Now, as I carefully carried a bowl of warm soup from the delivery tray to the bed where Olivia rested, I tried to think of what else I could do to make her comfortable. She was in pain, her recovery from surgery going well but rough on her.
It didn’t help she had a falling out with her friend and hadn’t a clue what she’d done to distance herself from her parents, I was sure.
Watching as she carefully scooted up in the bed beforehand, I passed her the dish, waiting until she’d taken the first sip before I let out the sigh I’d been holding in.
Other than being somewhat pale, I almost couldn’t tell she had any ailment. Her dark hair was twisted into a bun atop her head, a few strands dripping out of their own volition. Brown eyes that glowed like the sun at its rise appeared clear and focused. Aside from the purple shirt and pants she was wearing, it was as if she were exactly like she’d been on the Anderson farm.
The awful truth would not stop nagging at me, however. Appearances aside, I knew she was suffering because of me. If she hadn’t been trying to save me, she never would have ended up in this position.
For as long as I lived, I would never be able to forgive myself for it.
Watching as she slowly sipped, I frowned, knowing she needed more, but having not the faintest idea of what to do. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” I pressed. “Anything at all?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine, August, really. The soup is all I want right now.” Smiling, she took another sip, closing her eyes and resting her head against the pillows as she swallowed.
Taking a seat in one of the window chairs beside her, I rubbed my face, laughing. “Did you feel this useless when I was sick and injured?”
Snorting, she peered at me, a smile playing on her lips. “Yes.”
The honest answer surprised me, and I chuckled, putting my hand on the cover over her legs. “You will tell me if you are in need?”
“Of course I will.” Adjusting her position a little more, she set the bowl in her lap and stared at me. “I’m okay, I promise. It’s a little rough when you switch from hospital grade painkillers to prescription, that’s all. I feel sore, but not an amount you should worry about. Watch—in another week I’ll be almost as good as new. A week after that and I bet it’ll be like nothing happened in the first place.”
“Your doctor said six weeks,” I reminded her. “You aren’t to even lift anything until then.”
“Because the inside will still be healing,” she explained. “I’ll feel great in two or three weeks. The extra time is for my insides to get back to normal. I plan on returning to work in two.”
“Why?” Surprised, I furrowed my brow.
She sighed. “Things aren’t the same here. I only have two weeks worth of paid time off worked up. If I don’t go to work after that, I won’t have any money to pay my bills. I could also be let go, which would be catastrophic since my health insurance is through my job. If I don’t have that, I can’t get my checkup in six weeks to make sure everything has healed right.” She shook her head. “I can’t afford to take six weeks off.”
“Surely this warrants an understanding from your employer,” I persisted. “The quality of your life comes before the requisite of your work, does it not?”
“In a perfect world, yeah,” she conceded. “But this era isn’t like that. If I can’t do the job, they’ll find someone else who can. It’s that simple.”
Frowning, I fell silent, thinking it over. Then, an idea lit in my mind. “Charlotte Mercer gave me a card,” I started, rising from my chair and retrieving the stack of things I’d been given on my first night here.
“August,” she groaned, warning in her tone. “I don’t want to talk about them right now.”
Ignoring her, I continued with my rummaging, knowing she would appreciate why I’d brought Miss Mercer up in a moment. Once I’d found what I wanted, I held it out, showing her the front. “She said it has five thousand dollars on it. Granted, I used some to travel from here and the hospital and a few other things, but that should be enough to take care of your expenses, should it not?”
Her eyebrows raised. “It’s very kind of you to offer.” She bit her lip, staring at the gold card in my fingers and then sighed. “But, no. Even if it hadn’t come from . . . her . . . it won’t be enough. Well, it wouldn’t have been with my mortgage payment and insurance and everything.” She set the soup on the bedside table, uncovering herself and sitting on the edge of the bed. “The truth is, August, I don’t know what my expenses are exactly. I have no idea if I own a house or not. I crashed my car, so I have to make that payment, and whatever it’s going to cost to fish it out of the river and pay the ticket I got from the cops. I assume I still use some streaming services and have a few of my regular payments to make, but nothing is for certain.” Rubbing her face, she groaned, staring out the window. “Everything is so screwed up.”
