by Taylor Hobbs
Remy worked the balance from the other end, discovering a side of herself she hadn’t known she was capable of reaching. She had never approached her art, or life, from the side of the darkness before. Hours passed, and as pink light tinged the horizon, Remy finally started to slow down.
When the sun hit the wall with a golden glow, she stepped back and shook herself from her fog. With a sob, Remy dropped her now-empty can onto the ground.
Two figures, neither male nor female, intertwined in a connected embrace. They appeared to be floating, either in the air or under water. They spiraled around each other, no end and no beginning, locked in place, one not being able to exist without the other. All brought to life in the negative of the shadows.
Who are these people? Remy had created them from the deepest and most intimate part of herself, but she had no idea. For an instant, she pictured having to explain the piece at an auction or come up with a title for a gallery display. Something that would get the people talking and speculating, all while Anita buzzed around the party and added kindling to the fire.
No, she didn’t have to worry about any of that. For the first time in a long time, she could let the piece just be what it was, a snapshot into her psyche at that given time. Something beautiful that didn’t need to be analyzed or sold. It was just for Remy, and she was proud of it. There was no paint left in the can even for her to sign the bottom corner of it. It was hers, but she didn’t need to take credit for it.
She almost laughed when she thought about Sebastian or Anita or Maggie stumbling upon it. Would they know it was her, or would they think some vandal had trespassed on the village while she was gone?
No, Maggie would know that I did it. I was here, and okay. The older woman would connect instantly with the artwork. The mural was the first truly meaningful way that Remy had tried to make the village in this time period her own. A part of her soul was now up on the walls for all to see, that she could belong in both this time and the past. It was the first real step to taking control of her situation.
Now, should I test it out? There were a million things that Remy should be doing, including reassuring her friends that she was not, in fact, a missing person, but it was still early, and the urge was too strong. I know what’s happening to me now, she reasoned. I can get back to this time. I know I can. I just want to check on Bieito and the family. They are probably really worried about me right now, too. I’ll just pop in for a second, to see if it works, see if I really can control it.
Remy sat on the ground in front of her mural, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. She thought hard about Bieito, the way his arms felt around her, his lips on her wrist, the joy she felt when his eyes lit up when she spoke.
Holding onto all the memories, she popped open her eyes and looked around expectantly. No change. She was still in front of the mural.
Panic set in almost immediately as her mind automatically jumped to the worst-case scenario. What if the wedding was all I got? What if I can never get back to him? Remy squeezed her eyes shut and tried again, but this time there were doubts infringing on her concentration.
When the mural appeared in front of her again, Remy realized what she was trying to do. I’m actively trying to go back in time. Ridiculous. She burst out in a half-laugh, half-sob and started to doubt Bieito’s actual existence. What am I doing here? As always, the dark option floated its temptation—you could wish for it.
In the harsh light of day, her decision to paint a mural as a portal through time seemed like a bad dream. “I need to get out of here,” she said aloud. But as soon as she said the words, dizziness overcame her and the earth lurched underneath, like a rug pulled out from under her butt. Remy fell over backward and looked up at the morning glow.
Then, like a miracle, Bieito’s concerned face appeared above her, perfectly framed by a cloudless blue, late-afternoon sky.
“Remy?” he said, and, throwing away all self-imposed inhibitions, took her face in between two callused hands, and leaned down.
It wasn’t a slow-motion, epic-music, movie-climax kind of kiss. It wasn’t the gentle, hesitant touch of a man brought up in a traditional society. There was nothing old-fashioned or demure about Bieito’s kiss, and it wasn’t at all what Remy had expected from him.
It was raw. Urgent. Filled with panic, but not at the thought of her possible rejection. More like he was afraid she was going to disappear any second. Bieito wasn’t taking any chances this time as his lips found hers, desperate to keep hold of her for as long as he could.
Remy’s lips parted as she molded her mouth to his, inviting him to go deeper. Bieito’s hands moved from her cheeks to the back of her head and neck, clutching her to him. Remy’s fingers found his hair, and she tangled them in his dark curls. Nothing was going to tear them apart this time. Bieito’s body crushed into hers, leaving no space between them.
Air didn’t matter, nothing mattered but the magic Bieito’s tongue was working in her mouth. Who cared if he was real or not? This was what pulled Remy across time and space. Him.
With a groan, Bieito pulled himself off Remy and sat up, face flushed. He stared at her through dark eyelashes, afraid to look away in case she vanished again, but also waiting to gauge her reaction.
“Why’d you stop?” Remy struggled to form words, drunk from the unexpected kiss.
“Where did you go?” Bieito asked, dodging the question but reaching out to help Remy sit up. His hands didn’t pull away even after her butt was firmly planted.
“How did I get to the beach?” That seemed like the more pressing question at the moment. Remy’s fancy red dress was completely covered in salty wet sand, her hair a caked mess. “Huh. I thought for sure I’d end up in the square again. But you’re here too! Why are you at the beach and not at the wedding?”
