by Chris Lange
“Hey, don’t mention it.” He walked back to flex his muscles like a bodybuilding champion until she laughed. Then he winked at her. “What are friends for?”
Grinning, he sauntered out of the kitchen. Left alone, she figured the talk had been fruitful. Hurting Timothy was the last thing she wanted. Whether as a couple or as best friends, she had fond memories of their time together. Losing him would have been very disturbing, and harsh.
She found relief in the way he handled her rejection. Come to think of it, he might have handled it a little too well. Now, there was a thought. Did it mean there was someone else in his life? At the very least, did he like someone even if he hadn’t acted on it? She’d have to look into the matter one of these days. After all, what were friends for?
Once Tim left her condo, she showered, got dressed, and went to her workroom. She began painting Garrett’s portrait from memory as soon as she got back from the parallel 1899 San Francisco. In her own way, she’d captured his beautiful face forever. Not stern, forbidding Garrett, but his open, almost painful features when he had confessed his love for her. Also when he had made love to her.
The task soothed her suffering. She sat in front of her easel for weeks on end drawing the essence of him, nailing it to the core. She was particularly proud of the way she captured the curve of his full lips and the intensity of his dark eyes, now watching her every time she walked into the room.
She put all her talent, energy, and pain into this painting. All her love. Although the portrait was her masterpiece, she’d never show it to anybody. A hand on her throat, she whispered to the picture, “It’s time to say goodbye, my love.”
Careful not to drop it, she moved the easel to a corner at the back of the workroom and covered the portrait with a long cloth. Garrett’s face disappeared as she spoke to him for the last time. “I love you, but I won’t die for you.”
Her words felt like a promise as she moved through life with renewed ardor. Her friends helped, Timothy always leading the gang. They took her to the new club in town twice although her heart wasn’t in it. Too much drinking and loud music left her with a hangover and her ears ringing for forty-eight hours.
She enjoyed herself better when they went to restaurants and talked for hours after a satisfying meal. With her friends cutting the bonds from her enslaving recollections, the days turned into weeks of relative serenity.
June came, bringing very warm temperatures for the season along with light pleasant winds and sunshine almost every day. Basking in its snugness, Sausalito was just a dream place come true. Walking to her father’s house on Bonita Street, she reflected on the events of the past month.
No doubt life had been easier since the night she slept with Timothy, more bearable. Even the girls didn’t look half as worried. She still thought of Garrett every goddamn hour, but the pain had lessened, gone for a nap. With luck, maybe gone forever. If nothing else, keeping away from his portrait helped a lot.
Nevertheless, her long lost lover’s face had been her last painting. The urge to draw took a vacation, her brushes dried up, a new canvas locked in the closet. On the bright side, she spent a great deal of time at the gallery, promoting young artists, selling overpriced paintings to foreign contractors, and establishing a sound business in the marketplace.
Today was Saturday, the weekend stretching lazily along the Marina, the Bay, and the glittering city across the Golden Gate. What could she do? Alyson had gone camping with her book club friends and Michelle was out of town. They both invited her of course, and as usual, she declined.
She hated camping, hated the hassle of putting up tents, hated the lack of clean amenities, the discomfort, the heat turning her armpits to swamps, the bugs, and the next tent neighbors. She was a city girl inside out.
Besides, her dad agreed to have lunch with her. William Richardson and his daughter sitting down for a meal was kind of an event, given that he was away most of the time. Working on a new project down in the basement, on business trips to Los Angeles, Seattle, or Chicago, she wasn’t sure.
He never talked about his comings and goings. In the dead of winter, he stayed in New York City for over a month without even bothering to phone or return her calls. She was still waiting for a postcard featuring Times Square.
As a result, they spent so little time together that she had every intention of making the most of it today. Cooking didn’t sit well with her, yet she was willing to concoct a pineapple, egg, ham, cheese, and rice salad.
She’d borne a grudge against her father for a long time, even after their adventure in Gold Run. In a way, she came to forgive him and value his accomplishments, but she’d never understand him. If he regarded her as a spoiled brat because people were more important to her than work well, too bad.
She wasn’t about to change her mind regarding her priorities or responsibilities, especially since he closed the door to the nineteenth century, cutting her off from Garrett, from love. No way in, or out.
“Hi, Tracy.”
“Hi.” Without missing a step, she smiled at the vaguely familiar face, unable to recall the name of the woman walking past her.
“Have a nice day.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
Seven months later, remembering that particular event still hurt. Crossing back to her own world and leaving Garrett behind had been an ordeal. But nobody left her a choice. So she went through the motions and took her dad straight to the hospital.
They ran some basic tests on him while she stayed in the waiting room. They didn’t appear overjoyed with the results, not that worried either. As he refused to stay even for a night, they discharged him.
He’d kept silent on the way home then gone straight to bed as soon as he passed the threshold. In case he needed help, she stayed the night in the big house on Bonita Street, never imagining he went down to the basement.
