by Karen Guffey
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marie wanted to make Rick a special meal that evening. She felt terrible for having rejected his proposal. She looked through the two recipe books he'd bought her but couldn't find anything that appealed to her. Maybe she should just prepare something simple and have candlelight and flowers from the garden. No--that seemed silly. How could she plan a romantic evening when she'd just told him that she couldn't marry him?
She closed the book with a sigh. She loved Rick with a passion she'd never imagined. She wanted to marry him. But she wanted to go home too. She missed her family. And she wanted to see Davis again--so she could tell him off. She wanted to tell him that now she knew how she should be treated by a man who really loved her. She'd tell him she knew what it was like to be comfortable with a man, to be able to snuggle up to him when she wanted to be held and to put her arms around his neck when she wanted to be kissed.
She smiled, thinking about Rick's kisses. There was nothing in the world she'd rather do than kiss Rick. When she got home . . . a lump formed in her throat, making it sore. Once she got home, she'd never be able to kiss him again. She'd never again spend the evening snuggled up in his arms. She tried to swallow the lump. Rick would be gone from her life forever.
Tears formed in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. She could easily imagine the excitement of her return home, but she couldn't imagine not having Rick any more. He'd become the center of her life. She--
"Marie?"
Her eyes flew open, and she looked up to see him standing by the sofa. "I-I was just trying to think of something to make for dinner."
"Why don't we go out?"
She shook her head. "I really don't feel like going out." Walking to him, she linked her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry, Rick."
"For what?"
"For not being able to accept your proposal."
He rested his forehead against hers. "I love you so much, Marie."
"I love you too."
"Do you?"
"Yes." She pressed her lips to his.
He drew her closer. "Would it be so bad if you couldn't get home?"
"Yes!"
She pulled away, looking so stricken that he had to glance away from her eyes. "I'm sorry." His arms fell away from her. "I just--I'm . . . I'm selfish. I don't want to lose you."
"I don't want to lose you either. Do you know what it feels like to be torn in two? To desperately want two things when you can only have one?"
"No." He glanced at her. "I just wish I was the one you wanted most."
She caught her breath, covering her mouth with her hand and running from the room.
Rick hated himself for pushing her like that, but he couldn't seem to help it. He was desperate. He knew now that he could keep her here, but how could he do that when she wanted so much to go home?
He ordered Chinese, and Marie came down just after it arrived. She saw the cartons and silently went to pour two glasses of tea.
Rick slid his arms around her from behind. "I love you."
She didn't respond, pulling away from him to carry the glasses to the table. With a sigh he took plates from the cabinet.
Marie put two wontons on her plate. "Did I ever tell you about my wedding gown?"
"Your mother’s?"
"Yes. It's beautiful. It's covered with lace and pearls, and it has a 15-foot train. But the important thing is that it was my grandmother's. She wore it, and then my mother wore it. I've always known that I'd wear it when I get married."
He frowned. "It means that much to you? You want to go home so that you can be married in that dress?"
"No--not just for the dress. It's-it's family and tradition and what I grew up thinking about and everything that's a part of me." She toyed with a wonton. "What do you do at Christmas?"
"Until last year, my sister and I would go to my parents' house on Christmas Eve for dinner. Then we'd open gifts and then have hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls and watch home movies. Teri and I would always spend the night there, and we'd all go to my grandparents' house on Christmas morning and have lunch with all the aunts and uncles and cousins."
"What happened last year?"
"My parents sold their house and moved to Florida. They came here, and Teri did too, but it wasn't the same. We--" His eyes flew to hers.
She met his gaze. "And what if you hadn't even been able to be with them at all?"
He swallowed. "I would have been very upset."
Both picked at their food in silence. Rick glanced at Marie surreptitiously, wanting to gobble her up with his eyes but not wanting to explain his stare. He loved her so much. He couldn't imagine living without her.
He stabbed at a wonton. How could he say he loved her and deliberately keep her here against her will? How could he put his wants above hers?
Standing up, he raked his fingers through his hair. Marie looked up at him with concern. "Are you all right?"
"No." He closed his eyes. "What would you say if I told you you could go home tomorrow?"
"I'd jump for joy. Why?"
