by Rysa Walker
“Katherine and Connor are angry?”
“Katherine is. Not sure about Connor.”
Connor looks at me with his eyebrows raised when he hears his name.
“Listen, Dad—I’m okay. Talking helped. Stay with Grandma Keller. She needs you more than I do right now. I love you—and I’ll call you back later, okay?”
“What are you not sure about Connor?” Connor asks.
“If you’re angry that we saved Martha.”
He’s silent for a moment and then says, “No, I’m not angry. I hope Kiernan was right, and based on what you told me about the photographs, his conclusion makes more sense than anything else I can think of. And . . . uh . . . I’m not sure Katherine would want me to tell you this, but she got this sudden change of expression when we got back to her room, like she’d had some sort of epiphany. She asked me to grab her personal diary. All she would say is that maybe Saul getting shot wasn’t something new—that he came back injured one time.”
“That’s right. But . . . she said it was a burn of some sort. He wouldn’t go to—” I break off when I see Katherine in the doorway.
“To CHRONOS Med,” she finishes, giving Connor a slightly perturbed look before turning her eyes back to me. “I’m sorry I lost my temper, Kate. While I can’t be sure, based on what I recorded that day, this would explain why Saul was reluctant to let anyone see that injury. I suspect he knew CHRONOS Med could tell the difference between a bullet graze and a burn.”
Trey is disappointed that the restaurant isn’t the rooftop place he saw on the website—apparently that’s the bar, and it’s only for ages twenty-one and up. The maître d’ told him we’re welcome to go up and check out the view before we leave, and he seated us at a table overlooking the White House with the Washington Monument in the background.
Since Trey is usually much more at home in places like this than I am, it’s strange to see him fidget, tugging at the sleeve of his blazer. He’s been nervous since he picked me up at the townhouse.
After we give the waiter our order, I reach across the table and squeeze Trey’s hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m . . . just . . .” He smiles. “Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?”
I nod. “Twice, actually. Once when I answered the door and once after I ran back upstairs and changed into this.”
This is a red-and-black brocade dress I swiped from Mom’s closet when I saw Trey in a gray blazer over black pants and a black shirt. I also grabbed her new heels from the closet, where she tossed them after our dinner with Katherine this past spring, and have now discovered exactly why she left them behind when she packed for Italy.
“You didn’t answer my question. What’s wrong?”
“No,” he says, looking down at his water goblet. “I guess I didn’t. I just wanted everything to be perfect, and when I made the reservations, the person on the phone said . . .” He looks up and laughs when he sees my expression. “And I think I’m obsessing a bit. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I lean forward and kiss his knuckles. “You need a character flaw of some sort. Otherwise, you make me seem like a total wreck. But this really is absolutely perfect, so maybe you should cut yourself just a teensy bit of slack?”
The waiter arrives with our drinks and a bread basket that smells heavenly.
“So,” Trey says, “how was your day at the office, dear?”
“Probably not something you want to discuss over dinner.” The closest people are three tables over, but I lower my voice anyway. “I’ll just give you the thirty-second version—Kiernan was shot, but he’s okay now. We went to Six Bridges and got the sample, which we’re holding in a locked fridge until we can track down someone . . . let’s just say sympathetic to the cause . . . who is also qualified to analyze it. On the bright side, we were able to save one girl. On the not-so-bright side, we learned that Saul wasn’t the only historian there. Another guy was with him. The same trainee that is with Abel and Delia in Athens 1938. We’re getting ready for that jump now.”
“Okay, can we back up to the part where Kiernan was shot?”
“I wasn’t with him. Kiernan kind of went rogue and fetched the key from the guy who was killed in Copenhagen, Moehler. I told you about Moehler, right?”
Trey nods.
“Anyway, he says he wore protective gear, but a bullet caught him in the leg.”
“Who shot him? Do you think it was this trainee you saw?”
“No. CHRONOS had very specific fields of study, and Katherine’s pretty sure Grant wasn’t a Europeanist. He was almost certainly specializing in American history, so I can’t imagine any reason they would have approved a jump to Copenhagen. Probably not for Saul, either, so I think we can safely say it’s not one of the original historians. Whoever killed Moehler, probably the same person who shot Kiernan, is one of the second-generation travelers, like me, Prudence, Simon, Conwell—I guess Eve is a possibility, too, although I have a tough time imagining her with a gun.”
Of course, I have a tough time imagining me wielding a gun, and yet there’s one with my fingerprints on the trigger back in 1911.
I take a sip of my water and then go on. “Or it could be someone else entirely. Kiernan says there are maybe a half dozen others. Hell, for all I know, it could’ve been Houdini.”
The waiter slides the salads in front of us, grinds a bit of pepper and Parmesan on top, and then vanishes. We’re too busy eating for the next few minutes to really talk, and it’s probably just as well, because I can tell that Trey still has questions, and I think the odds are good that they’re questions for which I have no answers.
My phone buzzes inside my purse. I give Trey an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’d like to turn it off, but with Katherine and with Dad in Delaware . . .”
