Waking in Time

by Angie Stanton

  Jada stirs. “What’s wrong?”

  Nothing. Everything. “Just a dream, never mind.” I sit up, frantic, it’s hard to breathe. This is my room as it was the day I first traveled. My cell phone is on the nightstand, my laptop on the desk, and my cheery matching storage bins are lined neatly on the bookcase.

  I check out the headboard where Will carved the hands of a clock only days ago. The carving is worn down and faded from time. Oh, God, what have I done

  “What day is it?” I ask, my heart breaking. I’ve lost Will.

  “Saturday,” Jada mumbles still half asleep.

  But what Saturday? How much time has passed? “No, what’s the calendar date?”

  “Um, September fourth?”

  I’ve woken up the day after the bonfire, as if nothing happened. Did I dream everything?

  That can’t be possible. It was too real. It feels like a punch in the gut. I know it happened. All of it—Grandma, the professor, Ruby, Will—but what proof do I have?

  I scan the room in a panic, searching for any evidence I traveled. Then I realize I’m still wearing Will’s crew T-shirt and shorts. I nearly cry in relief and hug myself. I didn’t imagine it. It was real. And yet, I’ve abandoned Will. I left him back in 1930. How could I have let that happen? My heart clenches. I’ve lost him. I close my eyes to block out the present.

  I picture him searching for me the next morning, but finding me gone. Oh, Will, I’m so sorry.

  Opening my eyes to reality, I look out the window to where the Carillon Tower used to rise above the trees. My view of it is once again completely blocked by the barren, gray concrete walls of the Social Sciences Building.

  This is what I wanted for so long, to return home, but now that I’m here without Will, I feel like I left part of myself in the past. I don’t just want my time anymore. I want Will too.

  I should have left a note in case this happened, but I didn’t. I’m a fool. I just lost the most important person in my life. And then I remember that while I didn’t leave him a note, maybe he’s left one for me, letting me know what’s happened to him?

  Digging through my closet, I scramble to pull on shorts, a T-shirt, and my familiar old running shoes. After a quick glance in the mirror, I pull a brush through my hair a few times, grab my macramé purse, and head out.

  “Where are you going?” Jada mumbles when the door opens.

  “For a walk. Go back to sleep.”

  I run the whole way, ignoring the hitch in my side. When I spot the smaller trail that leads to Will’s treasure, I pause to catch my breath and say a silent prayer that I will find a new message.

  After three more turns, the peaceful beauty of the woods is disrupted by orange tape marking off an area around Will’s fallen tree. The decaying willow is now a decomposed mound on the forest floor. Three people are excavating inside the area.

  I rush forward to confront the trespassers. The rock that covered Will’s treasure has been rolled outside the cordoned-off area. Where his treasure should be is a deep empty hole. I’m gutted.

  “What are you doing?” I bark, startling the people digging. They stare at me as if I’m the one intruding. I duck under the tape and come closer, seeing cameras, notebooks, and computers in the area.

  “Whoa!” A short guy with dirty hands stands. “Step out of the research area.”

  “What did you do with the tobacco tin?” I search the area hoping to find it on the ground.

  He raises a skeptical eyebrow and glances at his cohorts.

  “Where is it? It doesn’t belong to you!”

  “It belongs to the anthropology department.”

  “No, it doesn’t. You need to put it back.” My hands clench at my sides. “Someone buried it there for a reason.”

  The researcher wipes his hands on his work shorts. “The tin dates back to the 1920s. I’m sure that whoever buried it is long dead.”

  His words stab me in the heart. I must go pale, because now all three of them are staring at me.

  He takes a step closer. “What do you know about the tin?”

  I hold my ground. What can I say? Everything? I know the guy who buried it is somewhere out there, lost in time. I know that the pictures in it are of his family—and of me. I know Will left bank account numbers that no one should have access to except him. I put my hand to my forehead. Oh, God, what will happen if his things get into the wrong hands?

