The Day Before Forever

by Anna Caltabiano

  I turned to him with the bread in my hands, meaning to ask him where he had gone, until I saw that he was clutching a pair of shoes in each hand.

  “The lost and found crate out there is a gold mine.” Henley grinned. “It’s as if we have our own personal shop right outside.”

  I laughed and offered the bread I was holding. “I’ll trade you a scrumptious breakfast of peanut butter and bread for those shoes.” I pointed at the women’s leather shoes in Henley’s right hand.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” Henley said, pretending to think about it. “But for that piece of bread . . . I think I’ll have to accept.”

  He set the shoes down in front of me, and I stepped into them. Henley took the bread from me and bit into it while looking me up and down.

  “A little big . . . but surprisingly not bad,” he said through his full mouth. “Here, try walking around in them. Hopefully you won’t step completely out of them.”

  I walked to the end of the room and back. He was right; not bad, especially for something excavated from the lost and found.

  “Amazing they even had both men’s and women’s shoes in there,” I said, picking up another piece of bread, this time for myself, and spreading more peanut butter on it.

  “Everything’s in there. I swear there are more things in the lost and found than there was food in the grocery store we went to. The world could end tomorrow, and we’d find our survival supplies in that crate.”

  I thought it was funny that the grocery store had clearly made a big impression on Henley.

  “Try yours on.” I took a bite out of my bread.

  “Already did,” he said, but he put on the shoes anyway. “Aren’t they nice?”

  Henley’s shoes actually looked like they were his.

  “As long as I keep my pants this long, you can’t see the big scuff mark on the instep.”

  “They look perfect for the meeting.”

  “Speaking of which . . .” Henley looked at the clock. “We should get going.”

  I devoured the rest of my bread, while Henley made sure the jewelry and clock were in the backpack.

  “Anything else we need?” Henley asked.

  “IDs for us,” I said. “But it looks like we won’t have them.” I wished we had ordered them from the man sooner.

  “They probably won’t need something like that on a first meeting,” Henley said. But we both knew that was a complete guess. Neither of us knew the auction house’s practices.

  We walked down the hall and to the parlor. Aaron wasn’t there this morning, though I don’t suppose it mattered if he was there or not because he had already heard Henley’s phone call with Carter House.

  I saw a map behind the counter and pulled it toward me. I scanned the page for the street Carter House was on.

  “Here we go.”

  I saw Henley take the hostel’s business card from in front of the computer. That was a smart idea, in case we got lost or had to call the hostel.

  “We need to take a left up there,” I said as we stepped out of the building.

  Before Henley could answer, we were interrupted.

  “Finally! Finally!” It was the ID man, and he was running up to us waving his hands. “You two take so long. What’d you do? Decide this was the day to sleep in?”

  I noticed the man was at last wearing different clothing.

  Henley instinctively stepped in front of me.

  “Well, you don’t need your beauty rest no more—” The man glanced at Henley. “Well, maybe you do. You look more horrible than your picture.”

  “So you have them then?” I asked. “The fake IDs.”

  “Whoa. Whoa. What? I don’t have any fake IDs to give you,” the man said in a theatrically loud voice. Much quieter he said, “Damn it, not here.”

  The man slinked around the corner again, as he had done the first time. I remembered to wait longer than I had before, and then Henley and I followed him.

  “Here you go, princess.” The man held up the licenses, and from where I stood, they looked a lot like the IDs Miss Hatfield had for both of us in New York.

  Henley tried to reach for it, but the man snatched it away.

  “Huh-uh. You see the card. I see the money.”

  Henley dug into the backpack and came up with the extra forty-five pounds. We watched the man count it out before stashing it in his pocket. He wordlessly handed us the IDs.

  Henley leaned over me as we both peered at the card. Henley looked pale and dissatisfied in the photo, but it looked as if it had been taken in bad lighting in the Department of Motor Vehicles. Henley’s name was spelled correctly. The address was also correct. There was even a fake signature and an estimated height. The card read “New York Driver’s License” and looked official enough. Mine looked the same.

  “So?” The man looked expectantly at us. “Tell me that’s not the best damn job you’ve seen. It’s perfect.”

  I was about to tell him that I wouldn’t know since I had nothing to compare it to, but I decided against that and just nodded.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “For a sweetie like you? Any day,” the man said. “The name’s Carl, by the way.” He squinted hard at Henley. “You’re lucky you have this one,” he told him.

  “Well, Carl, we’d best get going,” I said. We weren’t late yet to our meeting, but I didn’t want to be. I suddenly thought about the passports we wanted to get. “How can we contact you if we need something else?”

  “For you, sweetie, I’ll give you my number.”

  Carl took a pen out and walked toward me. It took everything in my power not to step back. He took my hand and wrote his phone number on the inside of my wrist. The nib of the pen scratched along as it dug into my skin.

  “T-thanks,” I managed to get out.

  “Call anytime you need anything. That’s what prepaid phones are for . . . That and making sure you don’t leave a trail, of course.” Carl flashed a lazy grin at us. “If that’s it, I’d best be going too. I have my own rounds to make, you know.”

