The Twin Switch

Nat was right.

I was letting emotion overrule reason. That wasn’t like me at all.

Instead, we checked the hotel room and discovered Brooklyn’s suitcase was gone.

I took heart from that. I took that to mean she’d left willingly. Our best guess was that there’d been an emergency in the middle of the night—maybe a medical emergency, presumably one of her family members, maybe her mom or dad.

If something had happened to James, they would definitely have called me, too. Still, it made no sense that she wouldn’t wake me up. I’d have gone with her.

While I was pondering the mystery, I came across her note.

I opened my mouth to alert Sophie and Nat. But then I read it and my heart sank to my toes.

I didn’t say a thing. Instead, I hid the damning words in my jeans pocket.

“She’s off-line,” Sophie said, holding out her phone on the friend-finding app.

Brooklyn’s icon had disappeared.

“Did she get on a plane to Seattle?” Nat asked.

“Possibly,” I said.

“Should we go after her?” Sophie asked.

We should. We would. At least I would.

But I was going by myself. I didn’t know much, but I knew Brooklyn hadn’t gone back to Seattle.

“We don’t know for sure where she went,” I said. “Let’s not all rush off.” There, that sure sounded more like rational me.

It took me a few precious minutes, but I convinced Sophie and Nat to sit tight at the hotel, promising to track down Brooklyn and bring her back to San Francisco to finish off the weekend.

As I made my way to the airport, the note weighed heavy in my pocket.

Layla, it had said. I’m more sorry than you can know. I’ve tried so hard, but I can’t marry James. I’ve met my soul mate. Please forgive me.

Her soul mate? What was she talking about, her soul mate?

James was her soul mate. He was the love of her life. They were fantastic together.

Sitting on a hard, plastic chair in the airport, staring at the departure board, I hunted through my phone and looked up the airspeeds of commuter jets, considering the radius of the distance Brooklyn could have traveled by now, and mapping out the cities in the circle: Sacramento, Reno, Los Angeles.

I rehearsed the many ways I could talk some sense into her.

It had to be temporary insanity—the stress of a five-hundred-guest wedding, or her mother fussing over the dresses and the flowers and the dinner. Or maybe it was James wanting children right away.

I knew Brooklyn wanted to wait a couple of years before they had kids. I didn’t think the disagreement had been a deal breaker. But what did I know?

I knew I was going to find out.

I knew that much.

I thought about phoning James. But I couldn’t exactly call him out of the blue and ask about his future kids. Plus, he’d want to talk to Brooklyn. I’d have to say she wasn’t with me.

He’d try to call her, and who knew where that would lead. Nowhere good, that was for sure.

The marker for Brooklyn’s phone suddenly appeared on my screen.

My heart jumped. I’d found her!

She was in Las Vegas.

I was on my feet and heading for the bank of check-in counters while I scrolled to see which airline had the next flight to McCarran Airport.

A few more searches on my phone, a plane ride and an Uber ride later, and I was in the lobby of the Canterbury Sands Hotel.

Brooklyn’s phone told me she was here. Since I wasn’t with NASA or the CIA, the accuracy of the app was spotty, and I couldn’t pinpoint her, but she was definitely here somewhere.

I glanced around. The hotel lobby was posh luxury as far as the eye could see: marble columns, carved woodwork, potted palms, discrete lighting and leather armchairs set into corners and alcoves.

Since she wasn’t conveniently hanging around in the lobby, I tried the front desk. Brooklyn wasn’t registered. Or maybe she was registered, but the professional staff knew better than to reveal personal information about their guests.

I tried explaining I was Brooklyn’s maid of honor and we were getting ready for a wedding. But the female desk clerk seemed unimpressed.

I supposed a wedding in Vegas was hardly a monumental event. I’d seen a bride in a limo as my Uber had turned into the hotel drive and another was visible right now posing for photos outside in the garden.

This bride looked gorgeous, and her groom looked happy, as he joked and jostled with his friends. I loved weddings. Who didn’t love weddings?

When the bridal party moved on, and Brooklyn still wasn’t anywhere in sight, I found an empty table in a lounge at the side of the lobby. I was going to wait it out. Odds were she’d pass by this central point sometime.

I’d tried calling her again, but she hadn’t answered. I wasn’t about to let her know I was in Vegas. I didn’t think she’d run from me again, but it was possible.

I decided it was better to confront her in person. I wanted to see her expression when I asked what I had to ask—which was what the heck did she think she was doing?

It was hot, and I was thirsty, so I ordered a five-dollar cola. I was hungry, too, since I hadn’t had a chance to finish my divine eggs Benedict. But I couldn’t bring myself to order a twenty-five-dollar snack.

This might be a weekend of indulgence, but I had limits. I’d seen the waiter pass by with the order for another table. They served designer food here. Three shrimps and a swirl of greenery weren’t going to impact my hunger in any meaningful way. So why waste the money?

I’d texted Nat before the plane took off, so they knew I was on Brooklyn’s trail. I kept the soul mate thing—which struck me as a temporary thing—to myself for now. Instead, I let them assume Brooklyn was blowing off steam in the run-up to the wedding.

She was, in a way. Just not in a good way.

Halfway through my glass of cola, my attention caught on a man on the other side of the lounge. He rose and was moving in my general direction. He stopped at one table and chatted, then he stopped at another, and then he waved to a third.

I’m admittedly not the best at facial recognition. Every September I have to make a seating chart for each class and then work really hard to memorize the students’ faces. But even with my limited skill, and at this distance, I could swear this was shaggy-neat-hair guy from San Francisco.

I squinted in the dim lounge light, watching him walk and talk and smile.