Mandy started to say something about needing to finish her dinner and go home, it was nice to meet them, blah blah blah, but she only got as far as “Well, anyway—”
—before the lady kept going. “This is something only Terry and I would know about, our own little secret, but we used to know a Mandy Whitacre way back before you were born, and she was a magician, too, believe it or not, and that’s why we came to see your show. Your name was just so familiar, it was even spelled the same, and we just had to come and see, you know, what this Mandy Whitacre was like, and then”—the lady shook her head in wonder—“this is going to sound so unbelievable, but you look just like the Mandy Whitacre we went to school with. It’s just incredible.”
Oh. Right. Went to school with.Okay, now it made sense. By now there were so many Mandy Whitacres out there, one of them was bound to bring along some old friends to liven up the party. Mandy could guess the answer even as she asked, “What school?”
“North Idaho Junior College in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. Of course, it’s called North Idaho College now, NIC.”
Sure, of course. That’s where Mandy Whitacre—at least the Mandy Whitacre she thought she was—went to college, and of course some old friends from NIC would just pop up in a restaurant in Las Vegas at this late hour and they’d run into each other. Mandy went with it. At least when the medics arrived and saw her talking to people who weren’t there, they’d know they’d found the right person. Funny, though, how all the Mandys were the same age as she but these two friends were old, and there was something about the lady’s voice … something about her husband’s voice …
“Terry?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied, extending his hand. “Terry Lundin.”
She gripped his hand and stared at him unabashedly, reconstructing his face from a memory only months old: wild, red hair like an explosion, black, horn-rimmed glasses, skinny like a road runner … he used to drive a Road Runner. They called him … “You’re … you’re Road Runner!”
He was taken aback, astounded. He looked at the lady, she looked at him, and they reacted as if they were seeing a magic show again. He said, “Yes, that’s right!”
“You are so amazing!” the lady exclaimed, and now the eyes, the wide grin, the naturally gaga expression, were unmistakable. Yes, Terry Lundin was her boyfriend in the summer of 1970. They were getting serious.
And yes, it was her voice! Mandy did recognize it, and now the face … absolutely, positively, of course! “Joanie?”
chapter
42
The lady stared back at her. “How do you do that?” She looked at Terry. “How does she do that?”
“Mentalism, right?” said Terry, delighted.
Mandy smiled at what she was doing to herself. It was a great show, good enough to sit and watch. “Sure, what the heck. And I suppose I got it right?”
The lady nodded. “Yes. My name’s Joanie. This is so weird.”
“Joanie Gittel, right?”
Now Joanie shifted backward, more than astonished. “How did you know that?”
Even Terry was crinkling his brow. “She hasn’t been Joanie Gittel for thirty-nine years.”
Mandy had no ill will against these nice folks. How could she when she was the one who created them? It was just the whole dumb situation, just being a total loon that made her start playing around with it. She looked carefully at Joanie, as if plumbing the depths of her mind. She even waved her hand in little hypnotic circles in front of Joanie’s face. “I see … I see … Coeur d’Alene High School … and Coeur d’Alene Junior High, and before that, Baker Elementary. Right?”
Joanie was really stunned now, and that face, boy, it was the same face she made in Mr. McFaden’s class when she heard Kennedy was shot. She could only nod.
“Oh, wait! Now I see a big gray house on Howard Road—except it’s green now and it’s a real estate office.”
Joanie pointed at her, getting a spark of an idea. “You must be from Coeur d’Alene!”
“Sure. Born in Spokane, raised in Hayden, went to school in Coeur d’Alene.”
So they all laughed and said, “How about that?” and enjoyed the amazing coincidence and how small the world was.
“But,” Joanie double-checked, “you’re not Mandy Whitacre.”
Mandy arched a wizardly eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Well, I mean, the one I knew.”
“Well …” She went all mental again, closing her eyes as if seeing visions, wiggling her fingers as if picking up vibes from the great beyond. “That big gray house … your father had a ’57 Ford in an old garage next to the place, and there was a Gravenstein apple tree in the front yard, and you used to wait at the bus stop and catch the same school bus with Mandy every morning. You and Mandy were in the same class together in fifth grade … the teacher’s name was … Mr. Fleck, and, and, and … you and Mandy got in a fight once over who was going to marry Tom Burnside.”
Joanie could hardly speak. “This is scary. You’re scaring me.”
“We must have a mutual friend,” Terry suggested.
Mandy kept going. “Mandy gave you her brunette Barbie, with a spring outfit …”
Joanie shook her head. “Now, that I don’t remember …”
“It had big flowers on it and came with a watering can and a little green shovel.”
Joanie lit up. “The, the gardening outfit! You—Mandy felt sorry for me because—”
“Because your dad ran over your Barbie with the lawn mower.”
Joanie fell silent, visibly shaken. Terry slid into the booth and sat beside her, his arm around her. They were all eye-to-eye.
“You went to NIJC in 1969,” said Mandy. “You weren’t sure, but you thought you wanted to major in business administration. And Road Runner was working in the business library, and that’s how you met.”
The waitress came by. “Hi. Can I get you folks anything?”
“Uh …” Terry asked Mandy with his eyes and she shrugged and smiled a yes. “Maybe a couple coffees,” said Terry. “Got any pies?” To Mandy, “Want a piece of pie?”
Whoa. Hold on a minute. Time-out.
Mandy dropped the mentalist routine. She looked around the room for anything weird, from another time, another place, anything nutty. She looked at the waitress. It was the same one, with Lisa on her name tag.
Lisa looked back and said, “We have apple, blueberry, cherry, and pumpkin.”
“Wait a minute,” said Mandy with a side glance at Terry and Joanie. “Can you … ?”
Lisa perked an eyebrow, waiting.
“Can you … see them?”
“See who?”
Mandy pointed at Terry and Joanie so directly it was probably rude. “Them.”
Lisa looked at her funny. “I don’t get it.”
Sigh, a little sad. “It’s nothing. How about a piece of cherry?”
“Cherry it is.” Then she looked at Terry.
“Apple,” he said.
She wrote it down.
“Wait!” said Mandy.
“Apple,” said Joanie.
“Wait,” said Mandy. “You can see them?”
Lisa was flustered, detecting some kind of gag, but said, “I don’t get it.”
Mandy dug out her cell phone and checked the time. “What time is it?”
Lisa had a watch. “Eleven-oh-five.”
Exactly what her cell phone said.
Terry smiled at her, his usual likable self. “I think we’re all missing something here.”
Mandy reached and gave his hand a little poke. Then she reached and poked Joanie, and finally Lisa.
“She’s a magician,” Joanie explained, now eyeing Mandy warily as if expecting the next routine.
“I …” Mandy couldn’t see through them either. They looked as solid as they felt. She forced a nervous little laugh. “Well, uh … may I have some decaf coffee?”
“You got it,” said Lisa. She left.
Joanie. Terry. Sitting right there, right in front of her, and the right ages for 2011.
“You all right?” Terry asked.