Oona Out of Order Read online

  “Pam! I can’t believe you’re here. I hoped you’d show up to one of these eventually.”

  “Wow.” She gaped at Oona and did a sweep of the room. “I didn’t expect everyone to look so … glamorous.” Where the other guests tried to look older and more progressive, Pam was a few years behind in both trend and maturity. Hair in the same wedge she’d worn since Dorothy Hamill won gold in ’76, narrow shoulders overwhelmed by the white Peter Pan collar of her brown velveteen dress, freckled face bare except for a smear of Vaseline across her mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

  “What are you talking about? You look so pretty.” Taking her friend’s hand, she gave a gentle pull. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

  But Pam wouldn’t budge. “I called your house earlier and ended up talking to your mom. I said she must be so proud and would probably miss you so much, and she got totally confused. You didn’t tell her about London?”

  London.

  The word was like a syringe of adrenaline shot into Oona’s heart. Reversing course, she yanked Pam away from the party, up the stairs into the empty kitchen.

  “Jeez, Oona, you practically dislocated my shoulder.”

  “Nobody knows about London. Not Mom, not even Dale.”

  “Why not?” She tugged on her earlobe, a nervous habit since childhood.

  “It’s hard to explain.” Oona’s throat was so parched, she could barely speak. “Hold on.” She got a Coke out of the fridge. A metallic snap as she popped the can open and foam gushed over the side. Hurried sips to tame the spill. “I haven’t told anyone because I want to make this decision without anyone’s input. Especially Mom’s or Dale’s.”

  “What is there to decide? We’ve been dreaming about going to London since we saw Mary Poppins in third grade. And now we get to live there.”

  “I might still get to see London this summer. Dale and I talked about backpacking through Europe. We even started a list of where we’ll go. Paris, Berlin, Brussels, London, all the major cities.” They’d also made a list of lesser-known European destinations and sights. The ancient seaside villages of Italy’s Cinque Terre, Kastellorizo’s castle ruins in Greece, Kutná Hora’s chapel decorated with human bones in Czechoslovakia. “Of course, this was right before we got the Factory Twelve offer, and there’s no telling what’ll happen on tour. Dale’s convinced some A&R rep will go nuts over us and we’ll be recording an album for a major label over the summer. Who knows?”

  “Are you serious?” Bafflement contorted Pam’s features. “I know this music stuff is exciting, but it’s not real life. You could spend months on a sweaty tour bus and come home broke, or you could spend a year in London and have every door open for you.” A heavy sigh as she glanced down at her Mary Janes. “I’d hate to see you throw away a golden ticket. And you’re running out of time. The paperwork is due in two weeks.”

  “I know.” Oona pressed the soda can to her hot forehead. “But … I haven’t figured it out yet. And I’d like one night off from worrying about it. One night to enjoy this party before things get more complicated. Can we go back downstairs and just have some fun tonight?”

  Hesitation in the long breath she took before answering. “Fine. But I need the powder room first.”

  “There’s one up here. Down the hall, to your left.”

  “Don’t wait, I’ll come find you.”

  “You better not run off on me.”

  Downstairs, Oona glanced at her watch: 11:40 P.M.

  She went over to the beverage table, where Dale was opening a bottle of Cold Duck.

  “You’re drinking soda when we have the finest cheap champagne money can buy?” He popped the cork and filled two plastic cups, offering her one. “Come on, let’s celebrate. You’re gonna be the hottest keyboardist in rock ’n’ roll history.”

  “Nobody cares about the keyboardist.” Her eyes flickered to her discarded Coke before she took a swallow of champagne. “It’s all about the lead singer or maybe the guitarist, so either way, it’ll be all about you.” It can’t be about me. I might not be there.

  “No, it’ll be about us.” Dale hooked an arm around her waist. A firm promise that whatever came next, he’d be there for it. Oona leaned into him and smiled, believing the promise, reciprocating it.

