twisted. She motioned to the couch, unwilling to be diverted. “Tell me about the weird day—and how you got that scratch on your cheek.”
I grimaced. “Bree Carlson. She’s got it out for me.”
“Bree. She was . . . late summer, wasn’t she? The actress?” At my nod, she mused, “I never met her. But she was very persistent, if her phone calls were anything to go by.”
“Still is.” I definitely wasn’t going to tell Amelia about Bree looking into Simon’s disappearance. “Did you take your medications? Do you want some tea?”
“I wouldn’t mind a fresh cup.”
I returned to the kitchen and put the kettle on, fending off Iggy’s whimpering pleas for a walk. “In a minute, fella.”
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? More than Bree.”
I busied myself with the tea. “What do you remember about the Free Walkers?”
She stood slowly, and joined me at the counter. “Why do you want to know? Have they approached you?”
To spare us both from a lie, I didn’t answer.
“I see.” She nudged me out of the way and started assembling a tray: spoons, cups, milk, and sugar. “Gil was working with them long before we met. The Consort had assigned him to investigate the pivots stemming from the crash. You know how rigid the Consort is about Walkers and Originals mingling. He would never have asked me out if he hadn’t been a Free Walker.”
She chuckled, the sound rueful. “Simon got his charm from his father, you know.”
“What did you say when he told you the truth? Or did you catch him Walking?” The way Simon had caught me.
“He told me. He had to, really. I knew he was keeping something back—I was only getting a fraction of him, and I wanted the whole. So I broke it off, and he told me everything.”
“Did you think he was crazy?”
“At first.” She ran a finger over her wedding band. “Eventually I believed him, and when he explained about the Free Walkers, I believed in them, too. They were so dedicated, and passionate . . . it was impossible not to be swept up in it. I helped, you know. I wasn’t just the girl on the sidelines.”
I must have looked puzzled, because she laughed. “How do you think you ended up with pivots all over your house, Del?”
“That was you?” Walker houses didn’t typically have a lot of pivots, but ours did. I’d always assumed it was due to the fact that it was old—plenty of repairmen had passed through our doors, and their choices littered the house, same as their cigarette stubs and Styrofoam coffee cups.
“Did you think Gil was only interested in my looks?” She smiled. “I believed in the Free Walkers’ cause. Forming pivots in houses—so they could move in and out without the Consort noticing—was an easy way for me to help.
“And then I got pregnant with Simon. It must sound crazy, but we were so happy, despite the danger.”
“But . . . your Echoes . . . they were pregnant too.”
She folded her hands and met my eyes. “Yes.”
“Gil couldn’t be with them. They were alone.” It seemed selfish, somehow, and irresponsible. Two words I’d never have used to describe Amelia. “You were okay with that? Choosing for them?”
“I chose for myself,” she said. “Walkers don’t have to weigh their decisions, and neither do most Originals. They don’t know that the power of their choices crosses worlds. I loved Gil, and I believed we were building a life together.”
“Your Echoes couldn’t. They’d be single moms.”
“They had my memories; they knew Gil, and what I’d done. They would remember our time together as if it was their own. Having Simon meant they would have a piece of Gil in their lives forever—that’s what I gave them, and it was the right thing to do.”
“How do you know?”
She met my eyes. “Because it’s what I would have wanted in their place.”
“But—”
“I’m not sorry I did it,” she said, lifting her chin. “Not when the result was Simon.”
“Me neither,” I said softly. The irony was, her Echoes—the ones who had lived—still had a Simon. She was the only one who had to grieve.
She dusted off her hands to show the topic was closed. “And then, Gil was gone.”
“What happened?” I asked, welcoming the change of subject. I’d heard Ms. Powell’s explanation, but it seemed vital that I hear Amelia’s version too. The personal cost instead of the political one.
“I’m not sure. In the months before Simon was born, we were making progress—converting some high-ranking official,