by Karen Guffey
CHAPTER SIX
Marie awoke at dawn the next morning and jumped into her clothes. She was halfway down the stairs when she remembered she'd promised Rick that she'd wake him up so that he could stay within earshot of her. "Rick," she called, tapping on his door. "Rick."
"Just a minute." Seconds later his door opened, and he blinked down at her sleepily. "You're already dressed?"
"Yes." He wasn't. He had on pajama trousers but no shirt. She stared in fascination at his broad chest. She'd never seen a half-naked man before.
"Let me get on some shoes and shorts."
She waited downstairs for him, anxious about her attempt to get back. She'd looked outside and seen that it wasn't very foggy out. Would that make it impossible to get back? Was it--
"Ready?"
She jumped. "Oh. Yes."
He followed her outside. "When you think you've gone far enough, yell. If you're lost, I'll find you."
She nodded and started to turn to go into the garden. But Rick caught her hand, stopping her. He gazed down at her. "I hope you get back, Marie. But if you do, I'll miss you."
Her throat was suddenly sore. "I-I think you have some lint on your back." She embraced him, whispering, "Thank you for everything. I'll miss you too."
She gave him a smile before turning and walking into the garden. When she found herself at the edge of it, she veered right, seeing that it extended farther in that direction. She deliberately tried to lose herself, since that was how she'd gotten to 2011. And she knew that Rick would find her if she didn't get back to 1927.
It wasn't working. She could tell--there wasn't enough fog to hide anything, and she could see that nothing had changed. She was still in 2011. "Rick!"
She could hear him hurrying toward her, and she turned to meet him. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, hugging her close.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she choked back a sob. She missed her mother. She loved television and the microwave and blue jeans, but she wanted to exclaim over them with her mother. And she wanted to cuddle up next to Davis as they watched television together. Her father would buy them one. Well, if there were televisions in 1927, he would. Maybe she should see if she could carry one back.
That thought made her chuckle. Rick drew back to look down at her. "What's so funny?"
"I was thinking that I should take a television back with me."
He smiled. "You might have a hard time explaining that." Taking her face in his hands, he wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. "We'll try again tomorrow, OK?"
"OK."
"I need to go get dressed now--I have to go to work."
"To work?"
"Yeah. Come on--I'll make you some breakfast, and you'll feel better."
He took her hand and led her back to the house. Her fear had returned. Not fear of being stuck in 2011 but of spending the day without Rick. What would she do?
She showered while Rick did the same in his bathroom, and she washed her hair with some shampoo she found on the edge of the tub. It smelled nice, and she found herself wishing for some perfume or some bath oil. She should have thought of that yesterday.
After toweling her hair dry, she combed it, bound her chest, and put on the blue-green blouse and her jeans. Rick was coming down the hall as she emerged from the bathroom. "Hi--feel better?" She nodded. "Hey, let me show you how to use my blowdryer." He went back to his bathroom and returned with something that looked a little like a gun and had a long cord hanging from it. "You can use this to dry your hair. Let me show you."
He plugged it into the wall and turned it on. It made a terrible noise, but she laughed when he aimed it at her head. It blew hot air at her. "Do you use this to warm yourself in the winter?"
"No--it's just for drying hair. Here." He handed it to her. "Comb your hair as you blow it--that'll make it dry faster. And this is how you turn it off. I'm going to go make breakfast. Come down when you're ready."
The hot air felt good, and it was making her hair fluffy. Unfortunately, she didn't have any curling tongs, and her too-long hair, now perfectly straight, hung past her shoulders. With a sigh, she parted her hair in the middle and went downstairs.
"Hair all dry?" Rick asked. "Hey--your hair looks great! It looks longer now."
"It was curled before--that makes it look shorter. I need to get it cut."
"No!" A bit embarrassed by his exclamation, he explained, "I like your hair better the way it is now. It's pretty."
She thought about the women she'd seen yesterday. "Some women have their hair bobbed now."
"Yeah . . . but a lot have long hair. I think long hair is . . . more . . . feminine."
She smiled, pleased with his response. "Should I let it grow longer?"
"Definitely." He smiled. "Have a seat--breakfast's ready."
She sat down and poured milk on her cereal. "Mmm--this is delicious."
"Good. Do you want milk or juice or both?"
They chatted as they ate, and only when she began loading the dishwasher did she remember that she was going to have to spend the day alone. "What should I do while you're gone, Rick?"