They shared breakfast the following morning. She nearly choked on her food when he informed her of his action and beat her hopes to a frigging pulp. Spreading precious butter on his toasts, he avoided her gaze.
“I know you’re going to hate me, but there’s something I have to tell you.”
“I’m all ears, Dad.”
“I’ve sealed the way.”
“You what?”
Being electrocuted by a lightning bolt didn’t hurt as much, did it? Being spiked on a picket fence didn’t hurt as much, did it? Because a horrible sensation cut through her and a shout in her guts made her nauseous. Her dad could keep his news to himself, she didn’t want to hear them.
“You . . . what?”
She managed to ask again with difficulty, her lungs in need of air, her heart seeming to stand still.
“It’s over, Tracy. Meddling with space and time is too dangerous and I won’t make that mistake again.”
Fascinated by his toast, her father missed the fierce look she shot him. No matter, she’d speak her mind anyway. “Are you doing this on my account? Are you just mean or is it to prevent me from seeing Garrett?”
Still unable to look at his own daughter, her dad kept spreading on a piece of bread his highly precious jelly. “That boy has a life to lead and as I said before, you don’t belong in it. He’s going back to London with his family. To be truthful, science is what matters. The telepods are certainly my greatest achievement so far, but they aren’t toys. I still shudder at the thought of what could have happened. If my former assistant had accomplished his goal, our worlds might not be as we know them.”
“Iago. His name was Iago, Dad.”
She wouldn’t forget that schizophrenic wacko or the grenade he’d threatened them with. For a second, her father seemed lost in the past.
“Yes, so it was,” her father said. “A funny character, to say the least. I had no idea who he was when I hired him in Cambridge all those years
ago. I guess that wasn’t my best move, but I hadn’t figured everything out at the time. That world was new to me and it took me a while to grasp the essence of it.”
“And have you now?”
Deep in his recollections of another universe and era, he missed again her scornful expression. “It doesn’t matter. The way is sealed, that’s the only course of action I can take. I’ll miss my Gold Run lab, though.”
Who gave a shit about his stupid lab? Groping for any solution to change his mind, she blurted, “What if you were more careful with your system? I’m sure it’s possible. What if you had some sort of restricted access? You could also build a fallout shelter, or, I don’t know, integrate safety measures.”
“I was careful. I took all the precautions I could think of to safeguard my invention, and look what happened. No, dear girl, you and I almost paid the price of my recklessness with our lives. That isn’t something I’m willing to gamble on. I think it’s best to put this argument behind us.”
“But, Dad, I love Garrett.”
She knew her cry sounded like a plea but at this point she didn’t care. Her father’s face softened, and he looked at her the way he used to sometimes when she was a little girl, afraid of the monster in the closet.
“I know, my child, yet Garrett is lost to you. I’m certain he’s already on his way to England, to his family, to his peers, and he will claim his birthright. Even if I gave you access to his world, you’d never see him again.”
“Well, I could go to London.”
“To achieve what, I wonder. Beg him? Beg his family? Come on, Tracy, you’re much stronger than that. Would you really follow him against all odds? A man who used you before denying you?”
Her dad’s last words hurt more than him sealing the way to her love, harsh reminders of the ugly face of truth. Even if Garrett enjoyed their time together, he had indeed used her and denied her.
Seven months later, that dreadful, heartbreaking conversation with her dad was still stashed somewhere in her mind and she hadn’t forgotten a single word. If memory served, that occasion had also been the last time she mentioned Garrett’s name aloud.
On Bonita Street, she let herself in her father’s house. Looking forward to seeing him, she crossed the hallway and went straight to his study.
“Daddy? I’m here.”
Only silence met her greeting. Only the paintings on the walls looked at her. She saw the note on his desk at first glance and grabbed the sheet of paper.
Sorry, Tracy, but had to go to L.A. for the day. Be back early tonight. Don’t wait for me.
So much for their father-daughter lunch. She crumpled the message, threw it into the garbage can, and glanced outside. It really was a beautiful late morning, a distant cloud floating away, the garden trees casting shadows on the grass, multicolored flowers blossoming under the caress of a soft breeze, the pool basking in golden rays.
Heated all year round, not very large but a hundred feet long, enclosed with sliding panels in winter, the swimming pool was the jewel of the Richardson’s house. Oh yeah, no place like home.
The tempting waters called out to her. She might as well take a dip instead of chewing over her disappointment. In her old bedroom on the second floor, she put on her bikini, picked up a beach towel, her sunglasses, and the novel she never got to finish. Today she’d finally get to know if the handsome hero turned out to be a villain.
In the garden, crisp grass under her bare feet, she laid her stuff by the deck chairs before stepping beside the ladder. With a sigh, she slid lazily in the deep blue, warm liquid and enjoyed the wrapping sensation.
Needing exercise to wash away all thoughts, she swam a few lengths, letting her body take charge, just moving back and forth without any sense of time and space.
