I knew it must have been the Edwards. They watched me twenty-four seven through their interdimensional peephole. This was Edd following through on his threat to take matters into his own hands. I should have known he’d use Layton as his monkey wrench!

“It’s not what you think!” I said—which is what you always say when it’s exactly what the other person thinks.

“No? Well, I’ve got your little boytoy tutor right here. He’s got something to say. Go on,” prompted Layton. “Tell her you’re a loser! Tell her what a piece of shit you are!”

I heard the movement of the phone like the rustling of paper, a thunk as the phone dropped. I could hear the two of them fighting. Paul must have gotten the upper hand, because he was the one who picked up the phone.

“Don’t listen to him, Ashley! He’s lost his mind!”

More grappling, more fighting. This time Layton got the phone.

“Meet me by our tree,” Layton told me. “I’ll be waiting.”

But Paul called out in the background. “Don’t go, Ashley! He’s got a—”

And the phone went dead.

The night was clear as I drove toward the center of town. More than clear. The heavens were full of stars, horizon to horizon, as if the last of the Earth’s clouds had boiled away. I imagined the Earth now like a lidless, unblinking eye in space, unable to turn away from the doom that was soon to swallow it.

At first, I had no idea what Layton was talking about. “Our tree.” That memory was buried beneath the memories of other worlds and all the things in this world that were more important to me.

But then I remembered. A year ago, when we began dating, we had walked through a park, and he had carved our initials in a tree—like they did in old black-and-white movies. That was the sort of world Layton existed in. Simple and unambiguous. The quarterback and his girl in a world of winners and losers, with nothing in between. He served a personal cult of apple pie, homecoming royalty, and happily ever after. Anything that didn’t conform to that singular vision had to be bent, bound, and broken until it did.

Our tree was in a park with benches and a playground, and handy stations stocked with little scented dog shit bags. There was a fountain in the middle of the park, featuring a concrete cherub holding a bowl of endlessly flowing water. Or at least it was endlessly flowing until last year when an early frost froze the pipes and they burst. Now it was a water feature without water, highly skilled in collecting fallen leaves and litter.