A Love Trapped in Time

by Bree Wolf

  For a moment I just looked at him, wondering. I couldn’t say what exactly went through my head or what it was that finally brought me back. But seeing him like this, holding my hand, watching over me, everything suddenly came rushing back.

  My name was Jena Alexander. It was the year 2015. And the man sleeping in the chair next to me was my husband.

  He was a science-fiction author and we had met in 2013 at an interview a friend of mine had asked me to do because his little girl had had a soccer game that afternoon. Since that day we had been inseparable and had spent every free minute together. And only a year later we had gotten married. Andy had argued that it was too soon while Abby had been psyched.

  Suddenly a strange feeling I couldn’t quite grasp came over me and my free hand automatically moved to cover my belly. Again it clicked.

  Now, about a year after our wedding, we were having a baby. A little boy. I didn’t know how I knew that. But I did. A smile spread over my face and I couldn’t remember ever having been this happy.

  Finally I remembered everything. I remembered my life. My life in order.

  Turning my head, I found a pile of books on the nightstand by my bed. At the very bottom was Little Women, followed by Jane Eyre, Hamlet and Pride and Prejudice and at the top, still open, was Persuasion. These were my most favorite books in the world. Maybe because they had been the most worn ones. Maybe because my mom had loved them just as much and had read them more than the others I had found in the boxes that were all that was left of her.

  And Nathan knew that. He had read them to me when…

  Suddenly I remembered what I was doing in the hospital.

  There had been an accident. It had been November and the cold had come early this year. Overnight the streets had been covered in ice but they had only looked wet. After an interview I had wanted to return home, when my car had stalled. I had called my brother to pick me up then; but he had been in a hurry. Meeting Abby that night for a romantic dinner, he had even more than usually ignored the speed limit.

  I remembered holding on to the handle on the door, one hand clutched around the seat belt. I had told him to slow down but he wouldn’t listen.

  Only a mile from the house, the wheels had lost contact with the ground below. I vaguely remembered the car spinning out of control. Skidding on the ice, Andy’s attempts to keep us on the road had been in vain. We had slid into the frozen lake, Nathan had guided me to.

  I had hit my head and then everything had gone dark; and when I’d opened my eyes again, I had found myself on the floor of the kitchen at City Gardens.

  I had been unconscious, then. For quite some time judging from the books Nathan had read to me. Everything that had happened in the past few weeks had been…what? Not a dream. But somehow I had relived my memories. The books had taken me back to different times in my past.

  And the bookmark. I remembered it now; and it meant what I thought it did. I had never been overly sentimental and people promising to love each other always were just idiots who’d lost their hold on reality. I remembered a movie night at home, similar to the one I had relived with Owen at the movies. Abby had been over the moon with the romantic story, which at the same time had made me want to switch off the TV. An argument had ensued and later that night Nathan had asked me why this had upset me so. And then and there for the first time I had spoken to him of my mother. She had promised to always be with me. To always be there. And I had believed her. But then she had died.

  That loss had taught me once and for all that some promises could not be kept and that these promises should not be made in the first place. A broken promise hurt more than a promise not given. Because it felt like a betrayal.

  And unlike Abby, who had never been able to overcome her romantic notions, Nathan had understood. A few days later he had given me the bookmark with the engraving Today & Tomorrow. He had hoped that I would believe him when he told me he loved me today. And that I’d also believe him when he promised he’d love me tomorrow. Then and there he wouldn’t make any other guarantees, wouldn’t reach any further into the future. But soon tomorrow would be today and then there would be a new tomorrow. And so he would slowly make his way to al-ways. Step by step.

  It was a compromise we’d both been able to live with.

  Looking at him now, I knew why I’d married him. I reached out a hand and stroked over his head, brushing back a few strands that had fallen into his face.

  Suddenly, he stirred. His eyelids began to twitch and then slowly they opened. I smiled at him, again moving my hand over his head. “Hey,” I whispered.

  Startled, his eyes opened wide and he sat up abruptly. He stared at me in disbelief, mum-bling, “You’re awake,” over and over again.