Something in the tone of her voice made me think she wasn’t only pondering her financial situation. “Have you spoken with your parents?” I asked quietly, knowing she was struggling but feeling useless in my attempts to help her.
“You mean after they flipped out because I told them I’d be staying with you and not them or Emilia?” Her gaze rose to the ceiling, lips pursing before she answered. “No.”
“You could have gone with them if you wanted.”
Her eyes snapped to mine, her expression kind and sympathetic. “I didn’t want to.” Patting the bed beside her, she waited for me to sit and then rested her head on my shoulder, taking my hand in hers. “I know what it’s like to be stranded in a different time, alone and surrounded by things you’re unfamiliar with. Even if I had wanted to stay with someone else, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
I laid my cheek on her head. While I was thrilled she wished to stay with me, I could not help but feel she was letting too much go for my sake. “You are giving up the chance to be with your parents and mend whatever has been destroyed. I should have insisted you go with them. Were it not for the fear I felt at losing you, I may have.”
“And I would have refused to go with anyone but you,” she replied comfortably.
“Still.” Sighing, I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was so strange, seeing the numbers written out in glowing lights rather than settled on a face with hands.
“What’s done is done,” she whispered. “We are together. That’s all that matters now.”
Olivia didn’t move, her fingers grasping mine tightly as we stared out the window. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine nothing had changed. We were in my century. She wasn’t wearing nightclothes with silly drawings on them. I was in my regimental outfit. We were both healthy and safe. Married even. I would have taken her to a priest the very night I asked for her hand if I could have. In my core, I knew I did not want to spend one more minute where we did not completely belong to one another.
A long breath escaped me, and I opened my eyes. Unfortunately, things were not the same now. We were not both in good health and happily married. At this moment, I didn’t know when we ever would be.
Sighing, Olivia scooted away, carefully standing and hobbling around the bed. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” she stated, pausing at the foot as she smiled at me. “Do you want to move this stuff out to the couch and we can watch a movie or something when I’m done? I feel horrible, keeping you cooped up in this room all day with me. It’s not much, but television is a way to relax and experience things from this time, I guess.”
Grinning, I nodded, swiping her bowl off the table and rising. “I’ll bring the blanket and some pillows. Do you require my assistance with anything else before we sit down?”
“No.” Continuing her slow shuffle to the washroom, she hummed lightly to herself, one hand resting on the site of her incision.
Worry lines creased my forehead as I went into the adjoining space, setting her soup on a small shelf beside a bowl of fake fruit. Something had felt off about Olivia ever since w
e came here from the hospital. Not wanting to put more stress on her, I’d remained silent in my concerns, but she seemed to be developing a habit of not wanting to expound on our situation or what we could do to fix it.
A rattling sound clattered across the table, and I glanced at the cell phone I’d been given laying on the surface. It had remained there, forgotten, for a few days. Now, however, it was lit up with different colored lights, buzzing for a moment until it fell dark and silent once more.
Cautious, I moved to the other side of the room and picked it up, pressing the button that would illuminate the long, glass screen. The message I’d received was short and to the point, making my stomach twist uncomfortably.
I’ll see you when she goes back to work; more info to share.
Don’t tell Olivia.
~Charlotte
“You’re sure this is a good idea?” I pressed again, holding onto Olivia’s hand as tight as I could without injuring her.
She gave me a pointed look as we walked up the steps to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, no reply leaving her pursed lips as we hurried on our way.
Gulping down yet another worry, I stared at the large building ahead of us, its pillars and width astonishingly more numerous than I expected. The courtyard and walkways were already behind us, as were the busy streets and people moving through their day without a single care or inkling that their lives had been changed by our time traveling.
Of course, Olivia was acting as if nothing had changed as well. In the past two weeks while she healed from her surgery, she continued to refuse to speak about the Mercers or the fact that things had been grossly changed in her life. If ever I sought to bring up the topic, I was shut away at once, some excuse or reason given for why we could not speak of it just then.