Bieito’s eyes narrowed with concern. “Mi amor, the wedding was a week ago. I have been searching for you since that night. I even feared that the revolutionaries—” Overcome, he leaned forward and locked his lips to hers once more, hard and fast. He released her and took a deep breath.
“My apologies. This is not proper.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining!” Remy said, and moved to pull his face back down, but the look in his eyes stopped her.
Their foreheads gently rested together, and he asked again, “Where did you go? You are making me crazy, Remy.”
“If you’re insane, then so am I. I don’t know what’s happening, either.”
“Promise me you will not leave like that again.”
Remy swallowed hard. “I can’t promise that. I’m sorry, but I can’t. But I don’t want to leave you, either. I-I don’t have control. I wish I did.”
“Just stay with me. All the time. Stay in my village, do not return to your home. I want us to be together.”
“I want to be with you all the time, too, Bieito. But I am—literally—torn between worlds right now. Can we just be thankful right now that I’m here with you? I’m so relieved I could make it back.” Short of telling Bieito the rest of the story, she changed the subject. “So, I lost a week, huh? Interesting.”
Now that Bieito knew Remy was safe, his worry turned to anger. “Interesting? I’ve been searching for days, in all the surrounding villages. The beaches. The port. I thought something terrible had happened to you.”
“I’ve been home, technically. Bieito, please don’t think too hard about it right now. I couldn’t explain, even if I wanted to. And I don’t know if you’d believe me.” True regret reflected in her eyes, and Bieito immediately softened.
“The tide is rising,” he said. “We will get wet soon.”
“Where do you suggest we go?” Remy asked, determined to live in the moment and appreciate the time they had together. Bieito wouldn’t be placated forever, but it bought Remy a little time to come up with some sort of explanation. “You know, I really should get out of this dirty dress.”
Bieito’s eyebrows shot up with surprise, and he let out a booming la
ugh. “Mi amor, you certainly have an American way about you, but with the passion of a Galician woman.”
“I think I can wear this a little longer, if you don’t think it will get too ruined.”
“I will take you home, and you can be comfortable,” Bieito insisted. “Though I am flattered to see that you like the dress so much you have continued to wear it.”
She didn’t want to go back to the village just yet, in case she got yanked out again to her own time. Part of her experiment, in addition to controlling her jumps, was to see if she could be in the past but remain outside of the village. To break out of the bubble and see more of Bieito’s world, to understand if it was just the village itself that held the power or if Remy had it within her.
“Let’s go to the port,” she said.
Bieito pulled back, horrified. “I should think not!”
“I want to see where you work.” And there seems to be a lot of interesting activity around there, but she didn’t say that part out loud.
“It is much too rough to bring you there. It is not safe.”
“Because of the revolutionaries?” Remy asked with wide, innocent eyes.
Bieito jumped at her words, and instinctively looked around. He lowered his voice to answer. “Yes, because of the revolutionaries. But we cannot speak of them.”
“Why?”
“The wrong people may be listening.”
“Bieito, you’re being paranoid! We are the only people on this beach. Please just explain to me what’s going on.”
He set his jaw and turned away. “There must be no suspicion turned on my family. You are putting me in a difficult place.”
Remy flushed red, seeing how scared and uncomfortable her causal questions were making him. “You know you can trust me, right?”
“Your life must be much different in America,” Bieito said, and looked like he wanted to continue, but stopped himself. Remy watched him struggle to find the right words and jumped in to interrupt him.
“You know what? Never mind. We don’t have to go to the port.”
Bieito bowed his head and wrung his hands, hating to disappoint her. It was starting to get awkward. Couldn’t they just go back to the kissing part?
“Ah!” Bieito said, brightening. “I know what we will do.” He offered his hand to Remy. “Come with me.”
Considering her dress a lost cause, Remy didn’t bother hiking up her hem. “Is it a surprise?” she asked, interlacing her fingers with Bieito’s callused ones. Not that walking hand in hand down the beach with a handsome Spanish man wasn’t a romance novel in itself, but Remy was hoping for a bit more action.
It had been a long time since Remy had felt this part of her come alive. A very long time since she and Jack had been intimate. Even longer since she hadn’t associated physical closeness with the stress of trying desperately for a baby. Once they decided not to try anymore, and attempted to separate sex from the heartbreaking devastation of either a miscarriage or another month of failure, they found that they couldn’t go back to the carefree early days.
Jack’s closeness, or attempt at physical connection, was just a sad reminder of an anxious time. It held no hope or fun, just tinged with a sadness that Remy knew they would never move past. That was why Jack had been so surprised the final time Remy seduced him, after making her fateful wish. When she came to him that night, there had also been a spark inside of her that he hadn’t seen in a long time. The spark of hope and fire that had been missing from their marriage.
He had given into her advances without protest, hardly willing to believe his good luck. He asked her afterward, as they lay on their bed without space between them for the first time in years, if they should go away together, and take another honeymoon. A rebirth of their marriage.