The incredible sensation soon boosted her even though she kind of exerted herself. Spent but invigorated, she was reaching the edge of the pool when she heard an unmistakable voice.
“Good morning, Miss Richardson.”
Chapter 2
Heart hammering like a fibrillating cuckoo, lungs straining hard to play pinball in her throat, Tracy thought of passing out. Possibly drown in a few feet of water. Probably go into cardiac arrest.
Yet she glanced up while brushing back her sodden hair. Standing tall and awfully, irritatingly, disturbingly attractive, Garrett was looking down at her. He wore a somber gray three-piece suit with a light-gray collared shirt and a top hat. Gosh, but he looked way too elegant and dashing.
Hard gaze, dark brow, inscrutable face, there he stood, as godlike as any god who ever walked the stars. Damn the damned, and the damnedest. She swallowed as he stretched his arm out, the ensuing shadow blocking the sun from her face and allowing her to watch him without squinting.
“Allow me to help you up,” he said.
Oh no, you won’t, my friend.
If Garrett had decided to play it all handsome and seductive, she could do that, too. She ignored his hand to grab the ladder instead. Climbing up slowly, she took a deep, discreet breath for a blow up breasts and flat belly effect.
He appeared transfixed. When she stood drenched before him, she deliberately twisted her hair in slow motion to give him time to enjoy her golden, glistening body at leisure. No movie star could have achieved a better performance. Jaws tight, he stared, unable to take his eyes off her.
“Good heavens, Lord Burnes,” she said.
Falling back into his manner of speaking felt easy and natural. She scoffed, but offered him a large smile, “What an unexpected entrance.”
He stared some more. Then he cleared his throat, his whole body tense from whatever emotion coursed through him. “I dare say you look well.”
She acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod, assuming the role of the perfect, composed hostess. “I was about to make tea, would you like some?”
It took him a few seconds to reply. When he did, his tone reminded her of the crunch of gravel underfoot. “As a matter of fact, I came to palaver with William.”
“Does it keep you from drinking tea?”
He cocked his head, caught off-guard, and stepped back from her, his shadow reflecting on the large glass door. “Er, no, it doesn’t.”
“Good.” She moved to the deck chair, hips rolling, droplets of water running down her spine, and bent over with indolence to pick up her towel. She felt his hot gaze on her back, on her legs, on her buttocks.
She already gathered she rattled him. Good, let him squirm for a change. Still, the knowledge didn’t amount to the pain and grief she’d endured because of his past behavior. No way was she finished with him just yet.
Walking back to him, she smiled and gestured toward the house before leading the way. He followed her into the kitchen without uttering a single word. She observed him from the corner of her eye while she moved around and about in her bikini, her pulse unwilling to slow down. He sat on one of the chairs and removed his top hat to place it with care on a stool beside him.
He was a peer of Queen Victoria and his lordly nineteenth century clung to his skin. Shit. Why did he have to act so in control when her blood boiled in her veins and her belly collapsed into a mush?
Discreetly watching his careful, appealing movements, she strained to keep her composure, to prove to him he held no power over her. Not any longer. She snatched tea bags from a box, wondering if he’d acknowledge the fact that they hadn’t seen each other for seven interminable months.
“Is William present?” Garrett asked.
Okay, that question meant he wouldn’t. What were the odds? She poured boiling water in two mugs and kept her tone light.
“I’m so happy to see you too, Lord Burnes. You know it’s always such a pleasure to meet with you.”
“I apologize, Miss Richardson. I didn’t expect to see you he
re, and I seem to have forgotten my manners.”
“I guess you have.”
She placed a hot mug in front of him. Then she casually went to the refrigerator, retrieved a carton of milk, opened the largest cupboard, located the sugar, sat down across the table, and motioned.
“Here, help yourself.”
He looked fidgety. Averting the sight of her near naked body, he was now looking at the white table with great intensity.
“I thank you for the tea, but will you not—?”
“Will I not what?”
He hesitated as she waited. Weird, given that she remembered him as a very literate and well-spoken person. Seconds ticked by before he replied with a wince that looked almost painful.
“Cover yourself.”
She chuckled, enjoying his embarrassment, and making no move to put him out of his misery.
“Welcome to my twenty-first century, my lord,” she said.
Straightening his back, he stirred his tea in a ceaseless motion. “A surprising century indeed.”
Surprising or not, her time period wasn’t new to her and she didn’t want him to launch into the topic. He might complain for hours about how proper ladies kept their clothes on at all times, instead of enlightening her. So she asked the question that burned her lips since he showed up by the swimming pool.
“How did you get here, Garrett?”
“I used the telepod.”
Her spoon clattered on the kitchen floor and Garrett raised his eyebrows. “Why? What’s the matter?”
“That’s impossible. Dad sealed the way months ago.”
“I don’t believe he did, for he has been spending much of his days in my world, working tirelessly.”