A Kiss in Time

by Alex Flinn

  There is a large tree nearby, an old one with moss hanging from it. I nudge Jack.

  “Teach me to climb that tree! I have never climbed one.”

  Jack looks at the tree, dubious. “That’s a hard one.”

  “Would it be difficult for you?”

  “No, I…”

  “Then show me. I am stronger than I look.”

  He nods and walks to the tree. “You have to get a good grip first. There aren’t any low branches, so you use your fingers. Then, dig in with your feet.”

  I try it. It is far more difficult than I had imagined. “What if I fall?”

  “I’m behind you. I’ll catch you.”

  This seems to help, for I am suddenly able to dig my feet in and climb a bit.

  “Good,” Jack says. “Now, grab that branch above you and pull yourself up.”

  I do. I do! And next thing I know, I am sitting upon the branch.

  “Now, grab the next one and get up on it,” Jack says.

  But I am already doing that. It is easy, now that I have started, and soon I am so high that the park seems to swim beneath me, and Jack is climbing up behind me. When we reach the highest branch I dare, I sit upon it and look down.

  The earth spins below me, and yet it is fine, like everything has been today. So what if I cannot be a model, if I am no longer considered beautiful, if Malvolia is trying to catch me. I am climbing a tree! And I am doing so with Jack.

  He comes up behind me. “You did it.”

  I nod. We sit there a moment, watching the children at play.

  “Why do you suppose this has happened?” I ask Jack.

  “What has?”

  “You. Me. You finding me after all those years. Of all the people who could have stumbled upon Euphrasia, why you?”

  “I said I was sorry about not being a prince.”

  “No. It is just…odd when you think about it. Had you and Travis not been in Belgium, and had you not been bored and looked for the beach and taken the wrong bus…I might still be asleep. Or some Belgian boy might have found me. In any case, I would not be here.”

  “It is weird when you put it that way,” he says.

  “Yes. Do you know the story of King Arthur and the Sword in the Stone?”

  “I saw the movie with Keira Knightley. But they didn’t concentrate on the stone part—mostly it was about Keira in a breastplate. She was Guinevere.”

  Guinevere in a breastplate? How interesting. “Arthur was the son of a king who died,” I say. “He was raised by Sir Ector, a knight. No one knew he was heir to the throne. Then, one day, a strange stone appeared in a churchyard. In the stone was a glittering sword, and written on it, in letters of gold, ‘Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is rightwise king born of all England.’”

  I swing my feet a bit and continue.

  “Many knights tried to take the sword, but none could budge it. So a day was chosen when all could try, and jousts were held as well. Sir Ector and his son, Kay, and Arthur also came. But when it was time for the joust, Kay found that he had broken his sword. He asked Arthur to ride back for another. When Arthur returned to the castle, he could not get it. That was when he remembered the sword he had seen in the churchyard. The guards were away, and the sword was there, alone. Thinking only to get a sword for his brother, young Arthur took the hilt and drew the sword from the stone.”

  I love this part!

  “Why could he take it out when no one else could?” Jack asks.

  “He was meant to be king. Destiny. Do you believe in destiny, Jack?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you not think, Jack, that perhaps it was destiny, you going to the castle? Do you think you were destined to be the one to wake me?”

  I wait. If he believes in destiny, perhaps he will believe that he is my destiny. I sit, feeling the wind upon my face. Below, the boys are finished playing. They run their several ways, some stopping at the newly weeded garden.

  “Hey, would you look at this?” one of them says.

  “Yeah. Someone got rid of all the weeds.”

  “Cool.”

  What will Jack say? What will he say?

  Finally, he says, “I don’t know.”

  “You do not know?” The words explode from me like cannon fire, and some of the children look up at us. “But what do you think? Surely you must think something, sometime, you silly boy?”

  It is useless. I was wrong to believe that Jack could be my destiny, my beloved. He cares not for me at all. He thinks of nothing but play.

