The Surviving Trace

by Calia Read

  “Stop it.” He dips his head until our eyes are level. “I’m leavin’ for work. I don’t care what tricks you have up your sleeve. All right? I don’t care.”

  My mouth opens. All I need is a few seconds to explain that what’s happening is all a giant misunderstanding. I share his wife’s likeness and name. That’s it.

  But he holds up his hand and quickly speaks. “Go. Leave my sight.”

  Étienne’s hands drop to his sides like dead weights. He gives me one last cold stare and walks away.

  “Don’t look so sad. He’ll get over it in a few days.”

  Turning, I see Livingston leaning against the wall, casually eating an apple. He appears nonplussed by what he saw.

  “We fight a lot,” I say bluntly.

  “All the time,” Livingston replies jovially.

  “And he always leaves.”

  “That depends on how bad the fight is. The two of you like to go back and forth—sometimes he leaves, sometimes you leave. Well… you more than sometimes leave.” He arches a brow. “You leave a lot.”

  Why do I feel like leave is a word for something else entirely?

  Livingston doesn’t necessarily seem angry with me, but he isn’t happy. I don’t want to think about what this other Serene has done.

  I want to tell him that I’m not like this person he’s describing. Not even close. It’s not in my nature to do those things.

  But there’s no time to explain that to him.

  At that moment, Nat comes down one of the staircases. “Mornin’, everyone,” she says in a sing-song voice. She smiles at Livingston then glances at me before she does a double take. “Oh, my. I see you’re still not dressed.”

  What’s with these people? Could they not see I was wearing clothes? Frustrated, I drop my face into my hands.

  She comes up to me and places a palm flat against my forehead. “Are you not feelin’ well?”

  “I’m fine. Just pissed off.”

  Nat appears confused by my words but doesn’t comment. She pats my back as if I’m a child with a stomachache. “You know what I do when I’m upset?”

  “What?” I say into my hands, not bothering to lift my head.

  “I like to say out loud all the good things I have in my life.” She stands in front of me. Raising my head, I look at her. “Repeat after me. I’m Serene Lacroix.”

  My blood goes cold, yet I find myself repeating her words. “I’m Serene Lacroix.”

  “I’m married to Étienne, the man I’ve been married to for three years.”

  I stumble over those words, finding them impossible to believe.

  “I have friends who care about me.”

  “And I have a wonderful sister-in-law, Nat.” She winks and steps back. “There. Don’t you feel better?”

  “Oh, just peachy.”

  Nat gives me a bright smile. “Well, why don’t you get dressed and we can have a lovely breakfast together?”

  Getting dressed, having breakfast, and pretending that everything is okay? Not going to happen. Time is passing me by, and I’m so afraid that if I don’t try to find a way back home, I never will.

  Bottom line, I need answers.

  Fast.

  “I’m gonna go talk to him,” I announce.

  The smile vanishes from Nat’s face. “What?”

  “I have some things I need to say to your brother.”

  “Which brother? Livingston?” she asks hopefully.

  “No. Étienne.”

  Her face falls. “That’s what I was afraid of. Whatever it is, don’t you think it can wait until later? If you go to his office, it’s only gonna make matters worse.”

  Her reasoning doesn’t sink in for me because I don’t plan on being here long enough to watch this unhealthy marriage further crumble.

  “No. It can’t wait.” I hurry up the stairs. “I’m getting dressed, and I’m gonna go talk to him.”

  I TAKE THE skirt and blouse Hannah suggested earlier this morning. To Hannah’s horror, I forgo a corset.

  Hannah tries to lure me toward the vanity so she can put my hair in a beautiful updo. Instead, I grab the brush on the vanity and run it through my hair. With a few pins, I’m able to put my hair half up.

  She insists on me wearing opaque stockings. They’re not as uncomfortable as I imagined. She hands me a pair of shoes with a low heel and multiple buckles. Out of all the things I’ve put on, these are the most comfortable.

