“Are you okay?”

Throat tight, I stared at Daniel for a long moment, then turned around, my mind stuttering and trying to come to grips with what was going on.

“What…” I swallowed, then had to clear my throat when the word came out as nothing more than a squeak of sound. “What happened? How long was I gone?”

“Gone?” Daniel knelt in front of me and brushed his fingers over the back of my cheek.

A few months ago—before everything had changed—that small gesture probably would’ve annoyed me. As much as I loved my uncle, I was tired of him and my parents fussing and hovering over me.

But now, I reached up and caught his wrist, clinging to him. “Uncle Daniel?”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. You were only trapped down here for a few minutes, I think. But you must have fallen, hit your head.”

“Trapped…” I looked around, the wrongness in those words hitting me straight in the chest.

I hadn’t been trapped—

My jaw fell open.

That dusty, sad changing room—the one I recognized as Florence’s—was no longer dusty or sad.

It was well lit, a near perfect replica of how it had looked when I’d seen it last, just a few short weeks past—or was it years?

Don’t, a tiny part of me argued. You’ll make yourself crazy.

“What’s going on?” I whispered, clambering to my feet. When Uncle Daniel reached out to steady me, I brushed his hand away impatiently. Slowly, I turned around in a circle, not understanding anything I was seeing.

“They fixed it up pretty nice, I have to admit. They did most of the restoration using photos they found in Miss Woods’ collection.”

Those words had me turning to face him. “Miss Woods…Florence?”

He eyed me strangely. “Yes. I think they’ll be ready to open for visitors within the month, but the family has decided they’ll wait a little longer—out of respect. I understand that.”

“What––?” Okay, I was saying that way too often. I went to rub my head, and the gold of the locket—the chain still woven through my fingers—glittered in my hand. Driven by instinct, I shoved the necklace into the pocket of my jeans, desperate to keep it hidden and close.

Daniel turned back to me just as I pocketed it.

“What do you mean, ‘visitors’?” I asked, confused. “Why would they do that after she killed herself down here?”

Daniel blinked. For a moment, he looked just as confused as I felt—then he shook his head. “Honey, Florence didn’t die down here…I told you that. Yes, she did try to take her own life, but her assistant found her just in time and saved her. It was all in her memoir.”

“In her memoir…she wrote a book?” I huffed out a breath. “Uncle Daniel, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He immediately took a step toward me, his face grim. “I think we need to have a doctor look at you. Does your head hurt? Where?”

I smacked at his hand again when he reached out, intent on inspecting my skull. Immediately, I felt bad. He was just trying to help. But I didn’t need help. I needed to…

“No. I don’t need a doctor. I’m just a little out of it, okay? Just…” I stopped and looked around once more time.

Something on the nightstand, near the little bed where Florence had sometimes napped, caught my eye.

It was her diary.

I started toward it, only to stop.

The diary.

I’d left that by the bed last night when I went to sleep…with Glenn.

Glenn…

“This is more than a little out of it, sweetheart. I sent you a copy of her book for your birthday a few months ago. You’ve always been enamored with the story of Florence and how she nearly lost her life. She’s one—was—one of your favorite movie stars. I even managed to get the book personalized for you.”

As I turned to look at him, he passed a hand over his eyes. “It was a good thing I managed it when I did. She got sick so suddenly…I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Gone. I thought you said she didn’t die…”

“No, I said she didn’t kill herself.” Daniel narrowed his eyes, and I knew he was still considering taking me on a nice trip to see a doctor. Like hell he was. “She passed away last year. She died from a heart attack.”

* * *

I spent the drive back to Uncle Daniel’s reading up on Florence on my phone. She had entries up all over the web—Wikipedia, interviews on People, Time, Biography.com.

She had indeed died of a heart attack last year.

Just last month, one of her children had died.

I guess that explained why they were holding off on opening the set to visitors.

What wasn’t explained was why the set I’d left looked so much…different.

The movie hadn’t been finished—I knew that.

Daniel had told me.

But to clarify my memory, I did a search on the movie, and it was indeed unfinished. The studio tried it again a few years later with new leads, but the attempt failed.

Florence had gone into rehab. I read article after article about how active she’d been in the field, even before advocacy for addicts had been a thing.

She’d been a powerhouse.

I hadn’t looked up anything on Glenn.

I was afraid to.

Other than the movie set, everything looked…normal. Seemed normal.

How could anything be normal, though? Everything in my world had been flipped upside down. Closing my hand into a fist, I fought the urge to look down at my fingers.

A few short hours ago, I’d worn an engagement ring.

Did you?

It was a small, ugly voice in the back of my head, and I resisted the urge—just barely—to start drumming my skull against the window as we drove through the crowded, bustling streets of LA.

I didn’t want to listen to that voice. I didn’t want to think about what it could mean.

Did you…?

Maybe I hadn’t. Uncle Daniel said I’d only been in that room a few minutes.

“Are you okay?”

The soft sound of my uncle’s voice drew me back to myself, and I stirred in the seat, looking over at him. “I’m fine,” I said, summoning up a smile from somewhere.

“Are you?” He didn’t look at me.

But I felt his keen interest nonetheless.

“I’ve known you your entire life, Maya. You don’t do quiet.” He laughed softly. “Not unless you’re plotting revenge or you’re very, very upset. So…which is it?”

“I’m not plotting revenge,” I said.

“Then you’re upset. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But even I could hear the lie. I didn’t know what to tell him other than that, though. If I told him what was wrong, he’d escort me to the nearest psych hospital. Or worse…he’d call Mom and Dad.

Mom…my heart ached. It felt like it had been months since I’d seen her. Tears pricked my eyes, and I wondered if maybe it had been.

“Maya—”

“I’m fine!” I snapped.

Of course, I wasn’t.

But Uncle Daniel simply went quiet and I sat there, my hands knotted in my lap as I struggled to find some way to tell him I was sorry.

The words wouldn’t come and after a time, I got tired of trying to force them out.

I just want to be alone. I wanted to be alone, and I wanted to think.

I had to think. I had to figure out what was going on…was any of this real?

Not what was going on now—everything I’d thought had happened before…now. Before my uncle had opened the trap door and I’d opened my eyes to find myself in a completely different time, in a completely different place, wrapped in the warm, safe embrace of Glenn’s arms.

Was that real?

How had I gone from 1962 to now?

And more…how could I get back?

That question, more than anything else, caught me off guard.

Get back?

Was I seriously thinking about getting back?

But the insane thing was…I didn’t even have to think about that.

I already knew the answer.

Of course I was.

I was thinking about it hard.

* * *

I still hadn’t let myself look up anything about Glenn.

Out of everything else, that was what worried me the most. Part of me kept wondering if all of this was a dream. It felt too real to be a dream, but if it was a dream, then that meant everything would fade, right?

But a huge part of me worried that if I looked up anything about Glenn, then I’d figure out the truth—and I wasn’t sure if I could handle it.

I could still feel the weight of the engagement ring on my finger.

I could still feel the brush of his lips on mine.

And I could swear I could still feel his body rubbing against mine, his arms around me.

I didn’t want to know if I had dreamed him.

I didn’t want to know if it had all been my imagination.

But worse, I couldn’t handle knowing that it had all been real…and he was gone.