  The floor rumbled beneath her feet. Did the subway run below the house? Maybe it was the energy of the partygoers, dancing so hard they were shaking the foundation. Maybe it was the champagne she had earlier and the hyper-focused adoration of her boyfriend. Oona’s and Dale’s eyes glittered when they locked on each other, as if privy to a secret, connected with a bond as intense as murder accomplices. Their faces drew together and liquid sloshed from their plastic cups as they joined for violent, oblivious kisses that cast the rest of the room in shadow. They kissed like lovers reunited after a battle, even though they spent all but two days of winter break together, even though they both lived in Brooklyn and saw each other all the time. Maybe they weren’t reuniting after a battle as much as preparing for it.

  Dale brought his mouth to her ear. “I have a birthday surprise for you. Come on.”

  He led her to a screened-off corner of the basement used for storage. On top of a stack of plastic lawn chairs was a rectangular box wrapped in silver paper.

  “It’s not my birthday for another half hour,” she protested, even as she smiled.

  “I can’t wait any longer. Open it.” He held the box steady as she peeled back the wrapping.

  Inside, a layer of tissue paper revealed a black motorcycle jacket with gleaming silver buckles.

  Her breath hitched. “It’s too much. You should be saving up for the tour,” she said while fitting her arms through the sleeves over her sequined dress, enveloped by the heaviness and smell of leather.

  “Eh, Dad’s been giving me extra shifts at the store, and everyone bought Commodore 64s for Christmas, so I’ve been making good commissions. Does it fit okay?”

  “It’s perfect.” Head tilted in mock suspicion, she asked, “Is this because you’re sick of me borrowing your leather jacket all the time?” She’d tell him it was her New York City armor, that she felt safe wearing it.

  “No way. I just thought you could use some of your own armor,” he said.

  Her heart a hummingbird flying frantic circles in her chest. She wrapped her arms around Dale and murmured, “I’m so damn lucky.”

  “Because I spoil you rotten?”

  His warm breath made her knees soften and her blood hum. “No, because I get to spend the rest of my life with the coolest guy on the planet.”

  “Goddamn right.” He kissed her with a fierceness that made the room go dark and quiet. “I have another surprise for you, but you’ll have to wait until after the countdown for that one.”

  “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me!” Holding up a hand, she turned away.

  While she normally loved surprises, between the Factory Twelve tour, Dale’s and Wayne’s leaving school, and London looming, Oona was reaching her saturation point.

  “Come on, let’s rejoin the others,” Dale said.

  The basement was illuminated by clear Christmas lights kept up year-round. White dots of light bouncing between mirrored walls put Oona in the center of a giant disco ball, or a star on the verge of explosion. The room blurred as she blinked back confused tears. This was the culmination of a perfect year. But it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Not long after this party, the scales would tip. If Oona said no to London and took a semester off, she’d lose her academic momentum. But would she lose even more if she said no to the band? If Early Dawning went on tour without her, she’d have to contend with Dale’s absence that spring—which would be painful enough—and his disappointment. And that would just be the opening act for her England departure. Could they survive such disruption?

  Oona was at the mercy of a clock whose ticking grew louder and faster with each passing hour. A clock that was about to betray her.

  She checked the time: 11:55. r />
  In the corner of the room, a small color TV broadcasted the ball drop from Times Square. Corey pointed at the screen. “Is that lit-up thing a cherry?”

  “This is why people think drummers are dumb. It’s an apple, you doofus,” Dale said. “You know, like the Big Apple? New York isn’t known as the Big Cherry.”

  It wasn’t all that funny, but Oona craved a break, so she threw her head back and laughed. Dale took advantage of her exposed white throat and dove in teeth first, playing the amorous vampire. The room tilted as he dipped her—the tips of her hair brushing the floor—then shifted further off its axis. Her laughs morphed into squeals of protest, then quieted into murmurs of pleasure. They engulfed and consumed each other, but wasn’t that love? She couldn’t imagine it being anything less. And now that she had it, she couldn’t imagine choosing to leave it behind.