He squeezed the back of his chair, refusing to look at her. "Yesterday morning, after you went up to your room, I sat in the garden thinking about what your life in 1927 was like." His arms began to tremble. "I suddenly realized, when I looked out into the garden, that it was 1927."
She gasped. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I-I must be the key. The-the door or whatever must open when I think about 1927."
“But why would you be the reason?”
“I—“ He cleared his throat. “I-I read an article about you. Before you walked into my garden.”
“An article about me?”
“Yeah. You and your family. A group Teri works with threw a 1920s party, and she gave me a book about the 1920s. There was a section about you.”
“What did it say?”
“It had information about your father and his business and how he disinherited your brother. And it said that you married Davis and had three children and-and . . . died when you were 37.”
Her eyes widened, and her face paled. “37? I-I’m going to die in 14 more years?”
“No!” He looked into her eyes. “No. Davis . . . he mistreated you. Cheated on you. Gave you an infection. But now you aren’t going to marry him. And-and the article changed.”
“Changed?”
“Yeah.” He raked his fingers through his hair again. “I read it again after you came here, and it had changed. Now it just gives general information about your family and your birth. It doesn’t mention your death or-or anything about marriage or children.” He paused. “I thought that maybe . . . maybe that’s because coming here would change all that.”
She blinked, trying to absorb what he was telling her. Her life was already on record? She was going to have three children? But no—not any more. At least not with Davis, because she wasn’t going to marry him. So . . .
Looking at Rick, she asked, “Do you still have the article?”
“Yeah. Upstairs.”
She followed him to his office, where he took the article out of a desk drawer. Without a word, he handed it to her.
The picture was one she and her parents and John had posed for just days before her father had disinherited him. The article with it was short. It was strange to read about herself, although, as Rick had told her, it didn’t say much. “Are you sure it originally said all that about Davis and our having children and-and . . . my death?”
“Yeah. That-that’s part of what made me start thinking about you. That and your picture. You were so beautiful, and I couldn’t imagine anyone treating you the way Davis had. The article said you were vibrant and fun-loving before your marriage. That captured my imagination, I guess, and I was sitting in the garden drinking tea and thinking about you, imagining what you were like and what your life must have been like before your marriage. And then-and then you walked into my gar
den.”
“Incredible.” She stared up at him. “But how? I mean, how did that . . . open the door or whatever? Had you ever done that before?”
“No.” He shrugged. “I was really lonely and falling in love with a girl in a book. Maybe God decided to take mercy on me.”
“Oh, Rick.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve fallen in love with you too. But I have to go back.” She sniffed, reaching out to squeeze his wrists. “Can you really open the door?”
“Apparently so.”
Marie’s heart raced, soared, plummeted, and soared again. She couldn't wait to see her mother! She'd be leaving here, going home, saying good-bye to Rick, seeing her family . . . She swallowed, concentrating on trying to get her heart under control. “I can’t believe it! I-I’m really going to just walk back into 1927, just go back the way I came. We’ve been doing it right all along—except that you had to be the one thinking about my home.”
"Yeah."
Marie stared at him, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Rick? Are you-are you crying?" Not giving him time to respond, she threw her arms around him. "I'm sorry." She covered his face with kisses. "I love you, Rick. I love you so much. I don't want to hurt you."
His arms whipped around her. "Then don't leave me."
She looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears. "I have to. I-I just have to. I have to go home."
They stayed locked in each other's arms, her tears soaking into his shirt, his tears dripping into her hair. At last, Rick, feeling weak and shaky, took Marie's hand and led her to the living room. They sat down on the sofa, and he drew her close. "I love you more than anything in the world," he whispered into her hair.
"I love you too. But Rick--"
"I understand. But I don't know how I'm going to bear it."
They were quiet for several minutes. Playing with Rick's fingers, Marie tried to grasp what was happening. She was going home. She was going to be with her family again. She should be ecstatic, and she was . . . but she was also . . . Sad? Frightened? Torn, definitely. She loved Rick. She wanted to marry him. But she wanted to go home too. "I hope my mother doesn't faint when she sees me."
"You really miss her."
"Yes. There have been times in the last five weeks when I really needed her. Needed to talk to her."