"Whatever you like. You can see if I have any books that interest you, or you can watch television. There are frozen dinners in the freezer that you can put in the microwave for lunch. Just be sure to read the directions and remember not to put anything metal in it. I'll show you how to call me at work in case you need something."
"What time will you be home?"
"Well . . . last week I never got home before 9:00." Her eyes widened, and he grinned, continuing, "But today I'll be home by 5:30. I promise."
She wandered around the house restlessly after he'd left. His house was big, and he had a lot of interesting things, but she didn't like being alone. It just made her miss her family and friends and Davis that much more. Hoping that television would provide the illusion of companionship and take her mind off her homesickness, she went to the living room and turned it on.
That was where Rick found her at 5:30. "Hi--how was your day?"
She turned off the TV and looked at him with wide eyes. "Do you know how many women there are who have love affairs with their husbands' brothers?"
Rick groaned. "You've been watching talk shows."
"There was one woman who was having an affair with her husband's 15-year-old brother! And she was 32!"
"Don't watch that garbage. Those people are poor and uneducated and have no morals, and people watch that stuff to be horrified and make fun of them. Most people aren't like that."
"But-but . . . there was this other type of picture. One woman was expecting a baby and didn't know whether her husband or her father-in-law was the father! Another man was on trial for the murder of his sister's beau, and a woman had been kidnapped--"
"A soap opera." He dropped onto the sofa beside her. "Those programs are designed to appeal to our baser instincts. They're sensationalistic. I'll get you some old movies to watch."
"Get me some?"
"Yeah--we'll rent some."
"Rent?"
"Yeah--there are stores where you can pay a couple of dollars and take the movie home for the night."
"Really?"
He smiled, taking her hand and squeezing it. "I'll find something good--`Gone With the Wind,' `Casablanca.' Classics."
"Can we go get them now?"
"In a little while. What would you like for dinner?"
He grilled steaks outside and made some steak fries. "Mmm--this is delicious," Marie told him, closing her eyes with pleasure. "You cook better than restaurant chefs."
"Thank you."
"If I keep eating like this, I'll get fat."
"I doubt it." He reached for another slice of French bread. "But if you want some exercise, I'll show you how to use the treadmill. And see if I can find an exercise tape."
"Treadmill? Exercise tape?"
"You'll see."
; That night he showed her how to use the treadmill and how to work the VCR. He rented an exercise video and the two movies he'd mentioned, and Marie found herself looking forward to the next day.
She was up at the crack of dawn, and after she got dressed, she was tempted to go walk on the treadmill before she woke Rick. Walking but never moving was an interesting experience. But the fog might not last long, and she had to get back today.
But this time she didn't go charging headlong through the garden. She'd gotten here by strolling through it thinking about Davis. She'd been thinking about the kiss that had hurt and horrified her.
Would he be sorry he'd done that now that she was gone? Surely he'd realized he'd hurt her. She'd tried to push him away, and her lips had been bleeding.
Marie frowned. He always apologized for shouting at her, but that hadn't stopped him from shouting at her again. He'd apologized for hurting her arm, but that hadn't stopped him from hurting her with his kiss. Would her life with him be like that? A series of angry words or painful grasps or bruising kisses followed by apologies?
She was still wrestling with that question when she realized that the fog had lifted and she was still in 2011. Dejected, she went back to Rick. "It didn't work."
He stood up, taking her hands. "I'm sorry, Marie." He hugged her, murmuring, "We won't give up. And one morning when you least expect it, you'll walk back into your own garden."
Marie closed her eyes, drawing strength from Rick. She just hoped he was right. And she hoped it would happen soon.
After Rick had left for work, Marie walked on the treadmill for nearly 45 minutes and then made herself a cup of tea. Rested, she opened the box containing the exercise movie Rick had gotten her and with delight put it into the BCR. No--VCR, she corrected herself. She got so involved in the exercises and then exploring the house that she'd only watched one of the movies--"Gone with the Wind," which made her laugh sometimes and cry sometimes and held her spellbound the entire time--by 5:30, when Rick got home from work.
“Would you like me to get you some more movies for tomorrow?” Rick asked Marie as they prepared dinner together.
“I still have that other one to watch. ‘Casablanca.’” She handed him the green peppers she’d just chopped. “What next?”
“Mushrooms.” He handed her a carton.
Rick added some seasonings to the sauce he was stirring. Glancing at Marie, he saw that she had a mushroom on the cutting board but was just staring at it. “Is something wrong?”
“What?”
“You’re staring at that mushroom pretty intently.”
“Oh. No—I was just thinking.” She began slicing the mushroom.
“About what?”
