where it lay shattered in the grass. The porch railing was broken and she could see weeds sprouting between the planks. Her eyes took in everything, but she was unable to process the scene before her: a rusted doorknob, half dangling from the door, grime on the windows as if they hadn’t been cleaned in years.
No curtains…
No entry mat…
No wind chime…
She hesitated, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. She felt odd and curiously weightless, as if she were in a waking dream. The closer she got, the more the house seemed to decay before her.
She blinked and noticed that the door was cracked down the middle with a two-by-four hammered across it, bracing it to the crumbling casing.
She blinked again and saw that part of the wall, up in the corner, had rotted away, leaving a jagged hole.
She blinked a third time and realized that the lower half of the window was cracked and broken; pieces of glass littered the porch.
Katie climbed onto the porch, unable to stop herself. Leaning in, she peered through the windows into the darkened cottage.
Dust and dirt, broken furniture, piles of garbage. Nothing painted, nothing cleaned. All at once, Katie stepped back on the porch, almost stumbling off the broken step. No. It wasn’t possible, it just wasn’t. What had happened to Jo, and what about all the improvements she’d made on the small cottage? Katie had seen Jo hang the wind chime. Jo had been over to her house, complaining about having to paint and clean. They’d had coffee and wine and cheese and Jo had teased Katie about the bicycle. Jo had met her after work and they’d gone to a bar. The waitress had seen them both. Katie had ordered both of them wine…
But Jo’s glass had been untouched, she recalled.
Katie massaged her temples, her mind racing, searching for answers. She remembered that Jo had been sitting on the steps when Alex dropped her off. Even Alex had seen her…
Or had he?
Katie backed away from the decaying home. Jo was real. There was no way she’d been a figment of her imagination. She hadn’t made her up.
But Jo liked everything you did: she drank her coffee the same way, she liked the clothes you bought, her thoughts about the employees at Ivan’s mirrored your own.
A dozen random details suddenly began crowding her mind and voices dueled in her head…
She lived here!
But why is it such a dump?
We looked at the stars together!
You looked at the stars alone, which is why you still don’t know their names.
We drank wine at my house!
You drank the bottle by yourself, which was why you were so dizzy.
She told me about Alex! She wanted us to be together!
She never mentioned his name until you already knew it, and you were interested in him all along.
She was the kids’ counselor!
Which was the excuse you used as a reason to never tell Alex about her.
But…
But…
But…
One by one, the answers came as quickly as she could think of them: the reason she’d never learned Jo’s last name or saw her drive a car… the reason Jo never invited her over or accepted her offer to help her paint… how Jo had been able to magically appear at Katie’s side in jogging clothes…
Katie felt something give way inside her as everything clicked into place.
Jo, she suddenly realized, had never been there at all.
43
Still feeling as if she were in a dream, Katie stumbled back to her house. She took a seat in the rocker and stared at Jo’s house, wondering if she’d gone utterly mad.
She knew that the creation of imaginary friends was common among children, but she wasn’t a child. And yes, she’d been under a great deal of stress when she arrived in Southport. Alone and friendless, on the run and looking over her shoulder, terrified that Kevin was closing in—who wouldn’t be anxious? But was that enough to have prompted the creation of an alter ego? Maybe some psychiatrists would say yes, but she wasn’t so sure.
The problem was that she didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t believe it because it had felt so… real. She remembered those conversations, could still see Jo’s expressions, still hear the sound of her laughter. Her memories of Jo felt as real as her memories of Alex did. Of course, he probably wasn’t real, either. Probably made him up, too. And Kristen and Josh. She was probably strapped to a bed in an asylum somewhere, lost in an