Linked Through Time

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by Tornese, Jessica


  He sighed and ran his hands over the rumpled quilt, pulling at a few loose threads.

  I tried to picture the eight-year-old Dean in his place. I had felt so much closer to my dad as a child than I ever had as a teenager. Would he ever get me? Or was he too far gone, lost in the throes of being a parent instead of waiting to form an opinion based on actually listening to me.

  Still, after all, those weeks together in the past showed me what I knew deep down all along. I didn’t want to let him down. I needed him, and I didn’t want to keep living the broken, angry relationship we’d been in for the last few years. I had to let myself trust him and believe he would be there for me when everything was all said and done.

  Scenes flashed through my mind, Dad helping me in the barn, saving me from the bull, sharing a Shasta soda, driving home from the fair. Remembering the guilt he carried, knowing about Dave’s violent behavior, maybe I needed to tell the story to relieve him from the pain as well. Maybe then, he could let it all go, and know there was nothing he could have done to stop Dave. He needed healing as much as Sarah needed justice.

  I didn’t know where to begin. But when the first words came, the rest flowed as easily as a storybook. Dad never said a word, never interrupted, but his face took on a look of amazement as I related my time spent in the past. The details I recalled could not be made up, as I told him the most impossible things about his childhood. Several times, I saw him open his mouth, ready to interject something, but then he shut it again in astonishment.

  When I finished, we sat silent, taking in and weighing every moment. I didn’t notice I had started crying until the tears dropped freely from my cheeks and onto the bare skin of my legs. I wiped them away hastily and sniffled as Dad pulled me in for a hug.

  “I can’t explain it. I can’t explain it,” he murmured into my hair, “but you know everything. I believe you, Kate. God help me, I believe you.” And then he laughed, a sort of half sob-half laugh that shook his body. “And I thought you needed therapy.”

  We laughed at that, using our sleeves to wipe our noses and the tears from our eyes. The telltale squeak of boards giving under someone’s weight broke us apart with a jolt.

  Gran appeared in the doorway, her eyes red rimmed and puffy. “I’m sorry,” she choked out with difficulty. “I didn’t mean to pry. Kate… I’m sorry. Sorry that I doubted you. I was just overwhelmed with all of this coming back up after so long. You really went back? You were Sarah?” She moved into the room carefully as though she were afraid of intruding too far into the story and ruining the ending.

  “Gran, it was weird. You had dark hair and everything. You made me wash in an old metal tub.” I paused at their laughter. “I saw the day Bobby went to the hospital. I had to cook on the wood stove!”

  At this last remark, a stitch of pain crossing her face as she plainly recalled the dreadful day the family almost lost Bobby.

  “Yes, Kate. Times were hard back then.” She nodded, patting my shoulder. Her face brightened. “You are so very lucky you didn’t have to stay there through the winter months – when the upstairs got so cold, the girls’ hair froze to the wall!”

  “I could see puffs of breath right in my own bed!” Dad added, confirming Gran’s outrageous statement.

  “I don’t know how it happened, but let’s just say, I’m glad to be back. My friends at home will never believe me when I tell them I actually enjoyed my stay.” I paused. “I enjoyed most of my stay.” I sent an apologetic look in Gran’s direction. “You know something,” I said, linking my arm through Dad’s, my eyes traveling to the scrawled letters on the dresser, “I may have helped Sarah get some sort of closure after all these years, but she helped me, too. I learned a lot – some of it about hard work and blisters, but what I really needed to learn was how important it is not to lose sight of your family.”

  I laid my head on Dad’s shoulder and he kissed the top of my forehead, something that a few weeks ago, I would have shied away from. “Family is the only real thing you’ve got,” I said. “And every single time I’ve needed you,” I tugged on his arm and thought about the many times he’d saved me in the past few weeks, “you were there for me. I love you, Dad.”

  Dad reached out for Gran’s hand, pulling us into an awkward group hug. “Can you repeat that?” He laughed as he ruffled my hair. “I want that on record.”

  A loud bang from the kitchen, followed by a hearty squeal from Corey, drew Dad away from the casual embrace. “Be back in a minute,” he said, ruffling my hair for a second time.

  Flopping to the bed, I pretended exaggerated exhaustion, throwing my arm across my forehead in the damsel-in-distress fancy.

  Gran sat beside me, her face taking on a serious, more subdued look, and she glanced furtively out into the hallway, as if to make sure Dad had descended the stairs.

  “Kate,” she said, her soft tone edged with sobering reality. “There’s something we need to talk about. There’s something I need to tell you.” She gripped my hand, urging me to pay attention.

  Curious, I sat up, smoothing the worn quilt nervously between my hands. “What is it, Gran? Is everything OK?”

  The stillness in the room sent tight knots of anxiety to my stomach. What could she possibly need to say?

  Clearing her throat, Gran squeezed my hand and said, “I wasn’t sure you had it. I mean, it made sense and everything. But I didn’t want to scare you, and I was sure you would never believe me.”

  My eyebrows arched in confusion. What was she talking about?

  “The link, Kate. You have the link.”

  “What are you talking about, Gran? What link?”

  “The time travel link.” She stopped as though this were enough. When I didn’t respond, she stood and faced me. “The birthmark above your eye. It sort of resembles – an – ”

  “A butterfly?” I interrupted.

  “No,” she said, “an hourglass. I had one long ago, but it’s long since faded.” She pointed to the corner of her right eye and, sure enough, I could make out the faint outline of an hourglass against the pale, translucent skin.

  “It happened to me, too, Kate. Long ago. I went back in time almost one hundred years! I never told a soul. There were times I just thought I dreamed the whole thing. They would have thought I was crazy and locked me away in some nut house if I ever said anything. But as soon as I saw you dressed like Sarah, I knew. You had gone back in time, just as I did when I was a girl.” Gran rubbed her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. “You were lucky, Kate, to find your way back. This time.”

  I felt the moment my heart stopped; her words sinking into my soul as heavy as an anchor in the ocean. Slowly… slowly… Stuttering and stammering past the icy fingers that laced my throat, I leaned forward in morbid curiosity. “What do you mean, this time?”

  The End?

  About the author

  Jessica Tornese’s debut novel Linked Through Time was inspired by her home town Baudette, MN. She graduated from high school there and continued her education at Minnesota State University-Moorhead where she earned a degree in education. She spent several years coaching in the Junior Olympic volleyball program for Lake of the Woods and taught fifth and sixth grade for two years before becoming a stay-at-home mother in 2003.

  Jessica is married and has three children. Her family recently relocated to the town of Jensen Beach, FL, where Jessica hopes to continue her career in writing.

  To find out more about the author and books she has written, visit www.jessicatornese.com .

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Editor in Chief Nik Morton for supporting my first YA novel, and for his kindness and understanding in helping me through the process.

  I would like to thank my editor, Candy Stone, for her hard work, help, and encouragement. She made the whole process smooth and easy!

  I would like to thank Doc and Rose, and the original eleven – Louise, Jerry, Sharon, Rodney, Dad, David, Patrick, Mike, Joyce, Janice, and Janet. Yo
u all have been my support system for years, and I love you and thank you for inspiring me to create.

  I want to thank my original “book club”, the first readers and critics of Linked – Mom, Kristin, Erika, and Carrie. You helped me believe it could happen!

  Other Young Adult adventures from Solstice Publishing

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  The stage is set, the hound is released, but Drebin begins to have second thoughts about his next victim, Alexia, his 422nd victim. Her beauty is mesmerizing and her spirit is captivating.

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  MONARCH

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  A novel about nature and the majestic bond between man and horse.

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