by Jaime Loren
I lowered my head. “Do we … make love in every lifetime?”
“We, ah—” He paused and cleared his throat. My eyes found his again, demanding the truth. “No. We’d only just gone on our first date in 1949, the night before you were …” He grimaced.
The image of the woman in his bed sheets came flooding back to crush me—as if I’d only seen her in his bed yesterday. “You and Sue-Ann,” I said, backing away. There wasn’t enough air, even though we were outdoors.
Scott jumped to his feet. “How—?” Realization apparently dawned on him, because his features smoothed. “Daphne.”
Then it hit me that no one had told me the naked woman’s name. Jesus, it was all true! They were memories. I fought hard to speak over the lump in my throat. “Are you going to tell me Daphne was lying?”
Scott hung his head, making my heart ache. “She wasn’t lying.”
I stumbled back, reaching out behind me for something to sit on. “Oh God,” I said, settling for a patch of grass when nothing else jumped out at me. Between the horror of discovering I’d been alive for centuries, the embarrassment over Scott’s intimate knowledge of me, and the wave of jealousy and betrayal I felt over his ridiculously complicated infidelity, my roller coaster ride of emotions was giving me whiplash.
Now a greyer shade of pale, Scott crouched before me. “Daphne wasn’t lying.”
“Yeah,” I choked. “I got that.”
“But she didn’t know the whole story, either.”
I shook my head, fighting back tears, not wanting his words to take me back to that morning. “I don’t need a play by play.”
“I didn’t touch Sue-Ann,” he said, raising his voice, obviously determined to make me listen. After a pause, he lowered it. “She snuck in while I was in the shower. I had no idea she was there, I swear.” His eyes appeared sincere. “I didn’t know anyone else was in my house until I heard the glass in the door smash and saw you running down the front walk.”
The memory crept in, something I hadn’t even registered properly that morning in 1949. But he was right—I’d flung his front door open so hard, the glass had shattered. The sound of it echoed in my mind. I closed my eyes.
“Sue-Ann had … loose morals,” he continued. “And she didn’t take rejection lightly.”
I looked up. “You rejected her?”
“Repeatedly.” He didn’t break eye contact. “I would never lie with—” He squeezed his eyes closed. “I’d never make love to anyone but you.”
I eyed him doubtfully. “Why should I believe you? Rumor has it you’ve had your fair share of women.”
He scoffed. “Rumor has it?”
“I’m not naïve, Scott.”
“No, but apparently you’ve been misled.”
“Oh really? So you’re going to tell me you don’t have love letters lying around from other women who were ‘so sleepless after having your hands on their bare skin,’” I said, trying my best to sound like a floozy.
Scott’s face dropped.
“Yeah.” I stood up and stuck my chin out. “That little piece of gold fell out of the box at Henry’s.”
For a moment he was expressionless. Then his eyes watered.
I’d struck a—
A breath of a laugh escaped before he contained it with a smile.
“It’s hardly funny.”
He shook his head, but didn’t wipe the grin from his face.
“Scott!” My frustration was building so fast I had to fight back tears.
His face finally smoothed.
“It’s really not funny,” he said, looking away.
My heart clenched.
He turned to face me again. “My dearest Scott. The memory of your hands against my bare skin last night left me sleepless. My heart races every time I picture the look on your face, as if you couldn’t tell whether or not you were dreaming.”
Heat flew up my neck as he held my gaze.
“It certainly felt like a dream. Do you know what you do to me with one look, Scott? What you did to me with one kiss?”
My cheeks burned.
“The letter was from you, April.”
My breath fell. “Me?”
“If you need proof, I can—”
“No.” I shook my head. I knew exactly what Scott could do to me with one look. What he’d done to me with one kiss the other night. The words were mine, I was sure of it.
We stood in silence for a moment as I tried to absorb everything. I didn’t think he was lying to me now, but there was still something niggling away at me. Some discomfort. Then it dawned on me.
“What about Stella? You deliberately led me to believe you were sleeping with her.”
“Nothing happened between us, I promise you.”
“Why did you let me think the two of you were together?”
He took a deep breath and held it before blowing it out. “Rowan wasn’t happy about the amount of time we were spending together.”
I lifted my chin, wondering where this could possibly go. I’d known Rowan wasn’t keen on Scott, but I’d never imagined they’d had words.
“For the most part, I ignored him. But soon his comments turned from hints to outright warnings.”
I frowned. “What?”
Scott shrugged one shoulder.
“Stella danced with me at Craig’s party, and Rowan saw us together. It was the first time he didn’t look like he wanted to beat the life out of me.”
“So, what? You spent more time with her in the hope Rowan would feel more comfortable letting the two of us spend time together?”
“Yes.”
“Was she telling me the truth about Joshua?” I asked, needing to hear it one more time.
“Yes. She and I were never an item, April.”
I couldn’t believe how relieved that made me. But at the same time, it hurt just that little bit more. “Was Stella telling me the truth when she said you needed time away from me?”
He didn’t hesitate. “She was.”
I swallowed the hurt. “Why?”
