Grandma Suse smiled. “Yes, thank you, Joe. I’d love some tea.”
“Oh … I, um, don’t really know …” he stuttered.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll take care of it,” I said, chuckling.
He laughed and shook his head. “Thanks, Lelee.”
Lelee. The old nickname nearly brought tears to my eyes, and Grandma Suse’s earlier words replayed in my head. Joe Larson will always be your real father. No matter what, I would always be his little girl … his Lelee. Close to tears—the happy variety for once—I joined my mom in the kitchen.
Her face was etched with worry when she looked up from the ham she was doctoring. “We need to talk, Lex.”
Freezing in the middle of the kitchen, I eyed her warily. I wasn’t ready for any more enormous family revelations—not yet.
“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie. It’s nothing like that,” she said, placing the ham in a roasting pan. “It’s your sister—I just … I don’t want you to tell her.”
Relieved, I continued on my tea-making mission. “I know, Mom. You don’t think she’s strong enough to handle it.”
“You—how did you … did you talk to your dad?” she asked, bristling. “He shouldn’t be telling you …”
Oh, crap. I nearly dropped the mug I’d just pulled from the cabinet. Where had I heard that? It came to me all of a sudden—the dream from last night. “Um … no? I mean, Dad and I haven’t really talked much about this at all. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot and … I guess I came to the same conclusion. About Jenny, I mean.” Can she tell that I’m lying?
My mom raised her eyebrows. “Really? I’m surprised in you. I sort of thought you’d demand we tell her the truth as soon as possible.” She skewered me with her sharpest “mom look,” apparently doubting my sincerity.
Nonchalantly, I shrugged. “Dunno. I guess it just makes sense to me.” I quickly turned away to fill the yellow enamel teapot. “I’m just gonna make Grandma some tea and then I’ll help you with dinner,” I said, hoping to divert her thoughts.
“Oh? That’s wonderful! I’m a little behind schedule,” she confessed, hoisting the roasting pan into the oven.
After I delivered the tea and fitted myself with a burgundy apron proclaiming “I cook with wine; sometimes I even add it to the food,” I was directed toward a multitude of duties. I chopped, mixed, boiled, stirred, and mashed without a moment between each task. Every year, my mom felt the need to try to outdo her previous holiday feasts.
At least I know where I get my love of cooking, I thought contentedly.
***
That night, belly stuffed with ham, potatoes, and way too many frosted Christmas cookies, I fell asleep … and dreamed. Again, I watched my parents discuss whether or not to tell Jenny and me the truth. Again, I witnessed my grandpa directing my parents to Dr. Lee’s practice. Again, the hand jerked me from the dream before I could uncover the identity of the hidden man who’d been speaking to my grandparents.
In the early hours of the morning, a new scene played out in my dreams.
My family was eating the previous year’s Christmas Eve dinner. My mom’s failed sweet potato soufflé sat, deflated, on the edge of the table.
I inhaled in surprise—another version of me was entering the room, carrying a full bottle of wine.
“I just don’t know what I want to do yet … I guess I’m not ready to commit,” Jenny said.
Setting the bottle on the table next to my dad, the past version of me said, “You still haven’t picked your major?” She scoffed. “You’re in the middle of your third year, J. You’re sort of running out of time.”
“Gee, thanks for the heads up. I hadn’t noticed!” My sister glared at the other me. “Damn it, Lex, I can survive in the world without you reminding me of things I already know!”
She’d always had a hair-trigger temper, but I remembered how shocked I’d been at the severity of her reaction.
“J, c’mon,” the other me said. “I just meant that it’s an important decision, and unless you plan to stay in school forever, you—”
“No, Lex. Just stop talking for once. God, sometimes I can’t even stand to be in the same house with you!” She threw her napkin onto her full plate and stormed out of the room, leaving our parents and Grandma Suse gaping.
The other me rushed after her.
I followed.
“J, c’mon. What’s wrong?” the other me called through Jenny’s closed bedroom door.