  We went our separate ways in the alley, though I’m sure Carl waited an extra minute so he wouldn’t be seen leaving at the same time as us.

  “That was . . . strange,” Henley said after we were safely a block away.

  “Do you expect anything else when you’re buying an illegal fake ID?”

  Henley pulled out the map to get his bearings, before we started power walking to the auction house address.

  Henley pulled open the heavy glass door and walked in first. I followed the muffled sound his loafers made on the floor as I clutched the backpack in my arms.

  The lobby was empty and vast. The walls were smooth black stone in complete contrast to the green tile beneath our feet. It sparkled where we stepped.

  There was a black desk, at least three times the size of the cramped one back at the hostel. A woman with a perfectly coifed bun eyed us as we walked in. I knew we probably looked different—a little younger, differently dressed—from the regular people she’d seen walk into the building, but I didn’t think we looked that bad.

  Henley looked confident—at least from behind. He strutted up to the woman.

  “We’re here for Carter House,” he said.

  The woman gestured to the far side of the room. “The elevator would be that way.”

  Henley walked past me, and I followed closely at his heels.

  The elevator looked imposing. It was tall and highly buffed to a gleam where the sun hit it.

  “What company, sir?”

  I hadn’t noticed that there was a man in uniform standing next to the elevator. He had already pushed the button to summon it.

  “Carter House,” Henley said.

  Unlike the phone call he had made yesterday, there were no “ums” and “uhs.” This was a different Henley. A confident Henley. He must have been used to this type of lavish business environment. I wondered if this was the Henley everyone saw when he used to do business in h
is own time.

  The elevator dinged, and we walked on. The elevator man wedged himself between me and the buttons. He pressed for the fourth floor, and we went up.

  I silently watched my reflection in the heavily burnished silver doors. The woman I saw in the doors didn’t look as nervous as I felt, but she looked so out of place. Her skirt was riding up and her shoes were large enough that there was a gap between her heel and the back of the shoe. She held her backpack so tightly that her hands were turning white. She wasn’t of this world.

  The elevator sounded again, and I felt it come to a stop.

  The elevator man held the door for us as we stepped out. “Have a good day, sir. Ma’am.”

  I tried to smile at the man, but Henley didn’t acknowledge his existence.

  The room we had been dropped off in was a lobby like the one downstairs. It had the same matching color scheme of emerald and black, but it was smaller with a smaller desk. A seating area with a large emerald couch also took up space.

  “Hello. How may I help you?” This woman at this front desk had a nicer smile than the last. Behind her, a large sign proudly announced Carter House Auction Specialists. At least we knew we were in the right place.

  “We have an appointment for ten this morning,” Henley said.

  The woman glanced down. There must have been a computer at the desk hidden from sight. “Why, yes. Mr. Beauford?” She tucked a flyaway blond strand behind her ear.

  “Yes.”

  The woman smiled at me. “Please have a seat, Mr. and Mrs. Beauford, and we’ll be right with you.”

  Henley didn’t bother to correct her and went at once to one of the single-seater black velvet armchairs. I sat on the green couch. The backs of my thighs stuck to the leather upholstery.

  There was a single door between the seating area and the desk. I guessed it led to the rest of the office and that it would be where someone would appear to call our names.

  “Coffee or tea while you wait?” the woman asked from the desk.

  Henley made no move to answer.

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  I stared hard at the door, willing someone to materialize, but when no one did, I looked at Henley instead.

  Henley was leaning against one arm of his chair. He had his legs crossed as if he often came into offices like this. For once, he looked cold and distant. He made no move to talk to me. He wasn’t even looking in my direction. Instead he was aimlessly looking toward the corner of the room. It was as if he was purposefully distancing himself from me. I didn’t know if it was all an act or not.

  There was a little patch of skin on the back of his hand with a black smudge. I knew it had been where he had written down the number for the auction house. The patch of skin was pink, as if Henley had tried to scrub it off.

  I looked at my own hand. I had Carl’s phone number scrawled along the inside of my wrist in black ink. I should remember to keep my wrist down so as to avoid unnecessary attention to it. I also needed to remember not to accidentally smear it.

  Finally, the door I had been watching opened. Another polished woman in a black skirt suit walked out. She walked crisply toward us.

  Sticking a hand out first to Henley, then to me, the woman introduced herself. “Tabitha Webley.”

  “Henley Beauford.”

  “Of course,” she said. The woman matched the room in appearance and in attitude.

  “This is Rebecca Hatfield,” he said. I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t use any labels with me. No “friend.” No “girlfriend.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” she said. “Now if you’ll please follow me into one of our conference rooms, our sixteenth-century jewelry specialist will be joining us in just a moment.”

  When Tabitha held open the door for us, I saw the rest of the office was mostly conference rooms.

  As she sashayed through the halls, I peeked into the mostly glass rooms. They were so open they looked like human-sized fishbowls. Each one we passed was empty and dark. They all had a dark wooden table in the middle.

  “This way.” Tabitha opened the door to one of the rooms.