“Because I can’t think straight when I’m with you.”
My stomach jumped, shaking the butterflies loose. “Were you thinking straight when you told Henry you wished you could take that kiss back?” I couldn’t pretend that didn’t hurt.
“I was thinking perfectly straight,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I—I kissed you … and if I hadn’t kissed you, you wouldn’t have been angry with me.”
I raised my eyebrows.
He nodded and rolled his eyes. “Okay, but not as angry as what you were. The point is, I wouldn’t have dragged you into town yesterday just so I could speak with you. You wouldn’t have run into Daphne, and—”
“And I wouldn’t have started asking questions?”
His fists clenched by his sides. “You wouldn’t have been anywhere near that car! You would have been safe here at the cabin. You almost died because I couldn’t refrain from kissing you.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off. “Don’t you get it? I got you killed!”
“You saved me. I’m alive because of you.”
He lowered his head and dropped to his knees, his muscles coiling tight as his fingers curled into the earth beside him. Every inch of me ached as I watched him fall apart. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m the reason you died in the first place.”
Chapter 13
(Scott)
The foal was mal-positioned, its head down and one leg in the canal. The thought of April losing two horses—the mother and the foal—in one day was too much to bear.
“Scott, is she going to be okay?” She rubbed her hands together the way she always did when she was anxious.
“Can you run back to the barn and get some rope? The longer she’s in there, the more distressed she’ll get. We might be able to tie her feet to pull her out.” April’s forehead creased further with worry. “I’ll get her out, I promise. She’ll be perfect, just like you.” I smiled.
S
he shook her head slowly, and her forehead smoothed. Grabbing my face, she kissed me tenderly, then turned and ran as fast as she could toward my family’s property. She turned around after twenty yards or so and called out, “I love you, Scott Parker.”
I watched her run, pulling her dress up to her knees, her long red hair bouncing off her back. My heart swelled. Tomorrow, my best friend would be my wife.
How did I get so lucky?
Nutmeg gave a long-winded groan, pulling my attention back to her.
“I know, I know. It won’t be too much longer now,” I soothed, stroking her rump.
A lot of good that would do her, though. She was in agony. Taking a deep breath, I decided to pull the head again. I slid my arm in as far as I could, feeling for the soft, slippery hoof encased in the sac. Once I located it, I grabbed hold of it, but another contraction squeezed my arm, almost crushing it. A minute passed before her muscles relaxed, and I felt the blood in my arm return. It was now or never. There was only a minute to get this done before another contraction came.
What happened next was a Godsend.
Another small hoof brushed my fingers, and I snared it. I pulled as hard as I could, Nutmeg groaned again, shifting uncomfortably under the strain of another oncoming contraction. It was then that I felt the soft touch of a foal’s muzzle against the back of my hand.
“Yes, yes!” I pulled harder.
Using my free hand, I pushed inside of Nutmeg, apologising profusely to the horse who now had two arms and a foal competing for room. Pushing the hooves in, I stretched the fingers of my free hand, trying to find the muzzle again. When I did, I pulled and tilted it, bringing it in line, and all of a sudden there was more freedom of movement. When Nutmeg’s next contraction came, I pulled on the foal’s hooves as hard as I could.
The beautiful filly slid out quickly, still half encased in her sac.
“Good girl!” I said, congratulating Nutmeg. “Good girl.”
The adrenaline that coursed through me made my heart race. In the distance there was a bang—and birds from nearby trees squawked as they took flight. Nutmeg stirred, but was in no condition to worry.
I was overcome with disappointment that April hadn’t been there to see the birth. The filly lay on the ground, throwing her head around, her wet nostrils flaring as she took her first breaths. I stood and looked across the paddock, but there was no sign of April. I stepped back to watch Nutmeg and her new foal become acquainted. It was another few minutes before the filly was free of her sac, and I chuckled as she wobbled on her newfound legs, struggling to use muscles she’d never used before. Nutmeg walked around her as the filly nibbled at her mother’s belly in search of milk, and I took another deep breath in satisfaction when she found the teat and had her first feed.
I lay down in the midday sun, waiting for April. It was quite a while later when I heard someone coming toward me.
“Well, it’s about time.” I laughed, turning around.
Father walked toward me. He was pale, and covered in blood …
He tried to speak, but he couldn’t form any words. I pulled my eyebrows together.
He was pale.
His cheeks were lined with tears.
He was covered in blood.
And April hadn’t returned.
I swallowed hard. “Have you seen April?”
His face twisted with grief, and he removed his hat.
My heart plummeted as the lump in my throat constricted my airway, but I smiled and shook my head. It was some sort of joke.
“There were three of them, and they had a gun,” he choked on the words.
“No.”
“Son, I’m so sorry,” he cried.
Grief flooded my body.
“No.” I stepped around him and ran toward home.
I could barely breathe as I ran, the long grass hitting my legs the way it must have hit April’s, not half an hour earlier. Her face was all I could picture as I closed in on my house. The last words she’d said to me rang in my ears, breaking my heart. Rounding the corner and running past the gate, I could hear the cries of April’s mother and father in our barn. I slowed to a stop.