“It’s okay,” he says as I glance down at the display,
“And it’s Charlayne.” I shake my head. “I’ll answer her later. I’m guessing she’s come up with another bogus question about homework.”
“How long are you going to be able to keep up the pretense before you snap and slug her?”
I shrug. “I’d like to think she has a good reason for agreeing to do this, but who knows? Maybe she just wants to suck up to Eve.”
When the waiter asks about dessert, Trey tells him we have other plans, and a short elevator ride later, we’re on the balcony of the top floor. Trey wraps his arms around me from behind, and I find that there is a benefit to these wretched heels after all—I’m now the perfect height to lean my head back against his shoulder. We just stand there, looking out at the sunset, and it’s nice to have a moment, even a short one, where everything is peaceful, quiet, and perfect.
Then he says, “You do know that I love you, don’t you?”
My heart catches in my throat, because it’s not like the last time he said it for the first time. I hear doubt in his voice, like this is something he thinks he should say but he’s not really sure. And he probably thinks he should say it because I said it to him, weeks ago, which makes it overdue in his book, even though it’s not. Maybe that’s why he’s been so nervous, so on edge tonight.
“Trey, you don’t have to—”
He steps around to face me. “No, Kate. I want to. I mean, I’m not saying we’re going to last forever. I don’t think I could know that even if the timeline wasn’t at risk of shifting and yanking you away at any given moment—I’m eighteen, you’re seventeen. I’m not sure forever talk even makes sense at our age. But right now, you are everything to me. I want to spend every second with you, and when I can’t be with you, I’m thinking about how much I want to be with you. You were right, Kate. This is right.”
Trey bends down to kiss me, and the kiss almost convinces me. Almost. I finally push away the annoying little voice in my head telling me that this feels a little forced, that maybe things are a little too perfect. I can’t keep comparing everything to last time.
We break the kiss a few minutes later. Trey tug
s at my arm, pulling me toward the door that leads back inside. “So. Have we had enough sunset?”
I give him a little nod, and he says, “Okay then. Let’s go.”
“Dessert?” I ask.
He laughs and pulls me up against him. “Yes, definitely dessert.”
The restaurant is on the second floor, but as we head back down, the elevator opens on the fifth floor. Trey steps out, so I follow. He turns at the first corridor, pulls a digital key card from his pocket, and slips it into the slot above the handle.
“It’s not a suite, but at least we have a nice view of the city.”
Okay, I guess I’m slow, because I don’t catch on until I see the king-sized bed in the middle of the small room. There’s a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries on the table next to the window, and the room is decked out in shades of gold and cream, much like the dining room. And did I mention the king-sized bed?
Dear God.
“Trey? Why are we here? I thought . . .”
He puts his arms around me. “Because as much as I like your room at the townhouse, like I said before, this should be special. Perfect.” His eyes are growing a bit wary, probably because I’m not really responding as he’d expected. And as much as I’d like to be able to just accept this, something seems very, very wrong. You don’t go from hands above the equator to this in a single day.
“Trey . . .”
His lips silence me for a moment, and then he says, “Hmmm?”
“I thought we were going to take things slow?”
“Well, yeah, but then last night—”
“We were still taking things slow.”
His arms fall down to his sides, and he looks at me in disbelief. “What happened . . . well, nearly happened . . . in my room last night wasn’t taking it slow.”
I back away and sink into one of the chairs by the window, my hands over my face. “Can you please tell me exactly what happened in your room? Because I kind of don’t remember any of that.”
He’s silent for so long that I think I’m going to have to repeat the question, and then he sits on the edge of the bed and says in a soft voice, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you saying that wasn’t you? Or that it’s you two weeks from now, when you’ve decided taking it slow was a bad idea?”
I can tell he’s angry, and I can’t blame him. “I don’t know, Trey. That’s why I need to you tell me what happened.”
“I was almost asleep. And then you showed up. Wearing this white lace thing . . . remember, I asked if you’d bring it or wear it or whatever?”
“I thought . . . you were joking.”
“Yeah. The librarian outfit. I thought you were joking.”
“So what did . . . this person say? What convinced you it was me?”
“You didn’t say much of anything. It was more the appearing out of nowhere, holding that stupid key, and the crawling into my bed. I practically had to—”
I can’t read his expression when he finally looks over at me. It’s some weird mix of embarrassment, annoyance, and confusion. “Damn it, Kate. You’re really saying that wasn’t you? It was Prudence—is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know, Trey! All I know is that I’ve never been in your room. I don’t have a stable point set anywhere near your house. I can’t entirely discount the possibility that it was me, at some later point, but if so, I would remember this night. And believe me, I would have done everything possible to avoid . . . this.”
I glance around at the room again. I have no idea how, or how much, he paid for this evening. And now, if and when we finally make it to our first time, this colossal fiasco will be in the back of our minds.
“Could you start back at the beginning again?” I say, trying to keep my voice level.
“My room around eleven. Me, nearly asleep. You, or someone who looks exactly like you in the moonlight, crawls onto my bed and starts . . .” He tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling. “Holy crap, Kate, I do not believe this.”