Shaking her hair out of her face, she looked up at him. “Why do you think this happened to me? I mean, we’ve tried to figure out how I can get back, but we don’t even know why it happened.”
“I don’t know, Marie. I still can’t really believe it happened. If you hadn’t been scared half to death, I would have thought you were playing a joke on me.”
She smiled a bit. “If you’re playing a joke on me, I want to take one of your televisions home with me.” Returning her attention to the mushroom, she frowned. “And that’s another thing—why 84 years in the future? Why not five years? Or 100 years—at least that’s a round number. Why the year 2011?”
Her questions made him reflect uncomfortably. The fact that he’d read an article about her just days before she’d appeared couldn’t be a coincidence. He couldn’t begin to explain the how or the why, but the when made sense. He knew what her future was going to be, so maybe he could help change it. But he didn’t know if it was a good idea to tell her that right now. As soon as she went to bed, he’d get the article out and reread it.
Rick heard a sniffle. He looked in time to see Marie take a swipe at her eyes. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said, taking the knife and mushroom from her and drawing her into his arms.
“It’s just so confusing and frightening.” She hid her face against his chest. “I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know why it happened, and worst of all, I don’t know how to get back.” Her body shook with sobs.
Rick’s heart broke for her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, stroking her hair. As her sobs began to subside, he tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to her ear to whisper, “Maybe you came to 2011 because there’s someone here to help you and care about you.”
She pulled back a little and managed a small smile for him. “At least that’s an explanation I can live with.” She took the handkerchief he offered her.
He kissed her temple. “Why don’t we put all this stuff up and have it tomorrow? I’ll take you out to dinner tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I bet you’d like to try out one of those buffets I told you about.”
Her eyes widened. “A buffet? With lots of desserts?”
He chuckled. “I know just the place.”
Rick’s attentiveness calmed her, and she went to bed that night with a full stomach and an odd sense of security. Nothing about what had happened to her made sense, but Rick was right. If she had to walk out of 1927 into another time, she was fortunate she’d walked into his time.
The week went by quickly. Marie always began the day with a walk in the garden, and Rick always hugged her and dried her tears when she returned. When he left for work, she'd exercise and watch movies he'd rented for her and clean the house with the supplies she'd discovered. In the evenings they'd eat and talk and watch TV, but he promised to take her to the shore Saturday.
"The first thing we have to do is buy you a bathing suit," Rick told Marie as they strolled through the mall after dinner Friday evening. "Be prepared, OK? I think you'll find them a little immodest."
She tried to prepare herself, but she was shocked by the outfits she was shown. The material was thin, and they all had plunging necklines, and some were cut so that the edge of the leg hole was almost as high as the arm hole. But she managed to find two, one red and one black with pink flowers, that were less shocking than the others and took them to the dressing room.
These weren't going to work. She'd chosen the two with the least amount of décolletage, and they still wouldn't work. They wouldn't completely hide her chest binding.
She left the dressing room shaking her head. "These don't fit, Rick."
"Are they too big?"
"No. They're . . . they . . ." How could she tell him?
"What?" When she looked around uncomfortably, he asked, "Would you rather talk to the salesgirl about it?"
"No! No . . ." She couldn't go to the shore without a bathing suit, and she really wanted to go. She glanced up at Rick again. She'd much rather suffer the embarrassment with him than with a stranger. "It's-it's . . . my binding."
"Your what?"
"My binding--my . . . chest binding. The bathing suits don't cover it."
"Chest binding?"
"Yes!" she hissed, her face red. "So-so that my dresses . . . hang . . . right."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. She bound her breasts to flatten them? She was so small and slender that he'd just assumed she was small busted. Why would any woman want to flatten her breasts? "Women don't do that now, Marie. They like having . . . being . . . voluptuous. Haven't you noticed?"
She had, but she'd assumed that those weren't decent women, that they were the type to have love affairs with their husbands' brothers. Some women in 1927 frequently showed cleavage, but not as much as she'd be showing in these bathing suits. And their legs weren't completely uncovered at the same time. Swallowing, she considered. If this was the norm, she could adjust. It wouldn't be easy, but she did want to go to the shore.
Bravely she returned to the dressing room, took off her clothes and her binding, and put on the black bathing suit. It fit . . . she thought
. It was tight but not uncomfortably so, and it was pretty. But she blushed at her profile. She filled the front of the bathing suit, and the curve of her hips was all too apparent. To her eyes, she looked bulky.