"When you get back, what are you going to talk to her about?"
"You." Fresh tears ran down her cheeks.
He tilted her chin up, wiping away her tears. "Won't you consider staying here with me? Marrying me?"
Her throat tightened, and she pulled her chin free, shaking her head. "I can't." She gripped his hands. "It's like a lifeline. I love you, and I love 2011, but if I let go of my home, I'd be lost."
Rick reached into his pocket, taking out his handkerchief and handing it to her. She started to wipe her face with it but then stopped. Rick frowned as she stared at it. "What's wrong?"
She went to the bathroom for some tissue. "Marie?" Rick called after her, standing up. He started to follow her, but she returned seconds later. "What's wrong?"
"I don't want to use your handkerchief. I want to keep it and take it home with me. It-it smells like you."
He smiled, stroking her hair. "Is there anything else you'd like to have?"
She thought about it for a moment. "Could I have one of your t-shirts?"
"Of course. Do you want to take your clothes with you?"
"No. I could never wear them except when I'm alone, and when I'm alone, I want to wear your t-shirt. Will you go change into one now so that it will . . . will . . . smell like you?"
"OK." He kissed her lips softly and went to change.
Marie went to the kitchen to get a cold wonton to nibble on. She couldn't believe she was going home! She'd spend all day tomorrow talking to her mother, and her father would probably come home from work at a reasonable hour. And she’d get Tom to take her to see her brother this weekend.
She didn't know how she was going to explain her disappearance. She couldn't very well tell them she'd gone 84 years into the future--they'd think she'd lost her mind. Maybe she could pretend to have amnesia. No--she was going to tell her mother all about Rick. She knew that she wouldn't be able to keep quiet about him even if she wanted to.
Rick joined her in the kitchen. "How about this one?" He was wearing a plain blue t-shirt.
"Yeah." She leaned close, inhaling. Then she raised her face to nuzzle his neck. "You put on fresh cologne."
"I wanted to be sure I had on enough for the t-shirt to absorb it."
She kissed his neck. "Do you want me to heat up the food?"
"I'm not hungry."
She took a wonton and held it to his lips. "Sure?"
He let her put it in his mouth, feeling her fingertips brush his lips. "Hmmm." He chewed and swallowed. "Maybe if you feed me."
She put all the food in bowls and heated it in the microwave while he poured fresh tea. "Is this pork or chicken?" Marie asked as she set a bowl on the table.
"Chicken. Is that OK?"
"Yeah." She loved sweet and sour chicken.
When they sat down, Rick told her, "I want to start with fried rice."
She laughed. "You were serious about being fed!"
"You'd better believe it."
She fed him a forkful of fried rice. He returned the favor, and within ten minutes the table was covered with grains of rice and bits of food they'd spilled. "Let me have some of that sweet and sour chicken," Rick said. He shook his head when she speared a piece. "No. With your fingers."
"It's too messy!"
"Fingers."
Relenting, she picked up a small piece with the tips of her thumb and forefinger. Rick ate it slowly, closing his eyes. "That's the best bite of sweet and sour chicken I've ever had."
Chuckling, she took another piece and fed it to him. "This really is messy."
Rick grabbed her wrist when she started to reach for a napkin. He leaned forward, taking her forefinger into his mouth and licking off the sweet and sour sauce.
Heat flooded Marie's body. She watched, helpless, as Rick continued to suck on her finger, his tongue caressing it. He raised his eyes to hers as he freed her finger. "Better?"
She felt paralyzed. How could his sucking her finger make her feel the same way his kisses did? She caught her breath when he raised her hand again to lick the sauce from her thumb. "Rick," she moaned at last, tugging her hand free. "This is one thing I have to talk to my mother about."
"What?"
"How your touch makes me feel." She released a shaky sigh, hiding her hands in her lap. "Everything you do makes me feel this way. When you kiss me, when you kiss my neck, when you pressed me against the car. And yesterday when you kissed my back. No one else has ever made me feel like this. How can it be that your kissing my back makes my heart pound harder than Davis' kissing my lips?"
"Because you love me." He would have loved to answer all her questions, but he knew she'd be embarrassed.
She shook her head, still unable to understand how having her finger in his mouth could make her entire body throb and burn. Needing to push the feeling away, she rose and started to clear the table.
