by Tamara Allen
Funny, I didn’t remember the twenty-first century being so boring. The book of poetry Maggie had left on the coffee table caught my eye and I thumbed through it. Tennyson. Ezra’s favorite. I stretched out on the sofa and started to read, not really expecting to find much in it except maybe a little comfort at the thought that Ezra had read and enjoyed those same words. But I was drawn into the circumstances, which felt oddly similar to my own. I got as far as, “But I remain’d, whose hopes were dim, Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth, To wander on a darken’d earth, Where all things round me breathed of him,” before I had to leave the quiet apartment and go for a run in the park.
Under a sky as ablaze as the trees, I ran until protesting muscles overcame all other aches and I had myself convinced there might come a time when life seemed normal again. Leaving the park, I heard the clatter of hooves on the pavement and my heart lifted even as my brain registered that it was only a park cop behind me. I dropped onto a bench and pushed my fingers through damp hair, resting my head in my hands.
Ezra’s world was far from perfect. But this life of mine I’d thought so goddamned great was a hollow shell in comparison—because that was my way. And my dad’s.
My dad had worked long hours too; not entirely out of necessity, but because that was the world he understood and had control over, unlike the more complicated world made up of a sympathetic but strong-willed wife and rebellious son. What I’d always thought of as a good work ethic suddenly seemed more like a good excuse to avoid those same messy relationships. But Ezra had gotten past that, opening my eyes to the love that even someone as hardheaded as I was capable of.
Jesus. And all the time I thought I’d been liberating him.
I hadn’t come home. Home was Ezra. Eighteen-eighty-eight, two thousand eighty-eight, eighty-eight BC. It didn’t matter. He could live on the moon and that would be where something in me knew I belonged. Sure, I could stay here, live out my life, and maybe in ten years or twenty, Ezra would be a half-forgotten memory that barely even stung. But was that what I wanted when I might have twenty years or even ten with him?
I got up off the bench and wandered my way back to the silent tomb of my apartment. I didn’t want a drink, I didn’t want to sleep. There was only one thing I wanted. My heart wouldn’t be leaping around wildly in my chest just at the thought, otherwise. Getting back to him, however, was a bridge of substantial proportions most likely impossible to cross. I assumed Henry and Ezra had found a place on the shelves for the spellbook. I didn’t know if it would be in the same spot after more than a hundred years. But maybe I didn’t need it. Maybe an appeal to Sully and his higher-ups would be enough.
There was only one way to find out.
Chapter 25
Since sleep was out of the question, I prowled the apartment in a feverish fit of planning. If I could go back, I was going a little more prepared. I had some savings, and while I couldn’t take the cash with me, I could exchange it for something I could sell any time, any place. My initial consideration of gold bars was squashed by the realization I’d have to carry it around; gems would do instead.
There were a lot of other little conveniences I wanted to take with me, but I had to admit that whoever was in charge of sending me back would probably be less inclined to allow the trip if I tried to stuff into my suitcase everything from aspirin to my favorite catcher’s mitt. The Glock, my badge, and ID also had to stay behind this time. Even the bag of flea market gifts I was wiser to leave. My mere presence would be enough of an ongoing threat to civilization.
That made me aware that I was planning for something that simply wouldn’t happen. Why send me back now? Why take the risk just to make one soul blissfully happy? It wasn’t like I had a reliable record where love was concerned. I could fuck up my life and a whole lot of others in the process.
The higher-ups would probably think that reason enough to make me stay put. But what the hell, I had to try. If I didn’t, I would always wonder. I’d always regret. And God knew I’d collected enough regrets in less than half a lifetime.
I caught a couple hours of sleep just after dawn, then showered and dressed comfortably—in exactly what I’d worn that day in the museum when I had been spirited away. I wanted to attribute it more to nostalgia than superstition, but I couldn’t. I closed my bank accounts and turned the money into a depressingly puny pile of loose diamonds.
The most difficult task of the morning was asking Faulkner for a leave of absence. I was essentially saying good-bye, and maybe he somehow sensed it, because he considered me for the longest minute before finally granting me another two weeks. He knew something was up, but he didn’t press, not even when I shook his hand and deliberately needled him once more for old time’s sake.
I didn’t clean out my desk, but I stuffed my slinky into a padded envelope, wrote his name on it, and put it in the bottom drawer beside the candy bars he always helped himself to. He would know then that my going was my choice, wherever I’d gone; and maybe when he could stop cursing my name, he would conclude I’d done what I needed to.
Back at the apartment, I did the same with my flea market gifts, labeling them for Van, Maggie, Reese, Kevin, and a few others I wanted to leave something to remember me by. The shawl Kathleen might have worn primly about her shoulders Maggie would probably pair with a strapless black dress. The thought made me grin despite my regrets.
I packed an overnight bag with a change of clothes and nothing more, figuring the fewer identifying possessions I left in London, the better. Deciding I owed Reese a good-bye, I gave him a call on my way to the airport. An unfamiliar voice answered the phone but quickly put Reese on.