She didn't want to go out there and ask Rick's opinion. She blushed again at the thought of people seeing her like this. But people would see her at the shore tomorrow, so she pushed the curtain aside and stepped out. "Rick?"
He looked around. And his mouth fell open. She had a fantastic body. He never would have guessed it. Well, except for the time she'd tried on the jeans. She had shapely legs--
"Rick?" She was growing redder as he continued to gape at her.
"Hmmm?"
"Does it fit? Is this how it's supposed to look?"
"Oh. Yeah. It looks great."
"Are you sure? It feels odd."
"But it looks terrific. Really terrific." He finally met her eyes.
Marie was intrigued by the look in his eyes. "This-this bathing suit," she whispered. "It makes you . . . it . . . you like seeing me in it, don't you?"
He swallowed. "Very much."
Pleased, she returned to the dressing room, feeling better about the bathing suit.
Rick found a chair and dropped into it. She was gorgeous, absolutely the sexiest and most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. But there was more to her beauty than that incredible face and body. She was . . . fun-loving and vibrant, just as the article had said. The thought of the article sobered him. He loved being with Marie, but he had to remember that she was going back to 1927. The closer he felt to her, the more he’d miss her when she was gone.
"I like this one best." Marie had emerged from the dressing room carrying the black and pink suit.
Rick looked up, managing a smile. "OK." He bought it for her, looking forward to seeing her in it again tomorrow. He noticed that she'd bound her breasts again. "Listen, Marie, there are a couple of other things I want you to get."
"What?"
"Let's go in here." He led her into a large department store and began searching for ladies' lingerie. While Marie looked around at all the lacy, sometimes colorful articles, Rick found a saleslady. "My friend over there, for reasons I won't go into, may not know her sizes. Will you help her find a couple of bras and some underwear?"
"Of course--I'll take care of her."
The lady could tell Marie's underwear size with no problem. But when Marie came out of the dressing room complaining that the 32B was too tight, she wondered how she'd missed the girl's bust size by such a margin.
Marie found that she loved shopping for modern lingerie. She liked lace and rich colors and chose black, emerald, fuchsia, and royal blue underwear. It really didn't matter, she supposed, what her underwear looked like. But she couldn't wait to get home and change into her new things.
"Thank you for-for . . . the new clothes, Rick," she said shyly, taking his arm as they walked away with their purchases. "Now I won't have to wash my clothes every night."
He looked down at her with chagrin. "I didn't even think about that. I'm sorry, Marie--we should have gone shopping sooner. And I should have shown you how to use the washer and dryer. I'll do that tomorrow."
"But we're going to the shore."
"I'll show you when we get home. Come on--let's go buy you some more outfits."
He insisted on buying her a pair of pants, a dress, two t-shirts, and two pairs of shorts. "But Rick, what if I get back to 1927 tomorrow?" she protested as he paid the salesgirl.
"Don't worry. I'll save the clothes for the next girl from 1927 who wanders into my garden." As he handed her one of the bags, he saw the consternation on her face. "I'm sorry, Marie," he told her as they left the store. "I didn't mean to make light of your predicament."
"No . . . no . . . it's not that."
"What's wrong then?"
She frowned. "Do you think another girl from the past might come into your garden?"
He laughed. "I doubt it. Of course, I would have bet my life that not even one girl from the past would walk into my garden." He glanced down at her again. "Why? Would that bother you?"
"Yes." She'd become so accustomed to being honest with him that she didn't even think about dissimulating.
"Why?" When she merely glanced up at him and quickened her pace, he caught her arm. "I'm sorry--don't be mad. I'll buy you some frozen yogurt. That'll make you feel better."
She gave him a small smile, but when they reached the yogurt stand, she said that she didn't want any. She was quiet during the ride home, and after a few attempts to draw her into conversation, he left her alone, unable to figure out what was bothering her.
"Do you want to watch TV?" he asked when they got home.
"Yes--no. I don't know." She was close to tears.
He took her shoulders and drew her into his arms. "What's wrong, Marie? Why are you so upset?"
Her tears spilled over. "I don't want any other girl to walk into your garden."
"None will. Honey, what happened was some kind of aberration, some-"
"I shouldn't care. I've only known you for a week. And-and I'm betrothed. I shouldn't care what you do--I shouldn't . . . shouldn't . . ."
He squeezed her closer. "You know me. You trust me. You've spent more time with me than you spent with your fiancé in a month--"
"Three months."
"--and you have a certain right to feel possessive." He kissed the top of her head. "We'll leave it at that for now, OK?"
"OK."