  “Never mind,” I say. “It is of no import.”

  “But you didn’t let me finish. I was going to say that I don’t know about destiny. I don’t know if there even was a King Arthur, or if that’s just some dumb story.”

  I sigh, not merely because I adored Morte d’Arthur, but also because Jack is missing my point entirely.

  “But what I do know is that everything’s different since I’ve been with you. I’m different. Like being here. I might have thought about coming here, but I wouldn’t have. I’d have been out partying. You made me remember. I don’t know if I was destined to wake you up, or if it was just dumb luck. But I’m glad it happened this way.”

  “Are you?” I ask.

  He nods. “Before, I’d say I didn’t want to do what my dad wanted, but I knew I’d end up doing it, anyway. I’d go to college and major in what he wants me to major in and do what he wants me to do, and one day I’d wake up and I’d be sixty and with all my decisions made for me.”

  His voice is soft, and he smells of dirt and the air above us, and it is a clean smell.

  “And now?” I say.

  “Now, maybe I won’t.”

  I nod. This is where he should say that he is in love with me, that I have changed his life and that he loves me for it. But he doesn’t. Is it because he is shy? Or because he is too young to say such a thing? Too scared after Amber?

  Or is it merely because he does not love me?

  The worst of it is, I am falling in love with him. Before, I was merely trying to make him love me. My own feelings were meaningless. But now, I, Princess Talia, am in love with a boy, a boy who does not love me back.

  Jack takes his telephone from his pocket and looks at it. “I guess we should be going. Meryl just texted that my dad’s actually coming home for dinner.”

  “Really?” I try to swallow my disappointment. “I look forward to meeting him, and you can discuss some matters with him as well.”

  “Some matters,” meaning, of course, his hopes and ambitions. I am one to talk, having run away from my own father. Still, I suspect at least some things are easier for those not to the castle born. While Jack’s father may be angry if Jack fails to follow in his path, it is the tradition of a mere generation or so, not the divine right of kings. And Jack will only be disappointing his own family, not an entire kingdom.

  Jack says, “Yeah, maybe. Can you get down?”

  I look, and I am dizzy again, but I say, “I think so.”

  “I’ll catch you if you fall. Or you can fall on me.” He starts to climb down.

  When we reach bottom, I say, “Jack, what is a garden club?” When he gives me a questioning look, I say, “Meryl said that you egged a car owned by the president of your mother’s garden club.”

  Jack shrugs. “I’m thinking it’s a club for ladies who like to…garden.”

  “So then your mother is interested in plants as well?”

  “I guess.”

  “And you have never told her of your shared interest?”

  “I never…” He shifts his knees. “I mean, she wouldn’t care. My dad wants me to go into his business. He’s in charge.”

  I laugh. “You do not know the first thing about women, do you?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Even in my time, we knew that men were not in charge. Oh, they might bluster as if they were. But when it came down to it, we women bore much of the
influence. Often, my father would make some grand pronouncement in the evening. And the next morning, he had changed his mind. After a while, I realized that it was my mother who had changed it, quietly, in the night.”

  Jack appears to think about it. “So you’re saying…”

  “I am saying that perhaps your mother would be your ally. It would be diplomacy.”

  When we return, Meryl is outside in the front yard, sitting underneath a tree. She clutches her pad to her, clearly interrupted in the act of drawing by Jennifer, the wicked girl from the next house. As Jack and I approach, I hear the word “weird.”

  “Hello, Meryl,” I say, loud enough to interrupt Jennifer’s cruel talk.

  The girl immediately breaks from Meryl, but not due to any guilty conscience about disturbing her. No, she has other motives.

  “Hi, Jack,” Jennifer says, throwing her chest out and prompting me to clutch Jack’s arm in a most territorial and un-princesslike manner. Nonetheless, the tramp runs her hand across his arm. To his credit, Jack seems uncomfortable at the attention.

  “Meryl,” I say, “how is that new drawing coming along? I am dying to see it.”