  But I can’t say any of those things. “Did you ever think maybe it’s a legacy that’s lasted decades? That there are people who know about it and use it as a means of communication? It doesn’t belong to you.”

  Mr. Bossy narrows his eyes. “How do you know that?”

  Now I take a step back. I can’t say more. I just want it back.

  The female researcher with them keeps staring at me, then the other guy stands and speaks up. “She’s probably on the newspaper staff and saw pictures of all of those letters.”

  There are pictures? And how many letters did they find? It’s not the same as holding Will’s notes in my hand, but it may still be a way for me to see if he left any new messages.

  The girl starts paging through a binder. “Hey, guys. Don’t you think she looks a lot like the girl in one of the photos?” She holds up a page with an enlarged photocopy of the snapshot Will and I posed for in the photo booth.

  Their faces screw up as they look at the picture and back to me.

  “What’s your name?” the first guy asks.

  I panic. How would I ever explain? I duck under the ribbon and run.

  “Wait! What do you know about the tin?” the girl asks.

  I take off back down the trail. They’ve stolen Will’s treasure. I’m out of breath, but not from running. The tin won’t be there if he lands in this time or later. He’ll need it. How can I help him?

  On the long walk back, I try to come up with a plan. I need to look at those letters. Would someone on the newspaper staff let me see them? Who could help me? And then I think of Professor Smith.

  Oh my God, I have to find out if he’s alive. I bypass Liz Waters and go straight to Sterling Hall, which stands in all its glory and without the slightest sign of the horrible blast.

  Inside I check the building directory. There is no W. C. Smith. I go through all the names twice more to make sure I haven’t missed him. But of course he isn’t there. Even if he survived the bombing, if he’s alive today, he’d be an old man.

  Deflated, I look around the empty hall. I’ve lost both Will and the professor. I can’t go back, but there are no answers here either.

  As I’m heading out the door, I see a newspaper rack filled with issues of the Badger Herald. The headline reads: Buried Treasure Or Modern-Day Hoax?

  There’s a large photo on the front page showing many of the things from Will’s tin—the silver dollars, his father’s pocket watch, and a pile of the letters splayed out. I squint but can’t read them.

  The article continues inside. I’m relieved to see close-ups of the objects, including pictures of his family and the one of us. Tears brim in my eyes, and I hug the paper. Now at least I have a piece of him.

  I step outside and sit on a ledge to spread the paper open. There is a close-up of Will’s first letter to me, but not the others. I scan the article and find that they’ve transcribed some of them. I clench my jaw in frustration when I see our private words printed for all to see.

  My dear Abbi,

  I just saw you in 1961. It was glorious and made the waiting worthwhile, but then we quarreled, and you were gone.

  My life is now empty. I go through the motions each day, but without you, none of it matters. My worry for your safety consumes me.

  I’m so sorry about that night of the stag party. I am miserable with remorse and blame myself. If only I could have you back, I’d never let you slip away again. The future
is frightening and uncertain with no promise of finding you. If ever you read this, and I pray you do, know my love for you is timeless.

  Affectionately yours,

  Will

  I wipe my eyes, missing him desperately. Why has life been so cruel? Will is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and now he’s gone. There’s a deep chasm in my heart that will never heal. It was horrible to lose Grandma, but she had lived a good, long life. Will was young and full of potential ... and he was my soul mate. I scan the rest of the article and see one more letter.

  Dear Abbi,

  I saw you at Headliners in 1983. I was there! When that behemoth forced his kiss on you, I dragged him away and accidentally started a brawl. You looked around when I hollered your name, but I couldn’t reach you. By the time the campus police released me, the next day had dawned and you were gone. I can’t believe you slipped through my fingers.

  I pray each day to find my way back to you.

  Eternally yours,

  Will

  That was him! I think back to that night when Cheap Trick was playing. Will was the unknown guy trying to protect me! If only I had known then what I know now, I would have jumped into the brawl to reach him and never let him go. I trace my hands over his signature. We were so close and yet so far. How will I find you now?