"Don't." Rick took the dishes from her. "We're not going to spend our last hours together doing dishes."
She swallowed, running her hands over his t-shirt. "I wish I had something from 1927 to give you."
He stroked her hair. "You could leave your dress and go back in your bathing suit."
She smiled. "I'll have enough to explain as it is." Inspired by the way he was toying with her hair, she asked, "Would you like to have a lock of my hair?"
"That's a great idea." He bent to inhale its fragrance.
She took scissors from a drawer and reached for a lock on the back of her head. She snipped one off and handed it to Rick. "We should find a ribbon to tie it so that the strands won't come lose."
They went to the living room, and he put it in her copy of The Dragonriders of Pern. Drawing her down with him onto the sofa, he asked, "Is there anything special you want to do tonight?"
"My last night here." Her heart soared and then plummeted, bouncing around erratically just as it had when he'd first told her he could help her get home. "I don't know. I'll miss TV and the microwave and the blowdryer, but the only thing I'll really have a hard time doing without is you. I love you, Rick. You've changed my life. You’ve saved my life. If it weren't for you, I'd be marrying Davis and dying in 14 years.” She shuddered at the thought. Snuggling up closer to him, she sighed. “If it weren’t for you, I'd have no idea that it's possible to be so comfortable with a man. And your kisses . . ." She blushed just thinking about how they made her feel.
He kissed her lips softly. "Do you know what my life was like before you came? I'd dated half the women in Boston, I think, trying to find one that I wanted to spend my life with. I was really lonely, but I'd just about given up. It just wasn't worth the effort." He squeezed her hands. "And then you walked into my garden. We spent time together, got to know each other . . . fell in love." He raised first one hand and then the other to his lips. "I want to spend my life with you, Marie. I understand about your wanting to go home. But when you go home, you'll have your family and friends and the excitement of being back, while all I'll have is an empty space where you used to be."
Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Rick. It-it probably would have been better for you if I'd never walked into your life."
"Don't say that!" He hugged her. "I don't know how I'm going to live without you, but I can't imagine never having loved you. And I'm so glad you told me that you love me."
"I do. I love you with all my heart." She pressed her lips to his neck and felt his pulse quicken. "You like being kissed on the neck too, don't you?" she whispered into his ear.
"I like it anywhere you kiss me."
She pressed kisses along his neck and then across his jaw, finally reaching his mouth. Their kiss was slow and sweet, and Marie sighed into his mouth. "It's so nice," she murmured.
"What?" He tangled his fingers in her hair as he bent to kiss her neck.
"Being able to kiss the man I love whenever I want instead of having to wait for him to kiss me."
"You can kiss me any time, anywhere you want." He nibbled on her neck. "Day or night." He touched the tip of his tongue to the hollow of her throat.
Marie caught her breath, clutching at Rick's shoulders. Her fingers dug into them as his tongue traced a path up her throat to her chin and then to her mouth, teasing her lips until she gripped the back of his head to pull it to hers, needing his mouth hard on hers.
Rick's kiss was passionate, possessive. Alternately he savored the taste and feel of her and then devoured her, feeling her passion and hunger grow. Almost without thinking, he slipped his hand inside her blouse just to touch the soft skin of her midriff, but he withdrew it when he heard her gasp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“No . . . no,” she breathed. “I like it when you touch me.”
Rick groaned as she kissed his neck. When he touched her midriff again, he felt her muscles clench in response. Her skin was softer than anything he’d ever touched . . . and he knew that there were even softer places to touch. He also knew she was on fire. She would let him touch her any way he wanted, and all she'd do would be moan and grow hotter.
With his arm around her shoulders, he eased her down onto the sofa. She writhed beneath his weight, moaning.
She'd never be able to leave him once they'd made love. His mouth ravaged hers as he pressed her deeper into the cushions. Panting, he raised his head and pulled back enough to unbutton her blouse. Marie gazed up into his eyes. "I love you, Rick."
He froze. Her eyes were clear and loving and . . . trusting. She trusted him not to hurt her, to do what was best for her.
