“There she is,” I hear a voice, clearly laughing, and I turn. Troy, his fine attire not distinguishable by any time period that I am familiar with, approaches. He wears deep, indigo blue- a color that I know is reserved for royalty during most time periods. Is this 1533? There is no way Troy spent a lifetime masquerading as King Henry the VIII.
“Your father calls,” he says, reaching for me. I am frozen, flinching as his hands touch my bare arms. I look down; I am wearing a matching gown in the same color blue, a dress that appears to have come right out of a fairy tale- empire-waist, velvet-type material, intricately beaded with... ice? Confused, I lift a foot slightly- boots lined with white fur…blue Uggs?
Seriously?
“My- father?” I ask, my voice clearly sounding like my own- in 2012.
“You are beautiful today,” he says tenderly, reaching for my face. I widen my eyes and try to step back, but he holds me firmly, smiling. “Coy.”
“Troy,” I murmur, shaking my head, confused. Everything that I know about history tells me that this time fits none of the years that West gave me. Where am I?
“Roam,” he murmurs, pulling me against him. His ice-blue eyes are devouring me, and I am sickened. “I cannot wait until we are married,” he says, and then lowers his lips to mine.
I jumped, my face pressed to my pillow. What in the world was that? I turned and stared at the ceiling in my bedroom. Icicle lights? Blue boots? Light bulbs- in a medieval castle? Rolling my eyes, I sat up. At least Troy wasn’t killing me for a change.
Music suddenly poured through the floor from downstairs. I grinned, reaching for my robe. Bing Crosby’s White Christmas warmed the icy thoughts of my strange dream. Sure enough, Morgan was at my bedroom door in seconds.
Without opening the door all the way, a singular, green, artificial tree branch peeked into my bedroom. “Roam! I need you to unflatten me! I lived in the attic all summer and my branch friends are flat! Hellllllp meeeeee!”
“You’re such a dork,” I giggled at her high-pitched whine. She pushed the rest of the door open and smiled, waving the branch in the air. “Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Just because you’re all moody and rebellious, don’t think you’re getting out of our family traditions. Tree and baking today, shopping Friday. No complaints.”
“Let me pee, I’ll be right down,” I agreed, standing. “Morgan, I’m sorry about last night…,”
“Shush. Brush your stanky teeth.”
“I don’t have stanky- stinky teeth!”
“This artificial tree branch just died from the smell emanating from your mouth.”
“Ooh, emanating, big word.”
“See ya downstairs, stinky,” she teased. I rolled my eyes again, thankful not to be at odds with Morgan. I needed her support, especially now.
We spent the day assembling the Camden Family Christmas Tree, now in its seventeenth year and looking very much like the Charlie Brown Tree. The only year the tree had remained in the attic was the year my mother had died. Christmas had been two weeks after the funeral, and my father had spent all of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in a drunken haze. Santa Claus had made it to Poplar Street for the ten-and-twelve-year-old Camden sisters with the help of the Rush and May families, as well as several other neighbors.
My dad told us that he’d never forgive himself, though Morgan and I assured him that there was nothing to forgive.
The smell of pumpkin rolls had me making up reasons to walk through the kitchen. Morgan’s pumpkin rolls were her specialty, and she was sure to make enough for the Rush’s and the May’s. “Hey, do you care if Jason stops over to pick up the rolls?”
I grinned, reaching for a branch near the top of the tree. The bumblebee ornament in my hand read Spelling Bee Champ 2001. “Just for some pumpkin roll, huh?” I asked.
“That’s it. He knows I’m emotionally unavailable after being ditched by Reed.”
I stiffened. “Did you and Reed ever get… close?”
She pretended to be involved in her phone. “Yep.”
“And he just…left? And never contacted you again?”
“Hey, you want to go grab the salt from the kitchen while I stab myself in the heart?”
“I’m sorry…,” I looked down, trying to ignore the protective shell of sarcasm that Morgan created around herself.