  It seemed like an arbitrary choice—there was nothing special about this one compared to the others, but it was set up and ready for us. The lights were already on. There were orchids in the middle of the table, and a pitcher of water accompanied by glasses that had intricate, lacelike designs cut into them.

  “Coffee or tea?” she asked.

  We shook our heads.

  Tabitha took the far chair, while Henley sat across from her. I pulled out a chair next to Henley, right by the door.

  Just as we sat, the door behind me opened and I felt a soft gust of air.

  “So sorry to keep you waiting.” A short man in a black suit walked in. He smoothed his burgundy tie. “Ronald Burgess,” he said as he took our hands. He sat next to Tabitha.

  The people of this company seemed to like their black suits.

  “So, shall we begin?” Tabitha said. It was clear she was running the meeting and Ronald was just there for the ride.

  “My grandmother recently passed away, and I inherited a few things from her,” Henley said.

  “We’re so sorry for your loss,” Tabitha said. She said it so quickly, it was obvious it was a practiced answer.

  “Yes, well, we received news when we were traveling and had this jewelry, among other objects, sent to us. We’d like to sell it quickly and move on with our lives.”

  “Would you be interested in selling the other objects with us, Mr. Beauford?” Tabitha talked smoothly. “We have many different experts who specialize in different things. Selling inherited jewelry, art, and other objects is what we do best—”

  “This jewelry is the only thing we’re considering selling for now,” Henley said.

  “Very well,” Tabitha said. “And Mr. Beauford, are you familiar with Carter House’s auction process?”

  “I imagine it is aligned with other highly esteemed auction houses around the world,” Henley said.

  “Indeed. We’re an international auction house with branches across the world. We adhere to standard international protocol. But we take special pride in the quality of the items we put up for auction. Following this, it only makes sense we meticulously vet the items we choose to take on. The process includes a background check that no similar pieces were reported missing from museums, and public and registered private collections—of course such a thing is only a formality. We have an obligation to both our sellers and our buyers, you can understand.”

  “Certainly.” Henley draped his arms over the sides of his chair.

  “So you will agree to have Ronald appraise the jewelry?”

  Henley looked at me for the first time since we stepped foot in the building. I unzipped the neon-green backpack and took out the jewelry that was floating loose in the bottom of the bag.

  Tabitha and Ronald wore identical looks of surprise. I didn’t know whether it was because we had brought priceless jewelry in a touristy backpack that had a color scheme only a seven-year-old would approve of, or whether it was because we hadn’t put the jewelry in a protective case.

  “May I?” Ronald said, after recovering from his shock. He held out his hands, and I gently placed first the necklace and then the pair of earrings into his palms.

  I felt an immediate physical and emotional lightness as soon as I let go of the jewelry. Letting go of the physical weight felt like letting go of all the memories I had of that life in Tudor England. Most of all, it felt like letting go of Richard.

  Ronald had taken out a single-lens magnifying tool to take a closer look at each of the gemstones. He studied the necklace first.

  “Remarkable.” He exhaled.

  Even Tabitha looked a bit excited.

  “Absolutely stunning.”

  Henley was expressionless, watching him.

  Ronald turned the necklace in his hands to go over the gold plating. “This isn’t without its flaws,” he said. “There
are obvious scratches from workshop tools and a little wear from the necklace being used . . . But this is amazing.”

  “And?” Henley said.

  Ronald put his magnifying tool down. His cheeks were rosy from his barely contained excitement. “You might not believe this,” he started softly. “But I daresay this might be original jewelry from the Tudor period.”

  “Wonderful” was all Henley said.

  Not getting the thrilled response he had been hoping for, Ronald looked to me.

  “What fantastic luck!” I offered, trying to sound as delighted as Ronald.

  “Very lucky, indeed. I haven’t seen anything like it . . . It’s such good quality. As if someone had just plucked it off the neck of a lady at court yesterday.”

  Ronald was closer to the truth than he realized.

  “How did you come to acquire these pieces, again?” he asked Henley.

  Henley took it smoothly. “My late grandmother.”

  “Yes, oh yes. And she was an avid collector? Did she specialize in assembling specific pieces? Only jewelry? Or items from a specific time period? A Tudor fan, perhaps?”

  “She was a woman of many curiosities,” Henley said.

  “She had a great eye,” Ronald said. “This must have cost a fortune and a considerable amount of time to acquire.”

  “Do you think I’ll get much of that investment back?”

  “Of course.” Ronald’s eyes were glued to the earrings now. He took his magnifying tool and held one of the earrings to the light. “Items like these only appreciate in value, especially when they’re in such great condition. I don’t know if you know how rare a thing it is that you have, Mr. Beauford.”

  “What would Carter House pay for it?”

  “Directly?” Ronald finally put his lens down. “We don’t often buy directly from any of our clients . . .” He glanced at Tabitha.

  Tabitha stepped in. “It’s not Carter House’s common practice to buy directly from our sellers. We normally put the object on auction and take a commission of the final sale.”

  “And how long would that take?” Henley sighed heavily. “Weeks at least? Months to advertise the auction appropriately? I would like to bury my grandmother’s memory and be done with it. I’m not interested in dragging it out like some show.”