  Nathan leaned forward then, staring into my face as though trying to make sure that his eyes weren’t cheating him. He squeezed the hand he still held in his, unable to let go. Then he ran his hands up my arms and brushed the hair from my face, all the while still staring at me. Gently, he stroked my face and kissed my forehead.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, eyes searching my face for any sign of pain. “Maybe I should get the doctor.”

  He rose but I held him back. “Wait,” I said, my voice only a whisper. “Tell me what happened…after the crash? How long have I been here?” An awful thought struck me. “What about Andy? Is he alright?”

  Looking down at me, he nodded. “Don’t worry. He is fine.” His eyes grew dark. “For now,” he hissed, a scowl on his face.

  I took his hand then. “Good,” I whispered, dread being replaced by relief. “So?” I shifted my eyes to his again. “How long have I been here?”

  Again he took a deep breath and I could see the lines on his face. He had been through a lot. He swallowed. “About five weeks,” he said and my eyes opened wide. “You were in a co-ma.”

  “Coma?” I whispered, unbelieving.

  He nodded. “The doctors said that with every day that passed your chances of waking up were decreasing.” A weak smile played on his lips and I could see the tears in his eyes. “I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up.”

  I pulled him down to me then, wrapping my arms around his strong shoulders and let him cry with relief. As the strain of the last few weeks fell from me as well I felt tears of my own stream down my face.

  I had been gone for almost five weeks. Lost in a world of thoughts and memories. But he had stayed with me. Had been by my side the whole time. Holding my hand, he had read to me, unconsciously directing my memories. Somehow his words had found their way into my mind and shaped my dreams. I had not gotten lost. I had known who I was.

  But the pull of unconsciousness had been strong. It had been easy to give into it and stay there. But at the same time, I had heard him. Not the memories he’d conjured for me but his plea for me to return.

  Finally I realized that there had been two Nathans after all. One had been from my memories of 2013 when we’d met. But the other, the one that had always had that pained look in his eyes, he had been real. Somehow Nathan had found a way to make me hear him. He had reached inside my head and touched me. I had heard him but it had taken me a long time to listen. He had always seemed so evasive, suddenly disappearing although he’d wanted to talk to me. Desperately, he had tried to reach me, speak to me. He had always walked away, but he had always wanted me to follow. He had always wanted me to follow him back.

  He had been like a beacon, guiding my way. Only I hadn’t known. It had taken me a long time to simply trust him. But once I had, he had led me out of the dark and back into the light. Back to my life.

  It had been up to me. He couldn’t simply have taken me back. He had needed me to let go. I had to be willing to take the plunge. To trust him and take a leap of faith.

  After what seemed like forever we were both all cried out, our hearts feeling lighter. A tremendous burden had finally been lifted.

  “And you’re sure you’re all right?” he asked for the millionth time, still holding
my hand. It was as though he was afraid that if he let go, I would slip away again.

  Suddenly the expression on his face changed and his eyes opened wide. “I completely for-got,” he started. “There is something I need to tell you.” He smiled then. “I guess under normal circumstances you’d be the one to tell me but…these aren’t normal circumstances, I guess.” He took a deep breath. “A few days ago they did some tests and…”

  I took his hand then. “I know,” I whispered.

  He looked at me then, a slight frown showing, and I could see that he didn’t wonder about what I meant but simply how I could know.

  Not only he had reached me. Our son had too. Although I hadn’t known I was having a baby, I had heard him somehow. Even my subconscious hadn’t been able to ignore the symptoms of pregnancy.

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “And I’m not sure you’ll believe me.”

  But in the end he did believe me. He even got so inspired that he wrote it all down. With his compassionate narrative voice he spoke of how an accident had almost ended our life together, of how I’d gotten lost in the dark corners of my mind and then of how he had helped me to find my way back. But it was the one book that no one else ever got to read. The one book he wouldn’t publish. It was our story.

  Only our son would one day hear of it.

  How to Live and Die in Crescent Rock

  Read a sneak peek!