“No… I am. I over-reacted.” She sighed, finishing her text. “He just seemed too good to be true. But I always felt like he was lying to me about something. I guess I’ll never know.”
I nodded, reaching for another high branch. Maybe that he has been alive for centuries, hunting your sister down and killing her? “Sorry. Don’t think about it,” I advised.
She crossed the room to me, her light brown eyes shadowy. “That’s your solution for everything, Roam. ‘Don’t think about it.’ But then, the problem with that is, when you do- think about it, or whatever’s bothering you- then you break down. Or in your case, pass out.”
I stared at her. Searching for a smart retort, I finally gave up. She’s absolutely right. “Well…,”
I lowered my eyes, watching the ornament in my hands slip between my fingers to the ground. The stinging sensation started in the tips of my left fingers, needles growing to daggers by the time they stabbed their way up to my inner, left forearm. I gasped, dropping to my knees on the carpet, biting the inside of my cheek until I could taste blood.
“Oh God! What’s wrong?” Morgan was at my side in seconds. “Roam, what? Is it the baby? What’s wrong?”
“Stop,” the change was so unexpected; I had little time to control myself. Finally, as the numbers on my arm began to reappear, I screamed, holding my arm underneath my white robe.
“What the…,”
“Don’t…,”
“What’s wrong with your arm…?”
“Logan,” I managed, my teeth clenched. I stood too quickly, the blood draining from my head and leaving me unsteady on my feet. I held my palms face-down at my sides to get my bearings.
“What in the hell just happened?”
I stared at my sister, watching her concerned gaze sweep over me. “I’m fine. I have to go lay down,” I whispered brokenly.
She stared at me, speechless. Finally, she pursed her lips, nodding. “Okay, then. When you need me, call me.”
Chapter Five
Logan was calling me before I made it to my bedroom.
“Logan!”
“I should have warned you, I know…,”
“Yeah, the numbers, forget about them? They just reappeared right in front of Morgan,” I hissed, shoving a leg into a pair of jeans. “Thank God I was wearing my robe.”
“Camden- it is 1955. I came out in some other fountain in the middle of Cleveland, 1955. I just went to look for that fountain that I came out of now, in 2012, but all that’s left is this long strip of grass in the Mall…,”
I remembered an internet article about the history of downtown Cleveland. “The Hanna Fountains. Those were removed years ago… water duct issues, freezing and thawing or something… Logan, 1955?” I tried desperately to button my jeans, finally laying back on the bed and pressing speaker phone. “West would be there… the West of 1955, right?”
He was silent for a while. No matter how much I tugged on my jeans, they would not close. “I have an idea, but you have to listen. It’s dangerous, and we’ll need help. It might be impossible.”
Impossible, like squeezing a twelve-week-pregnant abdomen into size one jeans that fit a day ago? “I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back.”
Logan was silent for a long moment. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’ll be over in an hour,” he said brusquely.
“I’ll be here.”
I decided to spend the hour waiting for Logan by preparing my thoughts for the year 1955. The montage scene running through my head was sound-tracked to Mr. Sandman, the inevitable outcome of watching Back to the Future as many times as I had.
As entertaining as wearing poodle skirts and
drinking root-beer floats at the counter of some diner sounded, I knew the moment we dipped our numbers into the fountain the nostalgic ideas would disappear. We had to have a solid plan in place, and I had only one goal- finding West.
I leaned back on my pillows, cradling my stomach in my hands. When the fatigue washed over me, in the early afternoon like it was, I knew better than to try to fight it. Closing my eyes, I curled against the pillow.
The nap felt like only minutes. I blinked, recognizing the feeling of fingers touching mine. When I could see him clearly, Logan moved closer, wrapping his arm around my waist as he knelt next to my bed.
“I’m sorry I made the numbers change,” he murmured. I sighed, not quite awake enough to speak. “I can’t believe I forgot it’d happen. I’d never want to hurt you like that, especially now,” he smoothed his hand over my shirt, freely touching my stomach beneath. I moved to stop him, but he turned to me, his dark eyes persuasive. “I just want to touch you. That’s all.”