  She tries to give me jewelry, a large hat that looks as if it can swallow my entire head, and a purse. I say no to all three and firmly draw the line at the kid leather gloves she offers as a last-ditch attempt at “making me presentable.” Her words, not mine.

  I’m already sweating to death, and I haven’t left the room.

  Finally, after three thank yous, I escape and hurry back down the stairs. Livingston and Nat are waiting for me. If they thought I would calm down in the time it took to get dressed, they were wrong. The rage inside me feels like a beast growing in my belly with each passing second. It wants to rip the front door off the hinges and follow Étienne. It doesn’t matter that I have no idea where to go; I just need to get him to listen to me.

  “I’m leaving,” I announce.

  Nat stares at me in confusion. “I implore you to reconsider this idea.”

  I plant my hands on my hips. “Why not? I’m his wife. Wives visit their husbands.”

  “But that’s… that’s not the relationship you two have.”

  “I understand that,” I say patiently, “but if I wait for our relationship to get better before I talk to him, I’m going to be waiting for a long time.”

  “He left in a foul mood and you going to visit him will only make it worse.” Nat stares at me with worry in her eyes.

  “Everyone else in this family might be scared of him, but I’m not. I need to talk to him, and if he doesn’t listen to me, then I’ll make him listen to me.”

  “I understand my brother may be… difficult. Believe me. But you can’t go.”

  “He didn’t leave me any other choice, now did he?” I toss over my shoulder as I walk toward the door.

  Nat is hot on my heels, pleading for me to think rationally. I walk right past Ben and open the front door. But once I’m outside, I stop in my tracks, making Nat collide with my back.

  “Perhaps you should wait until he…” Nat continues to speak, yet I tune her out because it’s occurred to me that I have no idea how to get into town. Or where Charleston is located.

  I face Nat. She stares at me hopefully, as if there’s still a chance that I might change my mind. Without a word, I brush past her, back into the house.

  “I want to go into town,” I announce to Ben with more bravado than I have.

  “Of course. Warren would be happy to take you.” Ben doesn’t blink an eye. I could probably demand an ice sculpture in the design of a unicorn, and he’d have it delivered within the hour.

  “You can’t go into town by yourself,” Nat says.

  “She’s not going by herself. I’ll take her.”

  I smile with relief at Livingston.

  “I thought today would be uneventful, but Serene gave a fantastic show this mornin’. I would be bothered if I missed the encore presentation.”

  I give him a smack on the shoulder. “I promise not to disappoint. Now let’s hit the road!”

  “Oh, this is gonna be bad,” Nat groans.

  Livingston and I walk down the flight of steps side by side. Before I go any farther, I turn and stare at this monstrosity of a house. House is the wrong word. More like a mansion. It has a theatrical glory that makes me feel as though I walked onto the set of Gone with the Wind. The enormous portico boasts four fluted Corinthian columns. They soar past the second-story balcony to the entablature. From here I can see the porch ceiling is painted the signature haint blue you find in most plantations.

  “Havin’ regrets? Please don’t. Belgrave will be waitin’ for you after you speak with Étienne,”
Livingston says.

  There’s a delicacy to the name Belgrave that somehow fits this grand site.

  “I’m not nervous,” I reply, still gawking at the house.

  “Then what are we waitin’ for?”

  He curls his hand around my elbow and ushers me into a Model-T. Before I step in, I notice the black exterior with red pinstripes. The seat and backrest are diamond tuft. The convertible top canvas is down, allowing the bright sun to bear down on us. Livingston tells the driver, whose name is Warren, to take us to Étienne’s office.

  The man turns in his seat, bushy white brows lifting. “Yes, sir.”

  Warren’s face immediately becomes calm and collected. He nods once and faces forward. The car moves with a small lurch. I slam my palm against the seat in front of me and wait a few seconds before I sit back.

  The live oaks and Spanish moss trees that embrace the driveway, block out the sunlight. For minutes, we’re shrouded in darkness. I twist around in my seat and watch the dust being kicked up behind us, and the mansion becomes a speck in the distance.

