“I drove by your office,” he said. “Although I guess it isn’t really your office, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“Dylan was inside. I saw him. Then I drove straight over here, no stopping, and here you are. I needed to see it with my own eyes, know what I’m saying?”
“I do.”
He shook his head. “Many Worlds, Many Minds. I looked it up. The whole thing sounds pretty crazy to me.”
“That’s how I felt about it, too. But that’s what’s happening to me.”
“You’re a different Dylan. I mean, you’re the same, but you’re different.”
“That’s right.”
He eyed me as he sipped his drink. “It’s easier to believe when I really look at you. You’ve got a different edge, no doubt about it. It’s in your face, your eyes, how you hold yourself.”
“I met another Roscoe who told me the same thing.”
“You’re more like my Dylan was a few years ago. He’s changed since then. You? Not so much. You haven’t found yourself yet, not the way he did. Although I like the not drinking part. That’s a start.”
“You’ve changed, too,” I told him.
“Let me guess. In your world, I’m a priest.”
“You were.”
He laughed to himself. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I’d taken that path. Maybe we all do that.”
“Believe me, I’ve been obsessed with that idea recently.”
Roscoe nodded as he looked around at the bar. “I asked you here for a reason, you know. This place right here is where my Dylan’s life changed.”
“Mine, too.”
“So tell me what happened to you here,” he said.
I picked up my club soda and swirled the ice, watching it clink around the glass. “Four years ago, on the anniversary of the night my parents died, I came here. I got drunk, and I got into it with a guy who was calling his girlfriend names. The cops came and arrested me. When they let me go, I called you, and you came to pick me up.”
Roscoe knew there was more. “And? What happened next?”
“There was a car accident. You died.”
A blink was his only reaction. He took another sip of Southern Comfort. “Oh.”
“I blamed myself.”
“Of course you did.”
“There’s more. I met a woman that night. It was a coincidence, a weird twist of fate — or at least, that’s what I thought at the time. Now I don’t know. She rescued me. She helped me recover. We got married. Then very recently, I lost her, too.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Roscoe glanced at me from over the top of his drink. “What was her name?”
“Karly. Her name was Karly.”
“Did you love her?”
“Yes, I did. I can’t imagine my life without her. I finally had everything I ever wanted, and I let it all slip through my hands. I screwed up my whole damn life, and now I can never get it back.”
I slammed my glass down on the bar. Ice and club soda sloshed over the side. I shook my head and dabbed at the spill with a napkin, and I waved away the bartender, who was looking at me with concern.
“You still have that temper, I see,” Roscoe murmured.
I drank what was left of the club soda. “So that’s my story. What happened here? In this world.”
My friend sighed. “Four years ago, on the anniversary of the night your parents died, you came here. You got drunk, and you got into it with a guy who was calling his girlfriend names. You started beating the hell out of him on the street.”
“And? What happened next?”
“The guy hit his head on the pavement. He died.”
“Shit.”
“You pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter. Your lawyer argued for probation because of your family background. He said what happened to your mother triggered a kind of psychological fixation with defending a woman who was in danger, and that the man’s death was accidental. The judge wasn’t impressed. You’d been in fights before, so he said you were aware of the risks. He gave you a sentence of two to five years.”
“Sounds like I deserved it.”
“Yes, that’s what you said. You didn’t even appeal the sentence. You went to prison and did eighteen months before you got paroled. It was rough for you. I know it was. But honestly, you became a new man. When you got out, you turned your life around. You went to AA and haven’t had a drink since. You go to counseling every month. You found a job at a nonprofit focused on affordable housing, and within a year, you were running the place. You even managed to come to terms with Edgar. You apologized for all the crap you’d dealt him over the years. You thanked him for taking you in as a kid. The two of you had breakfast every morning during his last three months.”
“Edgar died?” I asked.
“Yeah. Heart attack in his sleep.”
I felt an unexpected wave of grief. Edgar. My grandfather. My last family member. Dead.
In my own world, Edgar was still alive, but I didn’t know whether I’d ever see that world again. For the first time, I confronted the idea of him not being there. I had a vision of myself standing in front of Nighthawks, wishing Edgar was there to tell me the story of Daniel Catton Rich. Roscoe was right. There were things I should have said to him when I had the chance.
Even without knowing the Dylan Moran in this world, I realized he was living his life better than me.
I had to know more about him.
“Am I married?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away.
“I mean, in this world, there was no accident. You didn’t die. Karly didn’t find me in the car.”
Roscoe stared into his drink and wrestled with what to tell me. “After Edgar died, you brought in a contractor to work on the upstairs apartment so you could rent it out. The two of you became friends.”
“Scotty,” I guessed. “Scotty Ryan.”
“That’s right. He did a lot of work for a realtor he thought would be perfect for you, so he set the two of you up on a blind date. You hated the idea, but I pushed you to go. You went dancing at the Spybar, and it was love at first sight. Six months later, you were married.”
I closed my eyes and found it hard to breathe. Under my fingers, the bar was still wet where I’d spilled my drink, and the barest sensation of water made me feel as if I were drowning. “Her name, Roscoe. What’s her name?”
“Karly.”
I still couldn’t open my eyes. I was too angry with myself, too frustrated with my mistakes. The Dylan in this world had learned his lesson before it was too late. He’d changed. Not me.
“Am I happy?” I asked.
“Yes, you are. For the first time I can remember, you’re at peace. Plus, you’ve got—”
He stopped.
“What?”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know.”
“There’s something else. What is it?”
Roscoe shook his head. “I’m sorry. There are things that belong only to Dylan, not you.”
“I’m Dylan.”
“No, you’re not. Not here.”
I dug in my wallet and put money on the bar. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
“Home,” I said.
I began to get off the barstool, but Roscoe grabbed my wrist. For a small man, his grip was like steel. “Do not interfere in his world. He’s come too far to have it ruined for him. You had the same chances he did to turn your life around, and if you regret the choices you made, that’s on you.”
I looked into Roscoe’s eyes, which was a gift I never thought I’d have after I lost him. We’d known each other since we were kids. We’d grown up together, gone through all my struggles together. He was the most decent man I knew in any world, whether as a doctor or a priest.