Watching the past, I leaned against the upstairs hallway wall, cringing at what I knew was about to happen.
The door flung open, and my sister huffed out, pushing past the other me and dragging her suitcase. “It’s you!” she screamed as she marched down the hallway. “It’s always you! Lex this, Lex that! ‘Lex knew her major before she started college.’ ‘Lex got a full ride to grad school.’ ‘Lex is so perfect.’ ‘Why can’t you be more like your self-centered, stuck-up, know-it-all sister?’ God, I wish we weren’t sisters. Then I wouldn’t have to pretend to like you!” She heaved her suitcase down the stairs and out to her car.
The other version of me was crying, but I left her in the hallway to follow my sister outside. I found her in our mother’s consoling embrace beside her car. Their words became clear as I moved closer.
“… what’s best for you, sweetie. You are both special, intelligent young women, just in different ways.”
My sister pulled out of the hug and wiped her eyes. “Sometimes it’s just too much, Mom. Sometimes I just want her to accept me as I am. What if I don’t want to be just like her? What if I want to drop out of school and become an artist? What if …”
“She’ll love you no matter what, sweetie. You just have to give her a little time to understand. You know how stubborn she can be.”
My sister glared back at the open front door. “She’s had twenty-one years to understand me. How much more time could she possibly need?” She took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom … I just can’t be around her right now. She’s just so … judgey. Can you tell Dad and Grandma I … I don’t know. Just tell them that I’m sorry and that I love them. Oh, and tell them Merry Christmas.”
My mom shook her head. “You don’t need to leave, sweetie.”
“Yeah, Mom, I do.”
“What about your presents?” our mom asked, a thread of desperation twining through her words.
“I don’t know … I’ll pick them up after she leaves.” She kissed our mom on the cheek, slid into her car, and drove away.
When I woke, my cheeks were sticky with partially-dried tears. Did J really say those things to Mom? If she did, is she right about me?
I dragged myself out of bed and tiptoed to my sister’s room. Her door was cracked open, allowing me to slip into her bedroom without waking her.
“J,” I whispered, sitting on the unoccupied side of the bed.
Blinking, she stared at me from her pillow. “Umph … Lex? What are you … ?”
“Can I sleep in here with you?” I asked timidly.
Jenny snorted. “Did you have a bad dream?”
“Sort of,” I admitted. “But … mostly I just wanted to apologize. For last Christmas … for everything.”
She sat up abruptly, tugging at the multi-hued comforter beneath me. “I’m sorry—what?”
Taking a deep breath, I dove in. “I’m really sorry. I did want you to be like me. I wanted to be able to relate to you, which would’ve been so much easier if we had more in common. And … you’re right, I’m self-centered. I never considered trying to be more like you. I just wanted you to be like me. Which is so stupid of me, because you’re an amazing, talented person, and I never want you to change. And I’m proud to call you my sister.”
“Oh,” she said, staring at me wide-eyed. “Um … thanks.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “Well, are you getting in, or not?”
As I crawled under the covers on the left side of the bed, I felt one of the flailing, broken strands o
f my life begin to mend. Whoever I was, whoever my biological father was, I would always be sure of one thing—Jenny was my sister, and she always would be.
CHAPTER SIX
Ignorance & Stupidity
“But really, thanks for the ride, Mike,” I said to the man sitting in the driver’s seat. Jenny had known I needed a ride back to Seattle, and when she overheard that her best friend’s brother, Mike, had plans to return to Seattle before New Year’s Eve, she’d asked if I could ride along with him.
Mike smiled as we exited the freeway and entered the U District, an area of the city famous for its excellent selection of budget-priced ethnic food, endless rows of apartments and turn-of-the-century bungalows, and of course, the University of Washington. “No problem,” he said. “I’m still surprised you’re living here too. Don’t know how I missed that. Suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise—half our high school has migrated over here.”
“I know! It was a mass exodus,” I said, laughing. “Though technically I wasn’t part of it since I did my undergrad in Montana.”
“True,” Mike said, nodding thoughtfully.