“Hi ya, Reese. Was that your dad?”
He snorted. “What do you want, Morgan?”
“Just wanted to say good-bye. I’m taking your advice….” which had to please him no end, “and getting my shit together. I’m off to London.” Not entirely accurate, as I had a side trip to make first, but I was caught in the drama of the moment.
It took Reese a good few seconds to find his voice. “You’re going to London? After that guy you met?”
“Yep. And if I don’t come back….” I smiled to myself. “I hereby give you leave to dispose of my possessions as you see fit.”
Suspicion crept into his voice. “You didn’t volunteer for some sort of suicide mission, did you?”
“I’ll admit there’s an element of danger involved, but I figure it’s worth the risk.”
“Morgan—”
“I’m kidding. Really, I’m going to London to try to get back together with Ezra. That’s his name.” Funny how just saying it aloud made me feel warm and optimistic.
“Yeah? Well, I hope he hasn’t figured out in the meantime what a royal pain in the ass you are.” He was only half-joking.
“I hope so too.” I was entirely serious. “If it doesn’t work, I guess I’ve just got myself to blame. Anyway, just felt I owed it to you to tell you. And to apologize for everything I put you through. I’m sorry. You deserved better.”
The silence lasted so long, I wondered if we’d been disconnected. “Reese?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m here.” He sounded a little dazed. “You swear you’re not on a suicide mission or anything like that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on. I wasn’t that bad.”
“Yes, you were.” Suddenly he laughed and I heard his friend in the background join in. I had the feeling I’d interrupted something. Reese cleared his throat. “Morgan, look—it’s all okay, all right? I appreciate the apology. I hope it works out with Ezra. Take care of yourself. Take care of each other.”
I could tell I was getting the fast hustle off the line. “Yeah, I will. You too.”
I was glad I’d called him, even if I ended up coming back to New York with my tail between my legs and my heart a whole lot worse for wear. At the airport, I parked my car in a shady corner, wondering if that was the last time I’d drive it—or drive anything that didn’t have
a horse pulling it along. I couldn’t deny I was going to miss modern-day conveniences. But it could have been worse. At least there were indoor toilets—and other advances were coming along at breakneck speed. If I’d met Ezra in 1388….
Who was I trying to kid? I’d go back all the same.
As I waited in line to board, I worried over how I would say the good-bye I’d saved for last. My mom had always wanted nothing more than for me to be happy, but I wasn’t so sure that included the possibility of never seeing me again. I had to tell her the truth, nevertheless; I couldn’t let her think I’d been killed in the line of duty once I was reported missing. I wanted her to be the one person who would know where I had gone and why. And I had a feeling if anyone could understand it, she would. After my dad had died, she’d sold the farm and bought a dress shop in town with two of her friends. Working her way through her grief, she had supported herself and me until I’d graduated and gone on to college. Though she had never remarried, she had filled her life to overflowing in all other respects. That made me a little easier about the prospect of saying good-bye.
I found her at work and took her to an early dinner so we could talk in private. The boutique was too filled with activity, and I didn’t want to be overheard between lulls in the constant chatter. She knew something was up and, seeing her smile, I had a feeling it was as obvious to her as it had been to Maggie. She leaned across the table and patted my hand. “Who is he?”
“Aw, come on. How can you tell?”
She laughed. “The day I’ve been watching for, waiting for, and he wants to know how I can tell. Morgan dear, you know how attuned I’ve always been to everything going on with you.” Her brown eyes narrowed quizzically. “It’s not all good, though. Not all good. You’ve got those little wrinkles….” She smoothed a hand over my forehead. “So tell me already.”
I told her. Not that it was easy. Even the best of moms might’ve wondered if it wasn’t time to call in the men with the butterfly nets. But my mom was a little different. She had always seen the big picture, the same way Sully now saw it; and she had always been as serenely certain about all things concerning heaven and earth as he was. My dad had always joked she was more certain than God Himself. And when I told her I’d fallen for a guy long since dead, she frowned not in disbelief, but as if she wanted to muddle out some way to resurrect him for my sake.
Then it dawned on her, the bad news I was trying so feebly to convey.
“You’re going to him,” she said gravely.
“I’m going to try.” I paused. “It might not work—”
“I think it may.” She half-covered my hand with her smaller one and squeezed. “You have a reason to go. Dear James, he said as much.” Dear James was how she always spoke of Sully. Everyone was dear to Mom.
“Don’t tell me you can see Sully now too?”
She considered herself a “little bit psychic.” Though she had never mentioned seeing any ghosts except Dad, she seemed to communicate with him on a daily basis. I’d always thought it was wishful thinking—until now.
“No, your father told me James had mentioned it,” she said as her cellphone rang. I nodded for her to go ahead and she smiled in embarrassment and answered it. As I finished my steak, I wondered if she might want to come with me. But as I listened to her discussing inventory with her business partner and a woman she’d been friends with since girlhood, I realized she had a whole life here she wouldn’t want to be spirited away from.
