jacket.
She gasped at how real he looked. Same thick dark hair, same intense green eyes, same scar along his chiseled jawline. Very tall at six foot two. Muscular, as always. Were ghosts muscular? Of course not.
You’re seeing things, she told herself, staring at him, aware her mouth was hanging open, as she reached out like a crazy person to touch him. He’s not here. He died almost two years ago.
His ghost had come to tell her not to marry Elliot Talley, a man she didn’t love “that way,” she figured. Or his ghost was here to give his blessing. One or the other.
“It’s me,” Theo said, reaching out a hand to touch the side of her face. “Oh, God, Allie. It is so good to see you. I have so much to tell you.”
The contact of his hand on her face was real. He was real.
“It’s so good to see me?” she sputtered. “What?” She shook her head again, sure he wouldn’t still be there. “I was at your funeral. You’re...”
He stepped inside the room and shut the door, then took both her hands and led her over to the two chairs by the mirror. She sat down right before her legs gave out. “I didn’t die that night, Allie. Obviously,” he added in a choked voice as he sat beside her. “But I had to make everyone think I did to protect you.”
She slowly shook her head again, trying to listen as he started saying something about the serial killer he and his team had been after for months. “He threatened—”
A knock on the door interrupted him.
“Um, Allie?” called the voice of Elliot Talley. Her fiancé. The man she was supposed to marry in two minutes. “I need to talk to you.”
She glanced at Theo, who moved against the wall. He put back on the dark sunglasses.
“Allie?” Elliot called out again with another knock. “I really have to talk to you.”
Well, Elliot, she thought as she stood up, legs like rubber, it’s kind of perfect timing, since I have to talk to you, too. Seems marrying you would make me a bigamist. There went her knees again, wobbling around.
She pulled open the door. Now it was Elliot who stood in the doorway, looking pale as the ghost she’d thought Theo was a minute ago. Elliot looked sick, his face a bit contorted in pain, one hand clutching his stomach.
“Allie. Oh, God, Allie. I can’t do this. I’m sorry,” Elliot said. “I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I’m sorry. One baby, sure. But—” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Maybe this is just cold feet and I’ll come to my senses later, but I don’t think so. I’m so sorry.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it, then turned and ran down the hall. Allie stared after him openmouthed until he pushed through the door of the town hall.
Well, she thought.
“That him, running through the parking lot?” Theo asked, gesturing out the window.
Allie walked over to the window, more aware of her husband standing beside her, the presence of him, than of her runaway groom, racing to his car in his tan suit. They watched as he got into his car and peeled out.
Allie sank back down onto a chair. She’d been so careful not to sit and wrinkle her outfit. Now she planned to ball this suit up and chuck it. Or give it to Goodwill.
Theo was alive? Theo was alive. Theo was alive.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t process.
“How did you even know to come here?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.
Because he’s been keeping tabs on you, she figured. It was the only thing that made sense. He couldn’t let her get married when she already had a husband—alive and well. So he’d rushed over to stop the wedding.
If anyone has any reason why these two should not be husband and wife, speak now or forever hold your peace.
Then again, did mayors officiating even say that at town hall weddings? She wasn’t sure.
I object! she imagined Theo calling out, rushing in at the last possible second. Turns out I’m not dead!
She was losing her mind. Obviously. Her dead husband, whose funeral she had attended, was sitting right beside her, and she was out of her mind. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think.
Did the entire police department know the truth? Had they been informing him what was going on in her life? Was that why he’d turned up here at the last possible second?
No, she realized suddenly.
No one was keeping tabs on her for him. She knew that with certainty. Because even if he was able to leave her, to stay “buried” for two years, there was no way he would have stayed away if he’d known about the quadruplets. She knew next to nothing about what had led Theo to fake his death, but she knew him.
Oh, God. He didn’t know he was a father. He had no idea.
Her brain was moving a mile a minute—so many questions, assumptions. And then her mind just shut down and filled with static and, inexplicably, the wedding march. She heard it playing over and over. Her brain on overload.
She shook her head again, trying to make some sense of this. Theo was here. Alive.
He pulled something from the pocket of his jacket, a folded-up piece of newspaper. He unfolded it and pointed.
Ah. It was the wedding announcement her sisters had insisted on placing, since Allie had said no to anything wedding-ish. She’d relented on the announcement mostly to quash the whispers she still heard in the supermarket and at the baby/toddler play center: There’s that poor widow with the quadruplets! Look, she has two different sneakers on and Cheerios in her hair. She’d figured that literally alerting the media to her impending nuptials would stop the pity.
She could imagine what people would be whispering now. Turns out her husband wasn’t dead after all, and she had no idea! That poor not-a-widow!
Theo looked down at the floor for a moment, then back up at her. “You know that truck stop diner on the freeway about ten minutes out of town?”
Of course she knew it. They’d gotten gas there a zillion times over their five years together. Early on in their marriage, when they’d stay up all night just talking, they’d go to the twenty-four-hour diner at two thirty in the morning for omelets and home fries, gazing at each other like lovesick dopes. It was just a greasy spoon, but they made amazing chocolate milkshakes and the Starks had gone at least twice a week. Of course, that was years ago. Before, before, before.
“Well, I stopped in to fill up the truck,” he said, “and then I figured I’d have a few cups of coffee to prepare myself, to figure out what I was going to say, how I was going to just knock on your door and tell you I was alive. I’d gone over all that in my mind during the five-hour drive to Wedlock Creek, but as I got so close, everything went out of my head. All I could think about was the look that would be on your face. How I’d lied and betrayed you. I could barely move from the booth. Until I saw the wedding announcement.”
She