As I stared out the window, I found comfort in the familiar surroundings. Nature, lush and green, seemed to be at war with the cold, man-made structures … with nature always on the verge of winning. Yakima had been home for most of my life, but Seattle had supplanted it two and a half years ago, when I started my graduate studies at UW.
“You said you live on Fifteenth, right?”
“Yep,” I said, eager to see Thora and to just be home.
Mike adjusted his baseball cap, then glanced at me. “So Lex, we should do something sometime.”
“Oh?” Studying him briefly, I took in his warm, brown eyes and handsome, if not slightly youthful, face.
Mike Hernandez had been one of the guys as a teenager. Every girl in our grade at Eisenhower High School had fantasized about him at least once, including me. I’d had a short phase of Mike-obsession during our sophomore year, but nothing had ever come of it. Until a couple hours ago, I hadn’t seen Mike since high school graduation.
Smirking, he said, “Yeah. We should get drinks or something.” When he smiled, he had adorably faint dimples.
“That sounds great.” I pointed to a large, brick apartment building on the left side of the street. “That’s me.”
Mike deftly navigated the busy road and parked by the curb near the main entrance. “It’s lucky our sisters are still friends, so we could, you know, do this,” he said, gesturing to me and around the interior of the car.
“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, and I meant it. Mike was definitely attractive, and he seemed to have grown up a lot over the past six years, leaving his party boy reputation behind. Besides, I hadn’t been having much luck in the man department—every guy I met on campus was either too absorbed in his research, or overly enthusiastic about the college social scene. I was looking for a balance.
“I have this thing I have to go to on New Year’s Eve—a work party. It could be fun … but I’d have a much better time if you came with me.” He removed his hat and watched me, his eyes glittering.
“Sure, yeah,” I said, trying to hide some of my eagerness.
His answering smile was radiant. “Great! I’ll pick you up at eight. Oh, and it’s cocktail attire.”
“It’s a date,” I said, blushing as I scooted out of the passenger seat and retrieved my bag from the backseat of the silver Audi.
“See you in two days, Lex,” Mike said before I shut the car door.
I walked up to the building’s main entrance and fit the key in the lock. By the time I looked back, Mike’s car was nowhere in sight. I felt giddy with excitement … and I really, really needed to talk to Cara and Annie.
Once I was in my apartment, I tossed my bag onto the bed, snuggled on the couch with Thora, and pulled my phone out of my pocket to call Cara.
“Lex? Is it really you? Are you alive?” was Cara’s greeting.
“Yes, yes, and yes. And I have news. When can you get over here?”
She paused. “If I leave the office early … maybe four-ish?”
“Okay, great!” I said excitedly. “I’m going to call Annie. See you la—”
“Lex, wait,” Cara blurted before I could hang up. “Is it good news or bad news? I want to be prepared.”
I considered holding back the info about my parentage and only focusing on the date with Mike, but thought better of it. “Both,” I told her, unsure if I would go so far as to fill them in on the weird, way-too-real dreams.
“Okay. See you later!”
“Bye.” I quickly called Annie and had a nearly identical conversation. Both women would be over in three hours, and I had some thinking to do.
Disturbing Thora from her euphoric cuddling, I rose from the couch and retrieved a yellow notepad and pen from atop the coffee table. I kept both items generously scattered about the apartment as a general rule—I couldn’t predict when research inspiration or insight would strike. When I reclaimed my comfortable position on the couch, my cat simply glared at me from the windowsill, stretching and lying down with her feet curled primly under her.
“Have it your way, Thora,” I said, clicking the pen open.
I drew a line down the center of the page, dividing it into two columns. At the top of one, I wrote THE DREAMS AREN’T REAL. Atop the other, THE DREAMS ARE REAL. Quickly, I began listing items in the AREN’T REAL column, like, “impossible,” but I ran out of ideas almost as soon as I started. Switching to the ARE REAL column, I marked up the page with furious starts and stops. After five minutes, I compared the lists, shocked.