We’re getting nowhere with his narration, so I shift to questions. Specifically, the main question that’s on my mind.
“Did we . . . I mean did you and this other person do anything?”
“No, but only because I was pretty insistent that I didn’t want your first time to be in a twin bed, under a shelf with my soccer trophies, two rooms down from where my dad was sleeping.”
“Do you think she was . . . our age? Or maybe older?”
“I don’t know, Kate. It was dark. I didn’t get a close look at your face. But you didn’t feel old.”
I wince and realize I really don’t want him to clarify what he meant by that.
“Did you kiss her?” Maybe Trey wouldn’t even know it wasn’t me if he kissed Prudence, but I don’t want to believe that.
“No. She kind of left in a hurry.”
I’m glad beyond belief to hear him finally say she instead of you.
“How do you think she got in?” Trey asks. “We have a security system, and Estella is really careful about who she lets in the house.”
I move over to the edge of the bed and sit next to him. “It’s an old house. Did your grandparents have a security system? Or what about whoever owned the house before them? Prudence could have set the point in 1900, for all we know, as long as she knew which room you’d be in now.”
“Fine then, why? Why would she do that?”
Trey looks at me, and for a second, I imagine a bullet hole on his forehead, exactly where it was on Moehler’s.
My heart stops, and I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, the hole isn’t there.
But that doesn’t change the fact that it could be.
“She’s sending me a message. That they’re watching. That they can get to the people I love.”
That the truce is off.
For a fleeting moment, I consider jumping back a few days. I could show up at Trey’s house, unannounced, and get him to take me upstairs. I’d set my own stable point, and then when Prudence showed up . . . I probably wouldn’t actually kill her, but the thought is tempting.
Of course, that would pull Trey into this even further. It would put him and his family at greater risk.
And that’s not happening.
Katherine was right. Dear God, I hate saying this; I really, really do, but I should never have pulled Trey into this. The smart move would be to jump back and yank that manila envelope out of my hands before I ever hand it to Trey. Reverse the past few months and keep him safely, blissfully unaware that I even exist. But that would result in so many dueling memories that it’s not a viable choice.
“I’m sorry, Trey. I’ll pay you back for everything.” I glance around the room. “This must have cost you a fortune.”
“So I spent my birthday money for once. Big deal. I’m not upset about the money, Kate.” He leans forward and kisses me very gently. “Hey, I’m okay with taking it slow. Let’s just rent a movie. Eat the strawberries. I meant what I said. On the roof. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I do. And while I think I really was ready for this step with the other Trey, in the other timeline, we’re not there yet. I can tell he wants to be in love with me. He may even be part of the way there.
But even if he’d said it with every bit as much conviction as last time, it wouldn’t matter.
Because I’m not the same either. Maybe it’s because I know Trey is not totally in love with me, or maybe it’s because I have these niggling, little doubts where Kiernan is concerned. Either way, I’ll never be able to take this step with Trey until I sort all of those things out.
And above all else, I won’t let Trey be used as a pawn in Prudence’s games.
“I’m sorry I pulled you into all of this, Trey.”
He reaches for my hand when he sees that I’m holding the CHRONOS key, but I move away.
“Hold on, Kate. Let’s talk this—”
“No. Maybe your dad was right about you finishing school dow
n in Peru. I’ll find you when this is over. I promise. Once we have all the keys, once I know that Saul and Prudence can’t hurt you. Can’t hurt anyone. When this is completely over, one way or the other. I will find you, I will kiss you, and I will do whatever it takes to make this up to you.”
I don’t stop to kiss him goodbye. I don’t even look at him, because I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve. I lock in the stable point for my room and blink, seconds before the tears that would have made it impossible to focus flood my eyes.
As much as I want it to be true, I’m not an ordinary girl with an ordinary life, ordinary friends, and an ordinary relationship with an extraordinarily wonderful guy.
And unless I stop pretending, I’ll never get the chance to be one.
I indulge in a brief pity party when I get back to my room, the first stage of which consists of a ten-minute cry in the shower. The second stage is a talk with Mom, even though I have to jump back a few hours to synch things up with Italy time. If there’s a teeny, tiny silver lining to this evening, it’s that I have something I can actually talk to her about, as long as I avoid the details and stick to the basic fact that Trey and I are no longer together. And even though I can tell she’s sad for me, and maybe a little worried, I’m glad I called. I needed my mom, and I think she needed to feel needed.
There are two text messages from Trey, but I don’t read them. I can’t. Not until the 1938 jump is behind me.
No pity party is complete without ice cream, so the third and final stage is the pint of Ben & Jerry’s I saw in the freezer this morning. It’s missing when I get down to the kitchen, however, and I’m pretty sure Katherine didn’t eat it. Since I’m positive I need it more than Connor does, I jump back to earlier in the day, snag it, and pop back to the present. If he ends up with memories of both eating and not eating my Cherry Garcia, so be it.
Connor comes in when I’m down to the last few bites. He casts a brief, confused glance at the freezer, then looks up at the clock, back at the ice cream, and then at my face, which I’m pretty sure is still puffy from crying. “Do you want to talk?”