh, love your sweater. Turquoise is, like, my favorite color."

I blink at her. "Uh, thanks." For half a second I'm distracted by the glimpse of a red robe zipping across the kitchen into the dinning room. The sound of plates and silverware clinking together rambles down the hall. A cabinet slams shut, again and again. Noah gives a gleeful shriek.

The TV blares: "Your life matters."

"Breakfast is done," Leah chirps, continually glancing past me. She bats her gobs of mascara. "You guys are eating, right?"

"Um." I toss a quick look behind me at Trip, who is taking an unnatural amount of time closing the front door. Leaving me to handle this on my own, I see. "Well, uh, I'm not sure. Do you know where Dax is?"

"Leah?!"

Slam, slam, slam.

"Yeah, he's in Dad's office, doing computer nerd stuff." Leah gestures down the hall. Then suddenly the grin cutting across her cheeks falters. "You guys aren't leaving, are you?"

"My life was saved."

"I mean, seriously, if it had been Mom's china, I would understand, but she's not mad about—"

"O! O! O!"

"Leah, where are you?!" Aubrey's voice hardly makes it over the racket. "I've told you three times to get drinks ready!"

Huffing, Leah throws her head back and shouts, "Alright, Mom, hold on."

"Quit spying on them," this from Malcolm. "He's too old for you."

"Dad!" Leah's face instantly flushes. With one last mortified glance Trip's way, she spins and stomps into the kitchen. "I was not spying. Gosh! Why do you always have to embarrass me?"

"OooOoo!"

"Noah, honey, you cannot play with Mommy's cabinets."

Raising my eyebrows, I turn and look up at Trip. He's slowing to a stop behind me now, irritated eyes turning away from the television—the word Emulation flaring over the screen—to bore down on me. His scowl says it all.

He's in his own personal hell.

"Let me guess," I say. "You're not hungry."

"No."

Noah's angry, high-pitched wail bounds down the hall.

And Trip's eyes flash around like a caged animal. "Fuck this. I'm going back outside."

"Trip, wait—"

"Guys."

Halting, our attention snaps all the way down the hall.

Dax pokes his head around a half-closed door and frantically motions for us to come into the room. Before I can even move a muscle, Trip is slipping around me, stalking down the hall. I skip a few steps to try to catch up, passing the bedlam in the kitchen—O! O, Addy! If you check yourself one more time in that mirror, Leah—and when I see the subtle lift and drop of Trip's shoulder I start moving faster. "Go easy on him, Trip. Damn it, Trip, please."