  Chapter 1 – Rules of Engagement

  “Quinn! For crying out loud, get your butt down here! We’re gonna be late!” Cora whined at the foot of the stairs. Impatiently, she tapped her colorless, long-since outdated sneaker on the pine floorboards.

  Grabbing her book bag, Quinn gave her reflection one last appreciative glance and walked downstairs. “If you’re so concerned about being late, why don’t you drive yourself? Oh wait, you can’t. You’re just a child!” She ignored her sister’s angry glare, strolled down the cobblestone path from the front door to the driveway and got into her father’s old jeep. The sun was barely up a few hours and already beating down.

  “You’re such an ass!” Cora complained. Climbing into the passenger seat, she continued to glare at her sister.

  Quinn smiled. “You know, if you’re acting like a child, maybe I should make you sit in the back.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  Starting the engine, Quinn backed out of the driveway. “Don’t try me!”

  “I’m not a child, but you sure are an ass!” Cora hissed, sulking down in her seat.

  Turning on the air-conditioning, Quinn shook her head. “You know, sticking out your lower lip and pouting is something a five-year-old would do, not someone who just started high school.” As they stopped at a red traffic light, Quinn turned to her sister. “Look, I know you suck at fighting–that’s pretty obvious–but the least you could do is hold your head up high.”

  A car honked behind them and Quinn drove across the intersection, turning south onto Cypress Road at the next junction. Cora didn’t utter another word. She stared out the window, arms crossed, but Quinn still noticed her straightening up in her seat and raising her chin.

  The parking lot of Crescent Rock High bustled with students. Most of them were heading to class, while only a few brave ones still lingered by their cars, exchanging the latest gossip. As soon as their car came to a still stand, Cora jumped out and ran across the lawn to the main entrance. Shaking her head at her sister, Quinn turned off the engine, grabbed her book bag from the backseat and strolled to class.

  The school building had once been a manor house from the time of the revolutionary war and had only been turned into an educational facility a few decades ago. Adding another wing to both sides of the main entrance, the builders had been careful not to destroy the southern charm that came with the vaulted roof, the high-ceilinged white-washed pillars and the long rows of white double-hung sash windows equipped with wooden shutters. Every year the shutters received a new layer of paint, midnight blue with a silver border, the school colors.

  Walking down the air-conditioned hallway, Quinn’s steps echoed on the old oak parquet, announcing her arrival long before she opened the door to her classroom.

  “And who do we have here?” Ms. Grainer mused as she lifted her sharp eyes off the book in her hands. She pushed back the glasses on her nose with a disapproving look at Quinn. “If this isn’t our dear Miss Goldilocks?” she chided. “Late again!”

  Quinn shrugged, pushing back a strand of her blonde curls. “What can I say? Perfection takes time.”

  The class cheered, but as Ms. Grainer turned her stare on them, they instantly fell silent. Their math teacher was by all means a tiny woman, slender with just enough body weight to keep her from being blown away in the storms that occasionally rolled through the small town of Crescent Rock, North Carolina. But her eyes could shoot bolts of lightning at those unfortunate enough to get on her bad side. Luckily, it took a lot of misdeeds to unleash Ms. Grainer’s wrath so that few had ever seen her at her gruesome best.

  “I will make sure to find you a perfect homework assignment then,” Ms. Grainer said, smiling sweetly. “If that is all right with you?”

  Taking her seat in the center of the room, Quinn nodded graciously. “But of course, no need to ask.” They had been playing this game for a while now, and Quinn was more than happy to trade early arrivals for a bit more homework. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing worse than rising before the sun did. Even if that only applied to the dark months of winter. Early was early, no matter what the sun did.

  “All right, since we’re in agreement, let’s turn our attention back to square roots.” A general moan of displeasure rose into the air and Ms. Grainer’s head snapped up, eyes sparkling mischievously. “If you’re feeling neglected, I will be more than happy to find all of you an extra homework assignment.” Many pairs of eyes went wide with shock, and Ms. Grainer was quickly assured that there was nothing they’d rather do than calculate square roots.