Remy, in order to placate him, had agreed noncommittally, but already her mind was spinning with the possibilities of what the next few months would bring instead. The line had been crossed that night. She had made her wish, and there was no going back. She wanted to confess at that moment, as her head rested on Jack’s shoulder, held up in his arms but weighed down by her decision. It hadn’t been on purpose. She hadn’t meant to give Jack that amount of hope for them, the assumption that the two of them could go back to normal, but she was unwilling to crush and bring him down to her level of desperation. For her, it was the exact moment where she betrayed herself, and everything fell apart.
So she said nothing, and that was the last time between them. Remy knew that they probably remembered it quite differently, given their difference in context. Maybe that was why he had had such a hard time letting go and signing the divorce papers, following her all the way to Spain because of a different interpretation of their last close memory together.
Seeing him in her village had put her into a tailspin, and the physical temptation to re-explore the familiar reared up, but Remy was grateful she had resisted. A rebirth wasn’t been possible with Jack, but she could start something new and pure with Bieito.
A cool breeze whipped across the bay and Remy shivered. Her feet and dress were covered in salt spray and wet sand. She was raw, exposed, and possessed nothing from her former life, not even the clothes on her back. Fresh and untainted by the past, she felt ready to try again.
The feeling of Bieito’s urgent kiss still tingled on her lips, and Remy risked a glance over at him. He gave her an easy, uncomplicated smile, eyes lit up in excitement for her surprise. Instead of feeling like a wanton, experienced woman approaching forty, Remy found herself as shy as a teenager, too nervous to make the first move. Deep down, was Remy afraid she would curse him like she had cursed Jack, and everything would blow up in her face the moment she decided to take that next step?
Being with Bieito wasn’t like dating in the twenty-first century. There was something about him that told her if she took the plunge, then there was no going back. She felt strongly for him, sure, and the thought of being without him or unable to get back to him made her panic, but was she really ready for a ‘forever’ type of thing? This was a different kind of line than the one she faced with Jack, but a line all the same, and Remy had to be certain this time before she crossed it. That would lead to a free-fall, and Remy still wanted to hang onto her control, even if she was clawing at it with her fingernails.
She had painted that mural in her own time for a reason. It wasn’t time yet to let go. But oh, how she wanted to. But the last time she had let herself do what she wanted without regard for consequence, her life had imploded. Walking this tightrope was exhausting.
“You are quiet, mi amor,” Bieito said, breaking Remy from her destructive thought cycle. “I hope I did not frighten you earlier.”
“It has just been an overwhelming last few hours,” Remy said.
“For me, it was an anxious few days,” Bieito admitted. “But now, I feel calm. You are by my side, so nothing will go wrong.”
If only you knew…Remy squeezed his hand and stepped closer to him, so her shoulder brushed his arm. “Will you tell me where we’re going?”
“Around the bend a little farther. I would like to share something with you.”
“Do you want me to guess?”
He chuckled. “You can try, but I think this is something new for you.”
New for me? Well, I think I can be certain he isn’t planning on seducing me, then. As they rounded the beach, a little sailboat sat upon the sand. It was tucked up a ways on the bank, out of reach of the tide, nestled in between some large boulders. A long rope ran from the bow, securing it to a scraggly tree poking out from the rocks.
Remy let go of Bieito and ran up to it. The wood was smooth, cared for and sanded by hand for years. The boat was small, but obviously loved. “Is this yours?” Remy asked. “Did you make this?”
Bieito ducked his head. “Yes, my brother and I made it years ago.”
“It’s beautiful!”
“I thought you would like it.”
“Do I get to ride in it?”
“If you would like.”
“I’ve been on row boats and skiffs before, but never on a sailboat. How do you make it work?”
He untied the bow line, moved it to the stern, and began digging a channel in the sand to drag the boat out to the water. “You have to listen to the water, and the air. You have to dance with both of them, and not be in a rush to get to a destination.”
That sounded pretty doable to Remy. In fact, it sounded like the perfect way to travel. “Did your father teach you how to sail?”
“He did. My mother loved to sail. They used to go out all the time together. It was the one activity my mother would put away all else for. If the winds were right, she would look at us and say, ‘No more work today. Go get your father. We are going to the boat.’”
“And you guys would take this out?”
“It was another boat. One my father made for my mother.”
“He didn’t help you make this one?”
“No. Sailing makes him miss her too much.” Bieito grasped the stern rope and began to tug the boat behind him down to the water.
“Did something happen?”
Bieito pulled the boat down to the white foam before he stood up to answer. “My mother was dying of an illness. It took her quickly, and she had mere hours left. My father, in his grief, took both her and the sailboat out to sea, intending not to live without her. The worst storm in fifty years struck the bay and capsized him. My father washed ashore, barely alive, but the boat and my mother’s body were gone. He regrets it to this day that he has no grave site to visit, and that his madness blinded him to his responsibilities to his children. So, he vowed never to go out on the water again. He is a fisherman still, at heart, but does his work dockside while my brother and I bring in the catch. He believes it to be his penance.”
“Bieito, I am so sorry. That must have been tragic for your whole family. I don’t know what to say.”
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. We all handle grief differently. I am thankful that my brother was small when it happened, and he is not as weighed down by it as my father and I are.”