Groaning, he rolled off her. Marie immediately pushed herself up and over to lie on top of him, her mouth claiming his again. He couldn't help returning her kiss, but when she began kissing his neck, he croaked, "Sweetheart, please stop."
She paused for just a second. But then she ran her hand over his chest, nibbling on his earlobe as she whispered, "I don't think I can."
He groaned again. It had taken all the strength he had to make himself stop. If she kept kissing him, no power on earth, no amount of love or guilt would be able to make him stop. "Marie," he began, his voice cracking, "do you want to make love?"
She froze. Make love? All she knew was that she wanted more of Rick--more of his kisses and his touches. She felt like she couldn't get enough. All at once she realized that getting enough meant making love. She would have blushed if her entire body weren’t already on fire. Rick wasn't her husband. And he never would be. For that reason, she shouldn't make love with him . . . but for that reason, she wanted to make love with him. But how could she do that and then leave him forever? How could she give herself to him so completely and then walk away from him?
With effort, she made herself roll off him, but she couldn't resist cuddling up against him. "I wish I could say yes. I love you, Rick."
He didn't respond for a few moments, needing to let his desire ebb. "If I hadn't asked you, if I'd just gone on kissing you and touching you, we would have made love. You wouldn't have stopped me."
This time she did blush. "You're probably right." She thought about his words, frowning. "Ever since I was 16 or so, my mother has told me not to allow a young man to take liberties. But ever since we came back from Hollywood, I've let you-let you . . . kiss and-and . . . touch me . . . in ways that were inappropriate, because whenever you kiss and touch me, all I can think about is how exquisite it feels and how I want more. I think-I think you're right: I think that you could have touched me any way you wanted, and all I would have done would have been catch my breath and beg for more." She rubbed her face against his arm. "So if I was supposed to stop you, and you knew I wouldn't, why did you stop?"
"Because you looked into my eyes and told me you love me." He sighed. "If you had moaned it in a moment of passion, if your eyes had been closed . . ." He swallowed. "You are an incredibly passionate woman, Marie. I could have made love to you and said that it was your fault as much as mine. But you let me kiss you, let me touch you not just because you want me but because you trust me. You've said that you've never kissed anyone the way you've kissed me. You've said that no one has ever made you feel the way I make you feel. Do you know how much responsibility that puts on me? I have to take care of you. I can't take advantage of your love for me. I have to-have to . . . protect it."
Tears slid down her cheeks. "I love you so much, Rick. I wish-I wish I could say let's just forget about everything else and make love. But I-I just can't."
"I want to make love to you more than I want to take my next breath. And if you said yes, I'd stop thinking altogether and spend all night making love to you. But when all I had left was my memories, I'd feel guilty that I'd taken your virginity and let you go back to 1927 with the guilt I know you'd feel. And-and I'd never know if maybe you were pregnant." The horrifying thought gripped his mind. "If we'd made love, you might have gotten pregnant and then gone back to 1927, and I would never have known that I had a child." That thought cooled his desire faster than anything else could have. He thought she might have changed her mind about staying if they'd made love—but what if they'd made love and she hadn't?
Marie began sobbing. "I'd love to have your baby."
"I couldn't bear wondering. And you'd be shamed. In 1927 you'd-you'd have a hard time finding a man to marry you and raise the baby as his." He squeezed his eyes shut but was unable to keep tears from seeping out at the
thought of Marie married to someone else.
"I don't want to marry anyone else!" Her sobs became louder, and she wrapped her arms around him.
"But you will. And so will I. We're both young. We'll end up settling for someone we love less than we love each other, just so we won't be alone."
"No!" She began crying so hard that she became ill and had to jump up and run to the bathroom.
Rick got up and followed her. He wet a washcloth for her and one for himself. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, handing her a washcloth as she straightened. "I should keep all these disturbing thoughts to myself."
With trembling hands, she began washing her face. "I feel torn completely in two. I don't think I can ever be happy again. When I go back, I'll be miserably lonely for you. But if I were to stay here, I'd miss my family, my home, my roots. I'd feel misplaced. I'd worry about my family and how upset they are and how they'd always wonder what had happened to me." She took her toothbrush and put toothpaste on it.
"I understand. But that doesn't make it any easier." Tossing his washcloth into the clothes basket, he picked up a brush, and when she straightened after having brushed her teeth, he began smoothing her hair with long, slow strokes.