  I tuck the newspaper in my bag, dejected, and head back to Liz Waters. This whole ordeal has been exhausting. I have fewer answers and more questions than ever.

  When I get to my room, I find Jada gone and a note on my pillow.

  A cute guy was here looking for you! He wants you to call him right away. He seemed desperate to talk to you.

  Jada

  A phone number is listed at the bottom.

  Oh my God! Will!

  I scramble for my phone and discover my battery is dead. “You have got to be kidding me!”

  I dig in the drawer for my charger and plug it in, drumming my fingers till I see the first sign of life. The second it powers up, I madly tap out the phone number. It rings three times and just as I fear it’s going to voice mail, a husky male voice answers, “Hey, it took you long enough.”

  My heart drops. This isn’t Will. “Excuse me. Who is this?” I ask at a total loss.

  “Colton. This is Abbi isn’t it?”

  I was positive it would be Will, but it’s just Colton, the guy who walked me back from Picnic Point that night so long ago. Except to him, I suppose it would only be last night. Crazy.

  “Yeah, how ya doing?” I try not to sound disappointed.

  “Good, but I have a problem. This is going to sound really bizarre, so bear with me.”

  “My life is bizarre—go ahead.” I plop down on my bed and notice Grandma’s birth certificate and the picture of the two of us that slipped off my bed that first night. I pick them up and trace my finger around the tattered edges.

  “I know it’s really soon to cash in, but I sort of need a favor.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, the drunk guy I helped you kick to the curb… and you said you owed me… ?”

  “Oh yeah,” I say, feeling like it was all a long-ago dream.

  “Okay, so there’s this big Badger party my parents host every fall for our entire family, and this morning my dad called and said I can’t come without a date.”

  “That’s the oddest thing I’ve ever heard. Why would they care if you brought a date?”

  “I know, totally weird, but I was talking to my dad this morning and just happened to mention that I met a nice girl named Abbi last night, and he suddenly insisted that I bring you along. He said that I owed it to my mother to bring home a nice girl… for a change.”

  “Okay…” I’m trying to figure out how I got wrapped up in all of this, but I’m too exhausted to think straight about anything.

  “Told you it was bizarre. But hey, you can help me make my mom happy and pay up your favor at the same time. Also I promise tons of awesome food!” Colton laughs. “And you know, when we talked yesterday you mentioned missing family, so, maybe it’s fate.”

  My mind is spinning. I’m trying to figure out what happened to Will, find out if the professor is still alive, and desperate to call my mom and hear her voice. But why did Colton use that word—fate? He’s the last person I saw before I traveled, and he’s practically the first person I’ve spoken to since I’ve been back. Could there be a clue here? But going to a party is about the last thing I want to do.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I’m hedging. I don’t want to leave campus, but something in his voice sways me. “If I were to say yes, where exactly are we going, and when would you pick me up?”

  “You’re the best! We’re only going to Middleton, which is about fifteen minutes away. I’ll pick you up in forty-five.”

  “I haven’t even showered yet. I should say no and let you abduct some girl off the street instead.”

  “Nice try.” He laughs, and I remember what a nice guy he is. “Okay, I’ll let you go so you can get ready. I’ll be out front waiting. Thanks!” He hangs up before I can argue.

  Crud. This is not how I planned to spend my day. I’m not even sure why I agreed. I could return that favor another time… but the fact that he mentioned fate caught my attention.

  Forty-six minutes later, with my hair still wet, I grab the macramé purse that played ride-along during much of my travels, and head out. Colton is waiting, looking exactly as I remembered. Tall with brown eyes and a friendly smile that puts me at ease. It’s a relief to see a familiar face.

  “Worried I wasn’t going to show?” I grin.

  “No way. Girls never turn me down.” He smirks as we head to a car at the curb.