  At the end of the drive, Warren makes a left and pulls out onto a road that isn’t much better than the gravel driveway. There’s nothing but endless green grass and trees peppering the landscape.

  By no means is Greensburg a vast city, but it’s bustling, with people coming and going. The town is only quiet at night, and even then, there are still people out. But what I see now? It feels almost surreal.

  The bumpy road is flanked with tall marsh grass. Most of the fields are vacant, making them appear vast and never-ending.

  The ride to Charleston isn’t pleasant. I jostle back and forth in my seat, and there’s an incessant rattling that makes my ears ring. I distract myself by watching the group of kids we pass on the dirt road. One is holding a pail of water and another a fishing rod. A few wear denim overalls, and the only girl has on a summer dress. One kid has a pair of shoes; the others walk barefoot. Whenever I’ve walked across gravel barefoot, I winced with every step, but these kids are skipping and jumping as though nothing is wrong.

  I sit forward, smiling faintly. With no cell phone or clock dashboard in the car, it’s impossible to gauge how much time passes by. The green scenery seems to be endless until finally, the trees break apart. Sweet grass becomes interspersed with the marsh grass. I hold my breath as we cross a truss bridge that would probably be falling apart in my time.

  “Are you gonna enlighten me on why we’re rushin’ to my brother’s office?” Livingston shouts over the wind and the loud motor.

  I glance at him, grateful for the distraction. “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the best you’re going to get from me right now.”

  Warren’s oblivious, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

  To my right, the Charleston harbor appears. Vessels line the port as rough water slams into the shore; it doesn’t stop people from walking on the docks and going about their day.

  The road becomes a bit smoother as houses appear. Electrical lines hug the side of the road. Warren takes a left on a road called Cumberland. I look at the homes and cars and people, astonished by the lack of glamor.

  “Wow.”

  Warren solemnly nods. “The hurricane did a number on Charleston, that’s for sure.”

  Hurricane? I turn toward him, making sure to keep my face passive. “Hurricane,” I repeat somberly, as though I know what he’s talking about.

  “We thought everythin’ was ruined, but we’re slowly cleanin’ up.”

  “It’s certainly getting there,” I say. Not because I believe it, but because it seems like the right thing to say.

  In the country, the dichotomy between the two eras is hardly recognizable. In town though, it’s obvious I’m in 1912.

  The buildings are small in width, but tall. They’re all connected. I can see bricks and mortar in between. We take a right onto King Street, passing more buildings. A huge sign looms above a corner business—L.P. Towlston Co. Hardware.

  Directly above the sign is a hanging street lamp gently swaying back and forth. Tracks for a streetcar run through the road. Overhead lines are directly above it. I watch as people walk down the cobblestone street. A few people hurry across the road, causing loud car horns to sound.

  We pass a hardware store. A furniture store. A sign says Kerrigan’s Shoe Store. Another sign says Victory Market.

  There’s a hotel with a bellhop opening doors. Ladies step out with gloved hands.

  We pass cars and even buggies. The ladies walking in and out of stores are dressed to the nines. The hats on their heads are giant monstrosities. And few curl their glove-clad hands around the knob of pristine white umbrellas.

  I feel as though I’ve stepped into an old black-and-white picture. Except this one is in color. Bright, vivid colors that make my heart thump with excitement.

  Warren slows down, and we stop near a row of businesses. I have no idea where we are.

  “Here we are,” Livingston says as he rubs his hands together for the show he anticipates.

  Warren opens the door for me and holds out a hand. I gladly accept it, because moving in this skirt is awkward. I hop out, and Livingston joins me. He takes a few steps in front of me and opens the office door. I walk into the building with my heart stuck in my throat.

  A man behind a desk gets up and immediately speaks with Livingston. I tune them out and try to think of what I’m going to say to Étienne. “Hey, I know you think I’m your wife. But I’m not. Oh, and by the way, I time traveled!” No. That’s all wrong. Maybe I need to go about it a different way. Perhaps I should try to be sweet and kind? No, no, no. I’d rather eat glass than make nice with Étienne. There’s something about that man that gets underneath my skin.

