“Ahhh!”
The wind steals the rest of my scream, but I am quite sure it continues long after we plummet to the earth. And then again as the Lethal Xperience shoots us back up, only to send us on not one, not two, not three, but four consecutive twisting, turning, stomach-flipping loops.
My cheeks feel sliced in half from the width of my smile.
The coaster comes to a sudden and jolting stop with a resounding whoosh, and Austin asks, “Wild enough for you?”
I shake my head. “No. But this park has excellent potential.”
He laughs and helps me out of the web of belts and locks the attendant placed around me. People in modern times may be crazy, but they aren’t stupid. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
“What next?” I ask as we exit the ride and walk through a cluttered gift shop.
Austin stops in front of a counter and points at a wall of screens. “First, we get a memento of your daredevil experience. Then we snatch a funnel cake from the snack shop outside.”
“Food?” I ask incredulously.
Perhaps my stomach is a bit empty, and the sweet aroma wafting from the Snack Shoppe we passed did make my mouth water…but I’m way too twitchy to eat now.
I want to ride another roller coaster.
Or jump off that tall crane in the sky in the center of the park.
I tell Austin this, and he shakes his head with a smile. “All in good time. But honey, I’m a growing boy. You don’t mess with a man’s stomach.”
The disappointment of defeat lasts only until he procures a bag from the woman behind the counter and hands it to me. I’ve always had a soft spot for gifts. I take a peek inside and grin. “Hey, that’s us.” Then I glance back up, confused. “But I don’t recall a photographer sitting on the tracks. How did someone take this?”
“They mount the camera on the ride itself,” he explains, his expression a mixture of amusement and confusion. Judging from that expression it would appear that this should be common knowledge. Oops. “It snapped that during our first free fall.”
Impressed, I carefully slide the picture out of the bag and stare at the captured image: Austin and me, our gazes locked, sharing a secret grin.
Something inside my chest catches.
He clears his throat. Prying my fingers from the photograph, Austin slips it back inside the gift bag, then snaps his fingers. “So, food.”
With a determined nod, he takes two brusque steps in the direction of the exit. Unfortunately, as he does, the pocket of his jeans catches on a rack of California-inspired souvenirs, sending a shower of overpriced goodies to the floor. Shooting the woman manning the counter an apologetic glance, he stoops to replace a few on the stand. Then, popping back to his feet, he flees the shop without another look back. My gaze widens in delight.
Austin Michaels is flustered.
And he’s flustered because of me.
A peculiar feeling of empowerment whispers through my veins and across my skin. Matteo may not have ever loved me, and it’s very likely I will return home after this time travel adventure to become a cold man’s bride. But right now, in this moment, in this time, I made a boy as beautiful and aloof as Austin the Incorrigible Flirt actually nervous. Now that is an accomplishment.
Positively giddy with my success, and with a joyous skip to my step, I rush to catch up.
As it turns out, funnel cakes are a gift straight from heaven. It must be true, because there is no way a mere mortal could fry bread in such a lovely pattern, sprinkle it with the lightest, sweetest sugar, squeeze warm chocolate fudge across the top, and then finish it with a dollop of fluffy, cloud-like whipped cream. Oh, and a bright red cherry. It is just not possible.
I take another bite and moan in ecstasy.
“That good, huh?”
“I commend your stomach,” I tell him around a mouth stuffed with the treat. My manners have all but disappeared by now, but I am finding it very difficult to care. “There are no words for how good this is.”
Austin breaks off a sugar-dusted piece and pops it into his mouth. “My mom always brought us here after our first ride. Jamie and I would stuff ourselves with crap and then take off again. Half the time we took turns getting sick, but we never messed with the tradition.”
I give him a gentle smile. The softer look is back on his face. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and make his walls come shuttering back up. But then he looks at me with eyes lost in memory, and I cannot help myself. “Tell me about her.”