I held my breath, feeling his fingertips explore my tightening skin through the thin tee-shirt. He gazed at me, heavy-lidded. “I know you love him. I know that,” he whispered, as if reminding himself.
“I do,” I said, my voice wavering.
“I’ll do everything I can to find him. I promise you,” he stopped his touching, pulling away to stand up. “I owe you that.”
I thought of the intensity in his voice. He believes he can atone for all of the other lives through this one, I realized. I stood up slowly, wrapping my arms around him.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
“Tomorrow night,” he announced, nodding. “We’ll spend today and tomorrow getting ready, have dinner with my parents, and leave.”
“If only a few minutes pass here, then they’ll never know we left,” I remembered.
“I hope not.”
“I don’t know my name in 1955. West would never tell me every story about our lives because he didn’t want me to worry…,”
“He called you… Annie. When I…,” I watched him replay the horrific scene at the gas station in his mind, and I shuddered.
“Don’t. It really doesn’t matter.”
He sat down on the bed next to me, holding my hand. “The restoration of the Peterhof Fountains- the Grand Cascade- was completed in 1950. We’re going to 1955. I’m thinking that… somehow we can…,”
“Go back to Russia,” my words caught in my throat; I threaded my fingers through his to keep from twisting my hands. “We can go back to 1977- through the fountains again. Logan, you are… I can’t believe I didn’t think… thank you,” I managed, springing to my feet. “We’ll need passports, and money, and…,”
“Roam, it’s not that easy. The state of the United States and Russia was different in the fifties. How different… well, I was hoping you could help with that part.”
I nodded, quickly gathering my long, chestnut-brown hair into a ponytail and securing it with a holder that I snatched from my night stand. “Yes. Definitely. Um… Eisenhower was president… and he was the Supreme Commander of NATO until 1952. That’s important- he helped create the European-American alliance early in the Cold War. Right after Eisenhower took office, Stalin died- he was the leader of the Soviet Union for over thirty years and…,”
“Cam,” Logan stood in my pacing path, holding me by the shoulders. “Let’s just work on recreating the… let’s call it the ‘wallet’ that West had. Documents, money, passports that look right.”
“Right… I’m sorry, I’m just so… anxious,” I sighed. “Where are we going to get money, Logan? Money that’s printed- dated- before 1955?”
“Do you think it’ll matter? Who will look at the dates, really?”
“Cash looked different. It wasn’t just the date. Anyone would take a look at our money today and think we’re using counterfeit bills.”
“And if we do a Google-image search, get some heavy bond paper, and just do some printing and cutting?”
“And mess with the economy? I feel that’s irresponsible and…,”
“Oh Roam, who cares?” He rolled his shoulders and neck, exhaling deeply. “Who really cares? The world is supposedly ending if we don’t fulfill this prophecy. If I figured this out- the reverse coordinates being another fountain, going to Russia again- it’s only a matter of time before Troy does. If he hasn’t already. I lay awake at night trying not to fall asleep and have nightmares about killing you, but all I can worry about at night is Troy breaking into your house and murdering you.”
I widened my eyes, listening to his tirade. Did Troy only know about Russia? What if he does know about other fountains- other doors? I crossed the room to West’s carry-on, dropping to my knees on the soft, beige carpet. “We need to go into West’s house. He may have documents we can use- or money. I… I think he would be okay with us doing this.” I reached into his bag, feeling through his clothes until I found his house keys and wallet. Violet had driven West’s car back to Virginia, and I assumed she still had the vehicle with her.
His scent, fabric softener and after shave, was too tempting for my senses not to seek out. I inhaled deeply, tears burning my eyes. I can almost feel him here, next to me.
“You’re right- you’re so smart,” he knelt next to me and kissed the top of my head. “I forgot you even had his bag.”
“And his laptop. I haven’t opened it,” I controlled my burgeoning tears, blinking them away. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me against his chest.