Ending the call, she put away the phone and looked at me wistfully. “I’ve always wished I could see you more often, dear. I just didn’t imagine it would end up being by the same means I see your father. I suppose it’s better than nothing at all, but I do so miss the hugs.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that if I went back, I’d be dead—before I was born. Just thinking about it gave me a headache. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Oh, now, what is there to be sorry about? Let’s order dessert and you can tell me about Ezra. I want to know all about this fellow who’s done the impossible.”
Noting the impish light in her eyes, I indulged her. “The impossible being….”
“Oh, Morgan, if you only knew how long it took me to convince your father he was in love.” She rolled her eyes. “And you’re just as bad. I was in despair—”
I thwarted the lecture by giving her the photo of me and Ezra. She stared at it in wonder, then up at me as if she were reassuring herself it was her own child in the picture. “Oh my dear. Look at you. My goodness.” Her gaze drawn back to the photo, she gazed at it until the cheesecake arrived. “He looks as though he has the necessary patience,” she concluded, placing the photo beside her plate.
“Funny, Mom. Yeah, I don’t know how, but he does.” I just wondered if he had enough patience left to take me back. “I think he did the impossible, just putting up with me two weeks.”
“You think he’s going to be angry with you?”
I dug furrows in the cheesecake with my fork. “Yeah. And he’s got every right to be—”
“Not once he knows why you’re there. You are going to tell him you love him?” When I looked up at her in exasperation, she laughed. “Well, I had to ask. It wasn’t easy, squeezing those words out of your father.” Her voice softened. “Now I hear them every day. Now he knows.”
I couldn’t help asking. “Knows what?”
“What’s important. And I think now you do too.”
“I’m a slow learner,” I said with a rueful twist of my mouth.
“We learn when we’re ready.” She put down her fork, her own dessert half-eaten, and took up the photo again. “Will you be able to visit?”
“I don’t know. It’s a rough trip.” I couldn’t tell her it was a trip I might not survive. “You want to keep the picture?”
“May I?” She brightened. “Why don’t you leave some more photos and maybe a few letters in a safe place for me? I suppose your father will let me know how things turn out for you. But I would so like a few keepsakes. Could you?”
I was hesitant to make any promises, but I wanted to give her something before I left. I noted she had not alluded to the idea that I might be the one to eventually tell her just how my life with Ezra had gone. Not even seeing the big picture shielded a person from the hurt of losing someone in the flesh. “Remember the board I hid those cigarettes under in the storm cellar?”
Her eyes widened. “I’d have to sneak back onto the property.”
“Nah. Just tell them you left some keepsakes behind. They’ll let you dig them out.”
I rode back to the boutique with her, wanting to leave her among friends. As I headed for the airport, I had a typical one-sided conversation with my dad—only this time, I was the one doing the talking. I asked him to look after her and keep her in good cheer when she missed me the most. Maybe he wasn’t as thick-headed as he’d been in life—as we’d both been—but I wanted to make sure he remembered. And I tacked on a reminder that I loved him too.
As surreal as it felt to leave my familiar life behind, the prospect of being with Ez again had me in a buzz of anticipation and excitement that grew with every mile passed. The flight back across the pond was damned near interminable. I dozed intermittently and dreamed of him, then woke to see lush green far below and the gleam of tall buildings in the distance. London, the most beautiful city in the world…
What Leonard Gladstell would have given to hear me admit that.
Thirty minutes to closing, I slipped in past the crowds heading out of the museum. The dreamlike sense that had cocooned me for the last several hours was yielding to ever-increasing anxiety. What made me think whoever had pulled me back the first time would let me return? I was asking for a hell of a lot. What if the answer was no?
“Come on, Sully,” I muttered as I pushed open the door to the storage room. “Look, I know my track record stinks. But you know me well enough to know….” I sucked in a breath, refusing to accept that I was only talking to thin air. I sa
t for some time as the noise of people coming and going dwindled to a deep cavernous quiet broken only by the lone shuffle of a security guard checking for stragglers.
Dead tired, I decided I needed a good night’s sleep. Maybe Sully would give the matter some thought and maybe tomorrow morning….
I checked into a nearby hotel and dropped into bed without bothering to undress. The brutal buzz of an alarm clock woke me at eight and I lay in bed, still jet-lagged, and wondered what the hell I was going to do. Had Sully heard me? Had anyone? Was there any way to convince them to let me slip back to 1888?
Maybe I needed to make a more direct appeal.
I closed my eyes and willed him near. “Ezra? Any chance you can hear me? And help me? I’m trying to get back to you.” An unexpected lump in my throat choked me into silence. I shoved away the blankets and shot out of bed. Goddamnit, I was going back. If I had to spend day after day in that musty little room until someone up there got the message, I would.