Austin slouches in his seat. “She was great.” He plucks a napkin from the silver dispenser and starts shredding it, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far. Just when I decide that I have and that he’s not going to elaborate, he says hoarsely, “She had this amazing singing voice. Mom, I mean. Jamie and I can’t sing to save our lives, but she…she sang every Sunday at church—even when she was sick. Until”—he swallows—“well, until she couldn’t anymore.”
My eyes prick with tears, hearing my own mother’s sweet singing voice in my memory. The loneliness I feel over missing her, missing all of them, is nothing compared to Austin’s pain—he has lost his mother forever. I jiggle my foot beneath the table, wanting, needing to do or say something to help shoulder his grief, but not knowing what. This is the real Austin, the one hidden beneath all the sardonic expressions, careless attitude, and outrageous flirtation. A boy who fiercely loved and misses his mother, and three years later remains locked in pain. I try despite my inadequacy. “And your father—”
“Is an ass.”
I inhale a sharp breath. Austin’s clipped, automatic, venomous reply steals any chance of me asking him to explain.
But I don’t have to.
He shakes his head and says, “Do you know that asshole was in Sacramento during Mom’s last week? It was just Jamie and me with her. The hospice people came and went, and Grandma was there, but we were the ones who took care of her. We gave her ice chips; we sang off-key and told her stories. We put the pillows under her head and jumped every time her breathing stopped. Dad came home for the very end, when she was practically in a coma, but not when it mattered. Not when she needed him.” He draws in a ragged breath and narrows his eyes. “It’s always about the job for him, the people. My dad cares about everyone in the state of California except his own family. And it took Mom dying in her bed without him for me to finally see it.”
The sudden silence after Austin’s rare verbal onslaught is deafening.
My heart pounds in my chest. As horrified as I am by the images his words put in my mind, I know I have to keep him talking, let him know that he can trust me. Admittedly, part of it is for selfish reasons—by confiding the truth about his past, I can at last solve the mystery. But mostly I want it for him. I doubt he ever speaks about this with anyone. The flush of his cheeks, the erratic rise of his chest, and the tick in his jaw are all proof of that.
So I wrap my hands around his clenched fist and say as gently as I can, “Cat told me you changed after your mom died.”
I don’t give voice to my suspicion; I want Austin to do that on his own.
At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at our joined hands. Then, after a long moment, a faint, rueful smile twitches on his lips. “I actually used to idolize the dickhead. Can you believe that?”
He laughs; a harsh, derisive sound that causes me to flinch.
“I thought the man could do no wrong, so of course I couldn’t, either. I had to be perfect—I was Taylor Michaels’s son. But once Mom was gone, I realized it doesn’t matter what I do. It won’t make him care. The perfect family façade he wants everyone to believe is bullshit…and I’m done being a part of the hypocrisy.”
His thumb skims across the edges of my hand, trapping, then releasing my fingers—an unconscious touch seeking comfort. The scrape of his nail across my flesh induces a warm tingle, and a peculiar sense of déjà vu envelops me, but I ignore it. Now is not the time for my baffling responses.
When
Austin lifts his eyes back to mine, I notice the blue of his irises has deepened, less like the ocean and more like the dark denim of his jeans. “It started as a way to get a rise out of him, you know? To see if it’d get his attention, what he’d do. But then everything changed. People who used to kiss my feet because I was the golden boy’s son suddenly expected the worst of me. And I gave it to them.” His jaw ticks, and he pops his neck.
Knowing that it was around this same time that Kendal also broke his heart makes his confession all the more poignant. No wonder he guards himself—and his heart—so much. In some ways, he’s a lot like Cat.
“It’s easier this way,” he continues. “Not caring how I measure up or if I’m good enough to meet anyone’s standards. I just let it go and do what I want now.” He shrugs. “Beats the shit out of pretending to be someone I’m not.”
He says it like it’s not a big deal when it’s anything but. For me, his declaration is life changing. I know he isn’t talking about me—he doesn’t know the real me or my struggle between society’s expectations and my own desire for passion. But his words, however crudely spoken, fit me just the same. They stay with me through the rest of our snack and as I emerge with a back-to-normal Austin into the warm January sunshine, ready to tackle our next exhilarating ride.