  “So then why’d you have to cash in a favor just to find a date?” I ask, poking his arm.

  “You got me there,” he says playfully.

  I’m not much company on the ride over. Colton keeps up a steady stream of chatter and doesn’t seem to notice my lack of conversation. He explains that the party is a big tradition in his family and that his parents usually host it, but this year his grandpa wanted to host it at his house. Colton pulls up in front of a large Victorian-style house with a wrap-around porch and hydrangea bushes bursting with color. Beyond the house, the sun shimmers off of Lake Mendota. Cars are parked up and down the street, the Badger fight song blares from speakers, and the smell of barbecue fills the air. A handful of adults mill around on the porch, and a bunch of kids and teenagers play ladder golf in the side yard.

  “You do have a huge family,” I say. I’m instantly intimidated. Leaving campus suddenly feels like a huge mistake. I should be at the newspaper demanding my letters back, or at the library trying to find out what happened to Professor Smith.

  “They won’t bite,” Colton says. “My dad is the oldest of six. Everyone in our family tends to have a lot of kids.”

  “Is it just your grandparents in this big old house?”

  “Yup. Gramps said he could never leave, that the only way he would move out was cold and in a box.”

  “He sounds like a live one.” I say, thinking of my own feisty Grandma.

  Colton leads the way through a group all wearing various styles of UW Badger red and white. I take a breath and brace myself for the onslaught of new people I’m about to meet.

  “Tell me again why I agreed to this?”

  “Because you owe me for rescuing you from that drooling bloodhound, Mitch,” he says. “How could you forget?”

  “Oh yeah, that.” I laugh. My heart belongs to Will, but it’s impossible not to like Colton as a friend. I realize that if I’d ever had a brother, I’d want him to be something like Colton.

  He opens the screen door. I take a deep breath and enter. The energy inside is as boisterous as outside, with TVs tuned at top volume to the pre-game show and people laughing and talking e
ven louder. Colton waves hello and whisks me down a wide hallway into a kitchen buzzing with more people, a huge punch bowl, and platters of food.

  “Colton, you made it.” An elderly woman with salt and pepper hair steps forward and hugs him. “And this must be your friend,” she says, looking at me with such affection that she could almost be my own grandma.

  “Abbi, this is my grandma. Grandma, Abbi.”

  “Welcome to the madhouse.” She hugs me like I’m family. Colton smiles as I hug her back in surprise. “And this is Colton’s mother, Joann.”

  A middle-aged woman with light-brown hair styled in a bob smiles and holds out a clear tumbler filled with a red beverage. “Hi, Abbi. Have some punch.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you both.” I accept the glass, glad to have something to hold on to.

  “Drink slowly. It’s my dad’s recipe, and it has a killer ‘punch,’” Colton warns in my ear.

  I take a sip and nearly choke. “Wow. You weren’t kidding.”

  He snickers.

  “Did I hear Colton?” A man appears and I know immediately by his looks that he must be Colton’s dad, but he reminds me of someone else too.

  “Here and accounted for with a girl named Abbi from Liz Waters, exactly as requested. Abbi, this is my dad, Wally.”

  I turn to Colton in confusion. What’s going on here? But before I can ask, his dad steps forward.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Abbi. I never thought this day would come.” Wally shakes my hand vigorously.

  “So, Dad, you going to tell me what this last-minute mystery about bringing Abbi is all about?”

  “Yes, but first there’s someone I need Abbi to meet. Please follow me.” He beams with excitement.

  Colton looks as confused as I am and shrugs. We follow his dad through a dining room, a living room, and into a family room with thick carpeting, cozy sofas, and French doors.

  Something extremely odd is happening here, and I feel I’m trying to make sense of a nonsensical dream.

  And then I spot an elderly man with snowy white hair and thick glasses sitting in a worn leather recliner. He peers up as we enter, and his brown eyes settle on me. Recognition flashes in his face.