  Quinn smiled. Ms. Grainer had a slightly sadistic and yet endearing side to her that made students jump in alarm when she was around, but that had also gotten her elected Teacher of the Year three times in a row.

  “Miss Know-it-all, would you care for the next task?” That was another one of Ms. Grainer’s quirks. She couldn’t recall names if her life depended on it. Quinn didn’t remember her ever referring to anyone by their real name. Attitude however was a different matter.

  Miss Know-it-all rose from her chair and started writing on the blackboard. Her real name was Missy Hunter and she was the most beautiful girl in school; it was as simple as that. Her finely-chiseled face had a soft olive tone and was framed by waist-long, black hair. Her flowing mane was as dark as the night but shone silver-blue in the sun. Her eyes glistened in a clear blue, sometimes light, sometimes dark. Her body was slender but strong, like that of an athlete, but at the same time she moved with such grace, which made the eyes of those around her sting with envy. The only ominous thing was that she didn’t seem to care. She should have been at the top of the social hierarchy, torturing those below her, breaking hearts, and rallying the most popular of the popular around her to secure her position. But for whatever reason, she refused to be the person nature had meant her to be. Missy was neither mean nor manipulative. Although she had an aura of superiority about her, she was kind and caring. Why she was so odd, no one knew. Much less understood. She was part of no group or club. Although she got along fine with everyone, she didn’t even have a best friend. She rarely showed up to social events of any kind and if she did, she didn’t mingle. She always stood apart. No one had ever seen her on a date, which was understandable because no one ever dared to ask her out. Missy Hunter had been like this ever since she’d moved to Crescent Rock a couple of years ago. No one knew why and by now people had stopped wondering. She was who she was. There didn’t seem to be an interesting reason behind it.

  Since Missy refused to demand her rightful place in the spotlight,
Quinn had gratefully filled that vacancy. As head cheerleader, Quinn knew what was expected of her. She ruled her school with a strong hand, completely committed to being the person Missy wasn’t. And nature had been kind to her as well. Sure, she was no Missy Hunter. Where Missy was dark, Quinn was light. But the blonde strands cascading down her back, forced into little curls dancing down from her temples, made her shine. She vibrated with life. Her eyes were a dark shade of green set apart from her light skin. But it wasn’t a pale color, not weak, put pulsing with energy. It gave her cheeks a constant rosy blush. No cosmetics needed.

  “As always, superbly solved,” Ms. Grainer praised as Missy had finished the calculation and sat back down at her desk. “Who wants to go next? Any volunteers?” She scanned the class like a predator looking for its next prey, and as though there was only one answer to such a challenge, most had their eyes cast downward, avoiding to meet their teacher’s gaze.

  Quinn looked at them and felt a hint of pity. Not one of them would ever be able to reach their full potential if they couldn’t even hold their heads up high. Glancing to her left, she saw Missy’s unfaltering eyes and found the respect she had for the girl she didn’t understand justified. But nevertheless, Quinn refused to be second to anyone and so she sat up straight and raised her hand.

  “Miss Goldilocks,” Ms. Grainer chirped, handing her the chalk. “The stage is yours.”

  Not intimidated in the least, Quinn set to work. The equation wasn’t difficult and after a few minutes her mode of calculation as well as her solution were praised and she sat back down, nodding to her teacher. It was after all thanks to Ms. Grainer that Quinn had worked her way from a C- to a B+.

  Although Ms. Grainer had first been met with disbelief and then disapproval by parents and teachers alike, she had set firm rules for those on the cheerleading squad. Refusing to have a bunch of blonde dim-wits on her team, Ms. Grainer, who strangely didn’t only teach math but also drilled the cheerleading squad, had one day declared that she would kick any girl off the team who didn’t at least get a B- in math. Since Ms. Grainer was always true to her word, there had been tears from students and angry phone calls from parents after the first class test following her announcement. But Ms. Grainer had not backed down and eventually, all the girls had gotten in line and mastered the challenges of trigonometry and calculus.