After a few moments, he raised his head and pulled away slightly. When she looked up at him, so beautiful and trusting and fragile, he bent his head to kiss her. But she turned her face away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing her temple instead of her lips, her full, soft, luscious red lips . . . "Let's find something funny to watch."
They found an "I Love Lucy" rerun, but for once Marie couldn't pay attention to the television. Rick was sitting back in the corner of the sofa, and she was leaning against him with his arm around her. How could she be so comfortable with a man after only a week? They always sat like this now, and they frequently embraced during the day. And she loved it. She didn't have to trick him into holding her, didn't have to dance with him to get his arms around her. He liked holding her. And he'd been home at 5:30 every day, just as he'd promised--just because he wanted to be with her. Davis had never rearranged his schedule for her. Rick spent every moment of every evening with her. He'd even refused to play racquetball tomorrow with a friend who called last night because he wanted to spend both Saturday and Sunday with her.
Marie blinked back tears of confusion. She was betrothed to Davis. But it was getting harder and harder to remember why she'd fallen in love with him. He didn't spend much time with her, didn't hold her very often, didn't do anything really fun. And he wasn't nearly as handsome as Rick. Rick had beautiful blue eyes and-and a broad, muscular chest that she got to see every morning if she woke up before he did. In her dreams, he never had on a shirt, and he was always smiling.
That dream might change now. Right now the image in her mind was of his face as it had come closer and closer to hers. She'd wanted him to kiss her. But she was going to marry Davis--she couldn't kiss another man!
"Are you hungry, honey?" Rick asked when "I Love Lucy" went off.
"No. But I-I don't feel like watching TV any more right now. Could we do something else? Will you show me how to use the washing machine?"
After they'd put in a load of clothes, they had some ice cream and then returned to the living room to read. Rick had gotten her the Dragonriders of Pern series, since those books were about a world that was new to all readers and had very few offensive elements. She'd wanted some romances, but he was afraid that they'd be too explicit for her. And, fortunately, she'd found that she loved the Pern books. She was almost finished with the second one.
Rick had just risen to make them some tea when the phone rang.
“Hello?” he said, carrying the phone into the kitchen.
“Hi, Rick. This is Sharon. Are you busy?”
“No. How are you doing?”
“OK. I haven’t seen you for a while, and I was wondering if you’d like to come over for brunch Sunday.”
“I’m sorry—I can’t. I have a friend staying with me.”
“Bring him.”
Rick froze. “Uh . . .”
“Oh. Is it a ‘her’?”
“Yeah. She’s not an old girlfriend or anything, but—“
“But things can be complicated. I understand. Give me a call sometime if you like.”
“I will. Thanks, Sharon.”
She really was a very nice girl, he mused as he made the tea. But he hadn’t given her a thought since Marie had walked into his life.
Marie looked up when Rick came back into the living room with their tea. “Thank you. I thought you were talking on the telephone.”
“I was. But it wasn’t anything important.”
“You didn’t turn down another racquetball game because of me, did you?” His refusing the game had both thrilled her and made her feel guilty.
“No—no racquetball game.” When she quirked an eyebrow at him, he admitted, “A brunch.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you seeing a young lady? Rick, I—“
“No, no.” He sat down beside her. “She’s just a friend. We’ve gone out a few times.”
“Still, I don’t want to disrupt your life. You should accept her invitation.”
“I don’t want to. I’d rather be with you.”
She smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek, but she could no longer concentrate on her book. How could it be that a man she’d known only a week wanted to be with her all the time when she’d gone four or five days at a time without seeing the man to whom she was betrothed? Could it be that Davis’ job was harder than Rick’s? No—it wasn’t just that Rick didn’t spend half the evening at his office. He’d even chosen to be with her rather than with a girl he’d known longer than he had her, a girl from his own decade.
Confusing thoughts and feelings kept her from being able to fall asleep quickly that night. She'd had so much fun this week, watching pictures and using the microwave oven and wearing blue jeans, but she missed her parents and her brother and Tom and Davis. They had to be out of their minds with worry and grief. They probably thought she'd been kidnapped. She wished that she could let them know that she was all right. And that someone was taking care of her. She'd only known Rick a week, but she already trusted him. More than she trusted Davis. Rick had kept his promise and come home at 5:30 every day, and he'd apologized for trying to kiss her. The last time she'd seen Davis, he'd kissed her so hard that her teeth had cut her lips. And he certainly hadn't apologized. She touched the ring that Davis had put on her left hand, twisting it. Could she spend her entire life with a man like that?