We stop when we find a crowd gathered in front of the Snack Shoppe. The lively tune blaring from the center soon explains why. As Austin guides us along the edge of the cheering audience and away from the street performance, I find myself dragging my feet. Where a moment before I couldn’t wait to test my new bravado, now I am intrigued by the music. I grab Austin’s arm. “Could we watch for just a moment?”
He sighs with exaggeration, as if he is granting me a favor, but nods. Eager, I politely push my way into the audience to catch a glimpse of the singers. Though I have yet to see the main vocalist’s face, the sweet notes of her voice leave no mistaking she is a woman. And her enthusiasm, judging by the dancing crowd around me, is contagious.
A tall man blocking my view checks his watch and yells something indecipherable at the woman by his side. Providentially, they leave, granting me my first clear shot.
My gaze lands on the source of the voice, and I gasp in wonder.
The woman is enthralling to watch. Her genuine zest for life is evident in the lilt of her voice, the warmth of her smile, the energy with which she moves…and the shocking pink hue of her hair.
Pink hair. A soft-rose color.
Reyna’s second marker.
With the sudden feeling that my time here is running out and still thinking about Austin’s words from the table, I grin and ask loudly enough so he can hear me over the music, “Austin, can we make a stop on the way home? I need to go shopping.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Alessandra?”
My cousin’s frantic shriek jerks me from staring at my shocking reflection. Two days have passed since our day at the amusement park. Two days of drifting through the endless school day, knowing my time in the twenty-first century is only one sign away from ending. Two days of hearing Austin’s confession of his past repeating in my mind. And two days of hiding the black shopping bag stuffed with clothes at the back of Cat’s closet, wondering when I would get the courage to wear what was inside.
This morning I decided that day is today.
It’s time I abandoned myself fully to this process. Going along with everyone’s wishes has always been my thing, my way of ensuring their constant approval. But I am here. In the future. In the land of opportunity where women can stretch their wings and make mistakes. I craved adventure, I craved more, and after wasting two days wishing I could be more like that enthusiastic performer at Rush, I’m going for it.
I turn off the tap as the doorknob on the locked door of the bathroom shakes. “I hear you in there, you know,” Cat says as I dry my hands on the soft towel hanging near the sink. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve been freaking out since you didn’t show at lunch? I covered for you on Monday, but I don’t know if I can do it again. They’re gonna call my parents.”
Worry and disappointment strain her voice.
When she sees me, I’m sure that concern will grow.
The door thumps as if Cat is leaning against the wood. “I’ve been wracking my brain wondering where you could’ve gone or what you were doing—though it doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out who you were with.” The door shakes again and she knocks twice. “Less? What’s going on? Open up!”
A hollow cavern in my stomach flutters. After enlisting Austin’s help in my complete makeover, and then basking in the pure rush of finally doing something wild, it never even crossed my mind that my disappearance this afternoon would affect Cat.
I meet my dark eye-lined gaze in the mirror. Monday’s stunt already kicked her overprotective vibe into full force. Confiding the truth about Austin’s challenge now would not be wise. But while I may have to withhold certain aspects of my stay, I want to share this moment with her. Whether she approves of my actions or not will be plainly obvious the moment I open the door.
My hands tremble as the fullness of my apprehension sets in.
The doorknob rattles, and I walk toward it, smoothing the sides of my newly donned modern top along the way. I place an open palm against the frame and draw a steadying breath.
This is it.
Unlocking the door, I say in a shaky voice, “Come in.”
“Oh my G—”
Fortunately, Cat’s astonished yelp cut short her blasphemy as her widened eyes rake over me. Strangely enough, her reaction is nearly the precise response I had anticipated.
To ensure she gets the entire effect, I lift my arms, displaying my exposed elbows, and fluff my hair as I turn in a slow circle. “So…what do you think?”
When I make a full rotation and face her again, Cat squeezes her eyes shut. She shakes her head and then opens them again, wide. Then she laughs.