Marie closed her eyes, tears seeping from them. She stood still for as long as she could, but finally, unable to bear the tenderness of his touch, she turned around and took the brush from him. "I'll never be able to go to the shore or drive a car or-or shop for bathing suits without feeling pain because it'll make me think of you. I don't want to have to stop brushing my hair."
He smiled just a bit. "I don't think I'll ever go to the beach again." He took her hands, his face growing serious. "And I swear to you that I'll never go to Hollywood with another woman."
She turned to reach for a tissue. "Please don't make me cry again."
They went back downstairs and lay on the sofa again. They talked quietly until they dozed off and then awoke, talked, and fell asleep again. A weak light was filtering into the room when Rick opened his eyes again, his heart heavy. In just an hour or so, he'd lose Marie forever.
Marie opened her eyes to find Rick gazing down at her. "Good morning."
"Morning."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
They were quiet for a few minutes. "Rick," Marie finally began, "maybe I should wait another day."
He didn't respond right away. "It won't be any easier tomorrow. And I can't promise I'll be able to stop myself if we start-start kissing again."
He was right. And she didn't think she'd stop him even knowing that they would end up making love.
Half an hour later Marie sat up. "I guess I'd better go get dressed."
"OK."
"I'm not going to take a shower. I've lain with you all night, and I want to have your scent on me as long as possible."
He smiled a bit. "I'll go take this shirt off and put it in a bag."
She went to her room and put on a set of black lace underwear and a set of emerald on top of that. Now that she knew Rick was the key to opening the door, she wasn’t worried that clothing from 2011 would keep her from getting back. She wanted to wear the black dress they'd bought for their trip to Hollywood, but she put on her Egyptian-motif dress, not wanting to shock her parents. She tucked Rick's handkerchief into her bra--bras--and then put on the silver bracelet he'd bought her in Tijuana. Finally she took Davis' betrothal ring from the little porcelain dish where it had lain since the night she'd realized she couldn't marry him. In a few hours she'd take it off and hand it to him.
Rick was outside her door when she opened it. He handed her a paper grocery bag, telling her, "This bag is kind of big, but all the others are plastic and have `Walmart' written on them."
"Thank you."
They went downstairs hand in hand. "Do you want some breakfast before . . . before you go?"
"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."
Rick hesitated at the kitchen door, glancing at Marie. He wanted to beg her to stay with him, to get down on his knees if he had to, cry, plead. But that would just make both of them miserable. She'd already made her decision.
He led her into the garden. "I'll sit here and think about your life in 1927. I think if you just walk straight out that way, you'll get home."
She linked her arms around his neck, still clutching the paper bag. "I love you with all my heart, Rick. This is tearing me apart. I want to spend my life with you. But I have to go home."
"I'll never love another woman the way I love you. I can't even imagine how I'm going to deal with the void you're about to create."
Tears sparkled in her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"I know."
He kissed her then, slowly, sweetly, longingly, trying to memorize the taste and feel of her mouth. He wanted to deepen the kiss, to evoke the passion he knew only too well that she was capable of, but such a kiss would be torture for both of them.
Marie at last ended the kiss. She gazed up into his eyes for a moment. "I love you, Rick."
"I love you too, sweetheart."
Slowly she backed out of his arms. She wanted to say something else . . . but there was nothing else to say. Swallowing, she squeezed his hand and turned away. As she walked into the garden, she was tempted to turn and look back. But that would just heighten their pain. With tears running down her cheeks, she quickened her steps.
Rick watched her disappear into the fog. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to think about 1927. He pictured Marie calling out for her mother, running into her arms, crying with joy at the reunion. He imagined her going with her cousin Tom to a speakeasy, ordering a cocktail simply because it was forbidden, dancing the Charleston. He pictured her putting on his t-shirt, holding his handkerchief to her nose, crying as she thought about him.
He thought about 1927 as long as he could and then remained there, frozen, his mind numb. He hoped that he'd been wrong, that he hadn't opened the door to 1927, that any minute now she'd come back to him. Finally he looked at his watch. It was 11:25. It had been 7:45 when they'd come into the garden. She was gone.