April’s father held her mother in his arms, and John stood over April, his face white and his hands trembling. They all turned to me at the same time.
April lay still, her angelic face white and her dress covered in blood.
I dropped to my knees, numb. As I took her hand in mine, just as I was supposed to do the next day in front of witnesses, my heart beat faster. She was warm.
“She’s not dead,” I said, looking up at her parents. “She’s not dead! She’s still warm.”
Of course I knew that animals remained warm after they’d been shot. They stayed warm for hours, sometimes. But I would hold onto any hope that she was still with us. That she could be saved.
“Scotty,” her father cried. “She’s gone.”
“No.” I shook my head. “She wouldn’t do that to me. April!” I took her head in my arms and pulled her up against my chest. “Baby, don’t leave. We’re getting married tomorrow.”
“Scotty, I’m so sorry,” John said as he looked down at me.
“April,” I moaned, clutching her tight. “Please, don’t leave me …”
April’s tears fell as I recounted the way I’d held her lifeless body, expecting her to giggle the way she had that day in the field after falling from Nutmeg. How I’d watched the corner of her mouth intently, waiting for it to turn up. The way I’d been convinced that, any minute, she was going to give in, and I was going to be furious with her for playing such a cruel prank.
I told her of my refusal to leave her, or move her. Of my belief that, while I could hold her, she was still with me. That if I could see her, she hadn’t been taken from me.
I recalled that as darkness had filled the barn, the sight of her had faded before me. The cool breeze had slid across her skin like icy fingers, stealing the last remaining signs of life. As the minutes had passed, it had become apparent she would not giggle. I’d had to accept that I’d have no reason to be furious with her.
“My best friend, my lover, my future wife … my reason for living had ceased to exist.” I looked up at her now at the edge of the woods, pine needles occasionally falling around us. “Or so I’d thought.”
Her tear-lined cheeks were still ashen, her long, curved eyelashes still wet. She’d returned to me nineteen times, and yet, I still couldn’t believe she was here, looking at me. Talking to me.
“We were going to be married?”
I clutched at the earth beneath me, forcing dirt under my fingernails. “You’d just finished your dress that morning.” I couldn’t look at her as I told her she was buried in it on our wedding day.
Her breath shuddered. She swiped at her tears. “Did they catch my killer?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
“No. I led the search party. We looked for months. Everyone was on high alert, but despite the graphic detail John had given the authorities, and four other families who’d given details about recent robberies, the gunmen were nowhere to be found. You were their first and only victim. They hadn’t been violent towards the other families during the robberies, and they hadn’t stolen anything from us … save you.
“Eventually everybody else continued on with their lives. The ‘Wanted’ posters faded, and John left home when the guilt of not being able to save you became too much for him.”
She eyed me now, as if trying to read me. “What about you? How did you … cope?”
I laughed, a noise riddled with pain. “Cope? No, April. Coping was not an option for me.”
She chewed her lip.
I lowered my head. “At first I thought the reason I wasn’t hungry, or couldn’t sleep, was because of the grief.” I took a deep breath. “But a week passed, and I didn’t feel the effects of starvation. On the eighth night I drank enough to knock three men unconscious, but I felt nothing. No drowsiness. No fatigue. I might as well have been drinking w
ater. And all I wanted to do was sleep.” My eyes found hers. “You know that moment people speak of, where they wake up, and for a few minutes they’ve forgotten their loved one is gone?”
She nodded, her cheeks filling with color.
“I wanted that. I wanted to go to sleep, and wake up believing you were still there. Or better yet, wake up and discover it was all a nightmare.”
“How …” She squeezed her eyes closed. “When did you figure out what was happening to you?”
I exhaled. “I still don’t know what’s happening to me. To us.”
“But there must have been a moment when you realized you couldn’t be harmed.”
I averted my gaze, heat licking at my neck, my cheeks.
“Scott?”
I scooped up some pine needles and folded them until they broke. “I guess you could say there was a defining moment. One I’m not proud of.”
She eyed me carefully, waiting for me to go on …
“Do you remember the time when you and John were going to the waterfall, and I wanted to come, but you wouldn’t let me?” she asked.
I nodded and turned my hand over to take hers.
She smiled sadly. “I rigged a bucket full of water above your bedroom door. Then I sat back to enjoy the show when you returned.”
The memory made me smile, even though my tears were falling.
“Do you remember what I said, Scott?”
I laughed and wiped my tears away with my free hand. “You said, ‘I guess I didn’t have to go with you to see the water fall, after all.’”
We both laughed through our tears.
“And you were as furious as ever I saw you,” she said. “You threw me over your shoulder, kicking and screaming, and carried me out to the lake to submerge us both.” I laughed again, rubbing my thumb over her hand. “I wanted to be angry with you,” she continued, “and I was for a moment after resurfacing. But you were laughing so hard it was difficult not to join you.”
I smiled.
“Gosh, how old were we then, Scott? Eleven?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve,” she whispered. Tears streamed down her face. “Life goes by so quickly, doesn’t it?”