“What do I think?” She tentatively reaches out and pinches a lock of my hair between her fingers. “I think what in blazing Hades did you do?”
The stupefied expression on her face gives me a twinge, and I glance at the captured strand in her grasp. The bright color makes me grin.
“Less, I’ve been scared out of my mind since lunch, wondering if you were hurt, lost, dead, or back in the sixteenth century, and you…you…” She releases her grip and wraps her hands around my head, yanking it down so she can study my hair better. “And you’ve been getting a makeover by Dr. Seuss?”
“It’s called highlights,” I explain, unable to contain my excitement. I do not know this Dr. Seuss she is referring to, but I have shocked my un-shockable cousin. That alone is cause for celebration. “When I couldn’t choose between the shades, the lady at the salon just let me do them all. This is Cotton Candy Pink, over here is Electric Amethyst, and this one strip here is Atomic Turquoise. I admit that one is a bit bold, but I just could not resist adding it. Isn’t it fun?”
My cousin presses a palm to her cheek. “Well, it is certainly that.” She moves her hand to her forehead as if checking for a fever, then settles a closed fist over her mouth. After a moment, she asks, “And I suppose Austin is somehow behind this experiment?”
“No,” I answer emphatically.
Austin may be at the root of most of my adventures, but this one was just me…which makes me all the prouder for it. If I ever wanted to prove I was more than a dutiful, rule-abiding daughter, this did it.
At Cat’s skeptical look, I clarify. “I asked Austin to bring me to the salon, yes. And he took me shopping Monday. But the clothes, the makeup, the hair, and the nails were all completely my idea.”
“Nails?” Cat asks with a laugh. “I’m almost afraid to look.”
Giddy to show off the extent of my transformation, I wave my To-Teally-Hot-coated fingernails in the air. “Aren’t they delightful? I am painted from head to toe with color.”
“It’s like a rainbow threw up,” she
says dryly. She pushes away from the doorframe and walks backward toward her bed, unable to stop gaping at me. Plopping onto the soft mattress, she raises her hand, indicating my wardrobe. “Dare I ask what happened to the strict ban on elbow showing and gentlemen’s trousers?”
I lift a jean-clad leg for inspection and shrug. “I believe I may’ve overreacted upon my first encounter with them. The sensation was just so new and shocking. But that is what I am here for, is it not? To experience life and do things that I cannot in my own time?”
Almost begrudgingly, and blinking repeatedly as if she still cannot make sense of me, she nods.
I’ve avoided telling Cat about finding the second sign, afraid that once I admit it aloud it will make it true. But that’s just it—it is true. And admitting it may help explain what she obviously believes to be my crazy behavior. Joining her on the bed, I fold my legs like one of the delicious pretzel snacks I consumed in her kitchen. The complete freedom modern clothes provides for mobility is definitely a plus. “I found Reyna’s second sign.”
Cat’s sharp intake of breath and wide eyes is her only reaction.
“The soft-rose songstress was a vibrant singer with bright pink hair and a zest for life,” I say. “And watching her captivate an audience—captivate me—well, it woke something inside me, Cat. In the sixteenth century, all I do is live by established rules, follow expectations, and look perfect. I can never simply let go and do what I want. And seeing that girl out there living her life with such joy, it made me wonder if maybe she wasn’t just a marker but also a suggestion. A role model for how I should spend the rest of my journey. When I return home, I won’t be able to dye my hair on a whim, wear trousers, or go shopping unchaperoned with a male who isn’t a relative.” The lyrics to a song from my cousin’s iPhone, another modern convenience I will not have when I return but will miss, plays in my mind. “Just once I wanted to be the girl who says, what the hell?”
Cat’s response is a surprised bark of laughter. “Wow. Okay, note to self: keep Alessandra away from mass media.” Tucking her legs under her, she sits up tall across from me. “Less, I hear what you’re saying. I get it—remember I visited your time two months ago, so I know what it’s like where you’re from. And the clothes do look great, and the hair is…uh, well, fun. But, girl…” She touches my hand. “You scared the ever-loving snot out of me today.”
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