  There was that tremor beneath her feet again, the shift and blur at the edges of the room. Had she overdone it with the champagne? Hopefully, she wouldn’t be sloppy behind the keyboard and mic when Early Dawning performed a few songs after ushering in 1983.

  Remember this party. Every second of it. Every person here.

  They were a motley bunch. As she gazed around the room, Oona took mental snapshots of her friends, each strange and talented in their own way. She was sure they would all go on to do great things. But would she?

  I wish I didn’t have to choose.

  A recurring wish she’d had these last few weeks and one she made again now, unaware that every granted wish comes with a hidden cost, every blessing shadowed with a curse.

  The countdown to 1983 began.

  “Ten!”

  She tightened her hold around Dale’s waist, felt this was the pinnacle of her happiness. A panicked voice whispered at the edge of her mind: There’s nowhere higher to go.

  “Nine!”

  The jacket made her too warm, but she wouldn’t take it off for the rest of the night. She also wouldn’t tell Dale it wasn’t his jacket’s heft that made her feel safe as much as wearing something that belonged to him. Any talisman could’ve guarded her—a class ring, an old T-shirt, a ratty shoelace—as long as it was his.

  “Eight!”

  Unfortunately, there were some things her leather armor wouldn’t protect her from.

  “Seven!”

  The tremor intensified, up Oona’s legs to the base of her spine, an unseen force that threatened to turn her body into a metronome, setting a new rhythm for her life.

  “Six!”

  She tried to ignore it.

  “Five!”

  Perspiration trickled down her temples as she counted down the last seconds of 1982 and her own eighteenth year.

  “Four!”

  She followed the red glow of the ball descending on TV, crying out with the others, though hers was a cry of pain.

  “Three!”

  A sharp sensation exploded from the top of Oona’s head and spread down the center of her body, an invisible broadsword cutting her in two.

  “Two!”

  Escalating heat stirred within her as particles scrambled to escape and rearrange, but not now and not here.

  “ONE!”

  PART II

  Under Ice

  2015: 51/19

  2

  Oona came to with a long gasp, as if breaching the surface after being trapped underwater, left to drown.

  A second earlier, she’d been surrounded by people and light and noise and warmth. Now she lay on a plush carpet in a dark room lit by a fireplace, silent but for the crackle of flames heating the drafty space.

  How much champagne did I drink?

  “Hey, are you okay?” asked an unfamiliar male voice.

  The light, though meager, hurt her eyes; the room wavered before her. She blinked as if recovering from a camera flash. Focus.

  A man kneeled over her, lean torso clad in a Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt, the album cover’s prism and rainbow bedazzled with small rhinestones.

  Oona propped herself up on one elbow, groggy. “Where’s Dale?”

  That’s when it hit her: she wasn’t in Dale’s basement, or even his house.

  Instead, she was in a room that could’ve been the library out of the board game Clue: high ceilings, dark wood paneling, leather wingback chairs, an antique globe, a bar cart laden with crystal bottles faceted like large jewels. Shelves of books dominated one wall, a rolling ladder offering access to the ones beyond arm’s reach. The sort of room where stylish academics could mingle, enjoying fine scotch and murmured conversation. A walnut desk faced a bay window, framed by velvet emerald curtains eclipsing the view beyond.

  A thread of unease wove through Oona’s murky mind. “What is this place?” She gazed at a painting above the fireplace: an elegant woman doing her best Holly Golightly impression, pulled along by three large wolves on a leash. A small trail of blood dripped from the corner of the woman’s mouth. “Creepy, but pretty.”

  “That’s exactly what you said when you bought it.”

  Her brain fog thinned out. “Who are you?” She touched her throat. Her voice sounded different. Not overtly, but definitely pitched deeper by a few notes.

  The man was in his early thirties, with dark, friendly eyes, high cheekbones, and dyed apricot hair styled like a miniature tidal wave. “I’m Kenzie. Your personal assistant—and friend. This place is your home. And your voice is different because—well, there’s a lot to explain. It’s gonna be weird and shocking. But I’m here to help.”