AREN’T REAL
—Impossible
—Wasn’t even alive for the Grandma/Grandpa scene
—Impossible
—I might be in shock
ARE REAL
—The painting
—Dr. Lee
—Dr. Ramirez???
—Grandpa’s voice—he’s Italian?
—Convo between Mom and Jenny
—Knowing Mom thinks Jenny isn’t strong enough for the truth
—Mom’s fashion is way too ridiculous for even me to dream up
—Feels just like the memory dreams I’ve had since high school
—I can remember the dreams too well when I wake up—unnatural
—I’m fully aware in the dreams—also unnatural
“Well, shit,” I said, copying my mom’s signature profane exclamation. It was the one she used when she realized she’d forgotten an essential item at the grocery store or when she received a notice from school notifying her of Jenny’s skipped classes. For her, it meant, “Huh, I guess I should’ve seen that coming, but it still sucks!”
I flipped the page up over the top of the notepad and started a new list, cataloging all of my recent dreams. As I wrote, I started to notice several common characteristics.
First, I had to be asleep—but that one was pretty obvious, seeing as they were dreams. However, I did find it a little odd that I’d fallen asleep at Grandma Suse’s right after I’d had a great night’s sleep. Tiredness had crept up on me, then wrestled me into submission.
Second, location seemed to be important. Each dream first played out in my mind while I slept in the same place as the scene had actually happened. I’d been at my parents’ house when I’d dreamed of their conversations about telling Jenny and me the truth, and when I dreamed of the blowup during the previous Christmas Eve dinner. After dozing off at Grandma Suse’s, I’d dreamed of the discussion about the clinic and Dr. Lee. The Dr. Ramirez nightmare hadn’t technically been in the same location—the accident had taken place just outside of Denny Hall, where I’d fallen asleep—but I still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced that dream had really been like the others.
Third, I’d been experiencing extreme emotion each time I’d fallen asleep. I’d felt overwhelmingly eager for winter break before the nap in Denny Hall, lost before the first dream at my house, desperate befor
e the one at Grandma Suse’s, and regretful before I’d dreamed of Jenny. Eager … Lost … Desperate … Regretful …
As I thought about the emotions, I realized that other than the Dr. Ramirez nightmare, the dreams shared a common thread—they seemed to pop up out of need. I’d needed to understand where I came from, to figure out where I could learn more about my paternity, and to make things right with my sister. The dreams of my parents, my grandparents, and my sister had met those needs respectively.
With that realization came another thought. Can I control this? If I could focus on something I needed at the moment, maybe I could force another one of the too-real dreams … maybe I could learn to use them to help me discover other useful bits of information. I ignored the part of my brain screaming about delusions and straitjackets and padded rooms.
Checking the clock on the wall, I saw that I still had two hours before Cara and Annie arrived—plenty of time to test my insane theory. I was tired enough to nap, so I stretched out on the couch and covered myself with a blanket. Thora, apparently forgiving me for displacing her, hopped down from her perch to curl up next to me. I thought about what I needed, what was making me feel extreme emotions at the moment, and eventually drifted off to asleep.
My apartment door opened, admitting a stumbling, laughing couple. The man was wearing a black suit, his jacket unbuttoned and metallic blue tie undone around his neck. The woman was wearing a silky black dress that skimmed the bottoms of her knees, and her feet were bare. Her gleaming, dark hair was falling out of its loose updo. I was watching … me.
The man, Mike, pressed the other version of me against the wide, polished wood post separating the kitchen from the living room. She giggled. He kissed her hungrily, pressing his whole body against hers and running his hands over every reachable part of her. She twined her fingers in his soft black hair and groaned.
I moved closer, equally curious and disturbed by the scene playing out in front of me. I couldn’t imagine myself ever being as inebriated as the other version of me seemed. Part of my mind whispered that what I was watching wasn’t real. Another part wondered if it was, but it just hadn’t happened yet.
Echo in Time: A Time Travel Romance (Echo Trilogy, #1) Page 5