  “Mrs. Lacroix!”

  Livingston and the man standing next to him stare at me expectantly. I look behind me, but no one’s standing behind me.

  “Mrs. Lacroix?”

  I finally realize the man’s talking to me. “Oh! Oh. That’s me.”

  The man smiles. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to see my—” I almost say husband, but it’s too damn weird. “I’m here to see Étienne.”

  “Yes, Edward, you heard her right. I was as stunned as you are,” Livingston chimes in dryly.

  “Is he in?” I prod gently.

  Edward nods and points at the door to directly ahead of me. “Yes. He’s in his office. Although he has a meetin’ in fifteen minutes, so I don’t know if now’s a good time for—”

  “I won’t be that long,” I say as I brush past him.

  Instead of knocking as most people would, I barge on in. My abrupt entrance makes Étienne’s head snap up. He stares at me with blatant shock then groans. He leans back in his chair and rubs both hands down his face.

  “Don’t tell me you’re still upset about that damn dress?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “Very well. How much was it? Twenty? Thirty dollars?” He pulls out a brown, worn wallet, grabs a wad of cash, and sifts through it before he pulls out two twenties and tosses them at me.

  I stand stock-still as the money softly lands on the floor, several inches in front of me. Is this how he usually treats his wife? Just tosses money (literally) at her and expects her to go away? No wonder she’s a Grade-A bitch.

  “Um. Once again, I don’t need your money. But thanks for the offer, Daddy Warbucks.”

  Étienne frowns. “Daddy Warbucks?”

  My shoulders slump as I sigh. If Will were here, he would laugh at my joke. Thinking about him brings a fresh wave of pain. I miss him so much.

  “Never mind.” I wave my hands in front of me, as though trying to erase all conversation up until now. “I need to talk to you for a moment.”

  “Can this wait until later?”

  “As I was trying to tell you earlier before you rudely walked away, this can’t wait.”

  “Well then. I would hate to ke
ep you waitin’,” he remarks dryly, eyeing me sharply. My heart is thumping a mile a minute because I’m not the one with the power. Right now, Étienne has all the control. He knows it, and I hate it. I take a deep breath and tell myself to calm down.

  As he rests his elbows on his desk, I see that his jacket is draped over his chair. His waistcoat is unbuttoned, revealing black suspenders and a tie. I never thought suspenders could look good on a man, but apparently, Étienne’s here to prove me wrong.

  “Well? What is it you need to talk about?” He stops moving paperwork around on his desk and impatiently looks at me, and it’s then that I notice he’s wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

  Glasses.

  I’m of the belief that glasses look damn good on men. They’re my weakness, directly behind a sense of humor and strong hands. On Étienne, they’re endearing. They almost make him look… cute.

  Étienne now has two out of three traits. Something tells me he’ll never grow a sense of humor.

  I think my staring is making him uncomfortable because he looks away and slips the glasses off. Thank God. Now he’s back to looking like the douchebag I’m familiar with.

  He glances behind me and narrows his eyes. “Livingston, I can’t thank you enough for bringin’ Serene here.”

  “My pleasure. Before the two of you begin shoutin’ at each other, I need to make an observation.”

  Étienne and I stare at him.

  “Why are you speakin’ so oddly, Serene?”

  I suppress a groan and count to ten before I exhale. “I’m not speaking oddly. If you want to get technical, you guys are the ones who are speaking oddly, with that slow Southern drawl you have going on.”

  “We’ve always spoken this way. Haven’t we, Étienne?”

  “Yes, to my knowledge this is the only way we’ve ever talked.”

  “And you have talked this way your whole life too,” Livingston says.

  “No, I haven’t. Not once.” They both stare at me as if I’m crazy. “You know what? This whole conversation is a perfect segue into what I’ve been trying to tell Étienne all morning.” I take a deep breath. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  That’s not exactly the first thing I pictured myself saying, but I see no right way to ease him into the story. I don’t think there’s an easy way to tell someone, “Hey! I’m not from this time!”