“Okay?”
“I will be,” I murmured, my fingers skimming across a sapphire blue necktie. “When I have him back.”
“We’ll go to his house tonight. Let’s go downstairs and eat dinner with Morgan and Jason. Morgan was freaked out about your arm, but I promised her I’d check on you and that you were probably fine.”
“Thanks,” I nodded, sniffing. “Alright. Let’s go downstairs.”
“And Cam,” Logan shifted slightly, and I lifted my eyes to his. “If anything is too hard for you, just tell me.”
“Thanks Rush,” I nodded, leaning into his hug.
Dinner with Morgan and Jason ended up being a welcome distraction. Jason, with his mocha skin as smooth as his deep, husky voice, proved to be just as skilled in the kitchen as Morgan. They worked side by side, trading teasing insults and sarcastic jibes. I was sure Morgan was in Flirt-Overdrive.
“Logan, you still planning on the Marines? Even with the baby?” Jason asked, spearing a cherry tomato from his salad with his fork.
I kept my eyes down. “Absolutely. August sixteenth- I leave for boot camp.”
“And Roam is still going to college. We’re working everything out, aren’t we?” Morgan insisted, looking at me squarely.
“Of course,” I nodded, moving the spaghetti around on my plate. Glancing at the window behind Morgan, I swallowed hard. “Can you close the blinds, please?”
“I got it,” Logan had them down in a flash, returning to his plate. I could tell the direct shot into our kitchen was bothering him as well.
“Where’s dad?” I shifted nervously in my chair, my back aching.
“He went out.”
Morgan’s eyes met mine. Is he drinking again? I asked silently. She shrugged.
“Roam is dragging me to see Anna-Something tonight. I’m trying to convince her to see Red Dawn instead.” Logan touched his knee to mine, and I nodded, wiping my mouth with a paper napkin.
“Karenina,” I corrected softly. Shadows moved beneath the slats in the wooden blinds, and I followed them with my gaze.
“Dude, really. Chris Hemsworth is in Red Dawn. No contest.” Morgan watched me intently, and then glanced over her shoulder. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing,” I said, too quickly. I looked down at my plate. “Well, the movie starts soon. We have to get going.”
“Okay. Logan, please feed her. She hasn’t touched her spaghetti.” She leaned toward an empty chair in the corner of the dining room that was unofficiall
y reserved for our purses. “Do you need money?”
“We’re good.” I tried my best to keep my annoyed comments at bay. She loves you, she cares about you, let it go. “You two have fun,” I smiled at Jason, and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Morgan talked me into shopping with her tonight. Apparently stores are open now through Friday.” He rolled his eyes. “Lord help us.”
“I just have a few stops on my list, and I really want to check out…,”
“Okay, have fun,” I repeated, dumping my plate and rinsing it in the sink.
Logan and I were on the snowy roads within ten minutes. He adjusted the temperature on his dash, tapping a knob on the passenger’s side. “Turn it down if it gets too hot.”
“I’m freezing, keep it coming,” I chattered, brushing my hands together.
After long minutes of silence, he glanced at me. “You’re shaking. Are you still cold?”
I shook my head, picturing the inside of West’s house in my mind. Vaulted ceilings, stone and oak, massive windows… Everything about the house that he built had his personal touch. I wondered if his bed was still unmade from our hasty departure to North Carolina. “I’m just nervous.”
“It’s just a house.”
“Yeah.”
He sighed. “He really means that much to you,” he said, more to himself than to me. “What convinced you? The dreams? It couldn’t have been the week you spent with him. You’re not that impulsive.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t know, Logan. Maybe it started with the dreams. But I love him, and I can’t change it.”
“Did you ever think that… maybe… it’s the sex? It’s new for you, and you might be confusing lust and love?”
“Hmn, tell me more about this diagnosis, Dr. Rush,” I covered my stomach defensively.
Fall (Roam Series, Book Two) Page 4