  She smiles. “Really?”

  “Really. I have thought of little else.” This is not true, for I have been thinking of how to make Jack fall in love with me. But Meryl does not have to know that, nor does Jennifer, who is rather a junior version of Amber.

  “I’ve been working on it all day.” Meryl takes it out to show me.

  Jennifer laughs. “That junk. I’ve seen her drawings. They suck.”

  I start to defend Meryl, but she interjects. “A lot you know. Talia thinks they’re good, and she studied art with Carlo Maratti!”

  “Who’s that?” Jennifer’s derision shows on her face.

  “And you know what else, Jennifer?” Meryl continues. “My brother isn’t going to like you, no matter how much you stick your boobs in his face. Right, Jack?”

  Jack sort of nods. Jennifer’s mouth takes on the appearance of one of the suits of armor in the castle hall, when the hinges have rusted out and the face mask hangs open.

  “Come on, Talia.” Meryl gestures for me to follow her.

  I do so, without a backward glance at Jack, but I am amazed. I have changed things. I have helped Meryl to stand up to Jennifer. I am sure of it. I have changed Jack, too. I know it. But is it enough? Perhaps if I can help Jack to speak with his father, it will make him love me.

  Chapter 23:

  Jack

  Talia’s grabbing my arm all the way down the stairs. I don’t know if it’s because she’s nervous about having dinner with my parents (both of them, here for dinner on the same day!) or just that guys held out their arms to help girls back in her time. I sort of like having her hold on to me. But I bet if my dad sees her holding my arm, he’ll see it another way. “Clingy,” he’ll say. That’s what he used to say about Amber.

  But maybe it would be okay if it was the guy’s idea. So right before we go into the kitchen, I take Talia’s hand off my elbow and put it in my hand. I give it a squeeze. She squeezes back. “It will be okay,” I say.

  “I might say the same to you.”

  Then we walk into the kitchen. My dad’s there in his suit and tie, like every other day of my life, so it’s weird that I have this urge to throw my arms around him, like I did when I was three and he went out of town, to say, “Daddy.”

  But I don’t.

  “Dad, this is Talia, the girl I met in Europe. She’s staying with us.”

  “Nice to meet you, Talia. Have a seat.” As soon as she does, he turns back to me. “So, Jack, it’s lucky, your coming home early. Ed Campbell was telling me he’s looking for a summer intern for his office.”

  I’m torn between annoyance and annoyance—annoyance that my dad’s not even going to bother disapproving of Talia. Instead he’s going to ignore her completely. And annoyance at the idea of a summer internship. Like, couldn’t he say hello at least before he starts trying to turn me into him?

  I know what that means—my dad talked one of his golf buddies into offering me a job making copies and fetching Starbucks to “get a feel for the business” and look good on my college apps. Boring. Talia says I should tell my parents what I want. But she doesn’t know what that’s like when you’re a regular person, not a princess.

  “Um, I don’t think so, Dad. I sort of have other plans for the summer.”

  “Partying and going to the beach?”

  “No. Not exactly.” Although what’s so bad about that? I mean, I am seventeen years old with my whole life to work.

  “Good, then. So I’ll tell Ed you can come in Monday.”

  It’s Thursday. I should probably be happy he’s at least giving me a weekend before he destroys my summer. But Talia’s staying a week.

  Dad’s talking about what a great opportunity this is, blah, blah, blah….

  “Mr. O’Neill,” Talia says, “I believe what Jack was trying to say is that he has other plans for an occupation during the summer.”

  “Excuse me?” Dad gets that line that he always gets between his eyes whenever he talks to me. “Young lady, I don’t believe I asked—”

  “She’s right, Dad,” I say. “I was thinking about putting up some flyers at the grocery store, about doing gardening. It would be, like, starting my own business.”

  “Gardening?” Dad laughs. “Jack, you’re not eight years old anymore, and we’re not poor, either. This internship will look great on your college applications.”