  Oona shuddered and closed her eyes. This was too vivid to be a dream, but what a strange mirage. Surely she was still at the party with Dale and her friends in the mirrored basement. This new reality must be a false one, so better not to give in to the hallucination.

  Except …

  A roiling in her body made her double over, as if her inner organs were reassembling themselves. She swallowed hard to keep from being sick, breathed in, and—

  The scream was jarring to Oona, even though it came out of her mouth. The last time she’d shrieked at this decibel, two men were dragging her father back onto a boat, his clothes hanging off him in tatters, blowing air into his waterlogged dysfunctional lungs. Eleven years old, staring into the purple face of Charles Lockhart, who stared back at nothing. That scream was one of alarm at seeing the familiar become foreign. This scream, shaded with decades of maturity, retained notes of that girl’s high-pitched plaintive wail.

  “Whoa. Calm down. Please. You’re not in danger.”

  But Oona got to her feet and scurried away from him. This action came with terrible new surprises, which distracted her from the stranger. Why was her body heavier, full of twinges, like she was wearing a rusty suit of armor? With no mirrors in the room, she couldn’t take in the full effect, so the horror was revealed by degrees. There were her hands, which couldn’t be hers. These hands had prominent veins, blue road maps extending from the knuckles, and a spatter of brown sunspots. She ran these hands over her body, now clad in a dark skirt and sweater, over the looser skin on her face and neck, over a midsection significantly thicker. None of it belonged to her: not the hands, the clothes, definitely not the body.

  “Oona, don’t lose your shit. I need you to listen to me.” Kenzie stood.

  Only there was no time to listen and Oona had her own needs. I have to get out of here. Except the stranger blocked her path to the door, so she dashed to the window. If they were on a ground floor she could—

  A hand on her shoulder. She whirled around.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “You know me.”

  Shrinking back against the curtain, she crossed her arms. “No. No way. A minute ago, I was…” Her eyes drifted over to a framed photo on the desk and she nodded at it. “There.”

  In the picture, Oona was back in her gold dress and leather jacket, shiny-eyed and grinning, surrounded by Dale, Corey, Wayne, and Pam. The camera’s flash reflected off the mirrored walls behind them.

  Kenzie handed he
r the photo. “This is one of the things I’m supposed to show you.”

  “I don’t…” She glanced from the photo to the man before her, back and forth. “I don’t remember posing for this.”

  “I’m trying to explain.”

  “Did you hurt them? Are you going to hurt me?” Oona pressed the frame to her chest, a useless makeshift shield.

  His eyebrows shot up and he stepped back. “Of course not. I’m here because you trust me. I’ll prove it. You told me about that New Year’s party a hundred times. Stuff it should be impossible for me to know.” Kenzie reached for the picture. “Relax, I’ll give it right back. Okay, so that’s your band’s badass bassist Wayne. And that’s your drummer Corey, right? You caught him doing coke in the bathroom, he got all emo, swore he’d never do it again, so you promised not to tell the rest of the band. That’s front man Dale, your boyfriend, who gave you a leather jacket just like his—adorbs—which you called your New York City armor.” Oona’s mouth formed a stunned O as he tapped on Pam. “That’s your childhood friend with the questionable haircut—I can’t remember her name, but that wedge will forever haunt me—who gave you shit about keeping the London thing hush-hush and tried to convince you to go the nerd route with her. Let’s see, what else? Oh, right before the countdown, Corey thought the big apple was a cherry, and I can’t even with that one.”

  Though puzzled by some of his jargon, his placid tone mesmerized her. As he replayed events Oona had lived through moments before, she shivered and her knees softened. She staggered over to the desk, clutched it for support. “I need to sit.”

  “Shit. Was that too much all at once?” Hastily setting down the picture, he held out an arm.

  Oona didn’t take it, but allowed him to lead her to the wingback chairs.

  “So…” His pants, made of a shimmery fabric more typical of a prom dress, rustled as he took a seat. “Now that we’re caught up on your recent past, how about I bring you up to speed on the right now?”