  Here we go with college applications.

  “I like plants, okay?”

  “Well, that’s just ridiculous. What are you going to do—work at Home Depot?”

  Mom holds up a bowl of string beans. “Beans?” When I shake my head, she says, “Enough about work. Tell us about your trip, Jack.”

  Then she starts talking about it herself. She’s memorized my entire itinerary, starting with Day One, Museum One and starts going through it. I answer, trying to avoid the words boring and lame and also trying to keep from looking at Dad. We’re talking and laughing like everything’s okay, but I know it’s not.

  When I finish, Dad says, “So, I’ll call Ed and tell him you can start Monday?”

  “I told Talia you’d never listen to me.”

  “This was Talia’s idea, then?” Dad says.

  “Yeah. I mean, no…I mean, the gardening business was my idea. Trying to tell you about it, like you’d actually care what I want, that was Talia’s idea.”

  “We just want what’s best for you,” Mom says, “and for your college—”

  “I don’t even want to go to college.”

  Which stops her for about two seconds. Then she turns to Talia. “Talia, you must have been to so many museums growing up in Europe. Which is your favorite?”

  “Can I be excused?” Meryl says.

  “Yes, dear.” Mom turns back to Talia. “Now, as I was saying…”

  I say, “You can’t just change the subject and expect things to go away.”

  She stops in midsentence, looking at the bowl of rice like she’s trying to decide whether to try and change the subject yet again. But finally she looks at me.

  “The reason I change the subject, Jack, is because it helps me to ignore the fact that my son, the child I bore and raised from infancy, has no interest in anything we want, no respect for—”

  “That is not true,” Talia interrupts.

  Both Mom and Dad stare daggers at Talia, but she continues. “I have known Jack only a week, but already I can tell how much your opinion means to him. When we were traveling in Europe, you were in his thoughts and conversation the whole time.”

  Is that true?

  “Young lady,” Dad says, “I hardly think this is any of your business.”

  “No, it is not. But perhaps as an outsider, I can see more clearly. Jack does respect your opinion. He craves your approval. But he feels that the only way he can get it is to deny his true nature and
do exactly as you say.”

  Mom looks at me. “Is that true?”

  I nod.

  Talia continues. “It was my idea that Jack should tell you where his real interests lie, in gardening, in being with the earth. I said I was certain caring parents like yourselves would understand.”

  “Young lady,” Dad says. “I don’t know who you are or where you’re from, but you have no idea the sort of pressures a boy like Jack will face, the competition…”

  “Dad,” I say.

  Talia holds out her hand. “You are right. I have no idea, and it is none of my business, and I was taught to obey my parents. But sometimes it is just impossible to obey blindly. Sometimes a child must strike out on her own. A child cannot be a child forever, whether that means not touching a spindle or…or…”

  I know, of course, that she’s not just thinking about me but of herself and her own parents. I think what she’s saying is pretty profound.

  Dad looks away. “I’ll tell Ed you’ll be in Monday.”

  “I won’t be there.” I stand. “Come on, Talia.”

  “Jack!” My mother tries to follow me.

  “Sorry I ruined our family dinner,” I say.

  Talia follows me out. “That did not go well.”

  “It’s not your fault. It never goes well.”

  She purses her lips in that cute way she does. “It certainly makes me think about my own situation.”

  She means about leaving, about going home. She’s still thinking about it. I don’t want her to go. Yet I have no idea how to get her to stay. I was hoping maybe my parents would give in, let her stay a little longer, at least until the end of summer. After the mess at dinner, that’s not looking very good.

  Thing is, I’m falling in love with her. But my parents wouldn’t want to hear that, either.

  The next morning, Talia beats me downstairs again. When I finally make it to breakfast, Talia whispers, “It did work!” Then, louder, she adds, “Your mother has been telling me of a lovely garden nearby, where she volunteers. Will you take me to it?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “I seem to have walked into the wrong room. My mother is talking to you about gardening?”