Perhaps the greatest—and most destructive—of these justifications was our current plan of action. No matter how many times I contested my involvement, I somehow found myself going along with her desires.
“You remember what I told you, right?” she asked, somewhat breathless as she stopped beside the glass entrance to the main part of the building. “About school and all that?”
I nodded. “I remember. Surely, your curator will check my qualifications, will he not? I will be found out before we have even begun to secure me a position here.”
She shook her head, adjusting the long necktie I’d located in the closet after digging through all the clothes left for me. “Do your best to steer him away from it. Jeff said I was the best conservator they had. If that’s still true, my recommendation should be enough. It’s only a part-time job, anyway. You can spend your days off in the studio with me.”
“Olivia.” Frowning, I placed my hand over the top of hers. “I know you do not want to speak of it, but we will not be staying in this century forever. Why are you insisting we act as if we are?”
Biting her lip, she shook her head, pulling her hand away. “Life goes on, August,” she answered in a clipped tone. “I’m just taking it one moment at a time.”
“One moment at a time does not lead to me procuring employment in this place,” I muttered gently, touching her face and bringing her eyes to mine. “It leads to Charlotte Mercer and the information she can give us.”
She flicked my hand away with one finger, freeing her face. “No, it doesn’t,” she asserted. “The fact of the matter is you need money here, which means a job is essential. There’s no living without it.”
“Miss Mercer gave me money,” I reminded her, tired of letting her roll over my concerns and questions about what we were doing.
“Stop talking about Charlotte!” Her voice rose, drawing the attention of a few people, and she cleared her throat, blushing. “This is home now,” she insisted, speaking so quietly I had to lean in to hear. “I adjusted in your time. You’ll have to do the same in mine.”
For some reason, the words incited a small amount of anger in me. Had I not bent to every little thing as well as could be expected? Had I done nothing but care for her these past weeks? Had I failed in keeping my every question to myself, doing my best to let her heal and not bother her with the trivial nature of my inquiries?
I’d even let her talk me into applying for a position at the place of her employment, despite my better judgment not to. My intuition told me it was Charlotte Mercer we needed, not a job talking about history I’d lived through. We required answers and direction. Instead, we were floundering, limping along the road with only a vague idea of where we wanted to end up.
Frustrated, I snapped my mouth shut, following her as she went inside and strode to the large counter ahead of us.
“Miss Blake,” one of the men behind it said by way of greeting. His rather sizeable form was too big for the chair he sat in, the seat creaking as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the counter. “How are you feeling today?”
“I am very well, thank you,” she replied politely. “I was wondering if Mister Smithson was in yet? My fiancé is hoping to meet with him about the teacher’s position.”
His eyebrow raised as he looked at me behind her, the shiny plaque on his blue shirt catching the sunlight and shining in my eyes. “He is.”
Olivia drummed her fingers on the counter. “Could you help direct him to the curator’s office? I would do it, but I’m running a little behind.”
The man sighed, shoving to his feet, and pointed. “Through the doors behind me, hang a left, all the way to the end of the hall, hang a right, fourth door from the restrooms.”
“I thank you, sir,” I replied, tipping my head in gratefulness. “Your assistance is much obliged.”
The manner of my speech seemed to impress him, and he laughed, sitting down and folding his hands over his chest. “You are very welcome, sir,” he stated, chuckling as he stared at me. “What’s your name, son?”
“August Bancroft,” I replied promptly, bowing my head in respect as I’d done my entire life when being introduced to someone new. “Your servant, sir.”
The man snorted. “I’m Bart. This here is Eugene.” He motioned to the man beside him who was engrossed in reading some type of book. “You’ll have to excuse his manners.” Rising from his chair, he offered me his hand.
Stepping forward, I shook it in surprise. “Thank you, Bart. The pleasure is all mine.”
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Olivia said hurriedly, checking the phone in her hand. Pecking me on the lips, she thanked the man once more and dashed off through the doors ahead, leaving me alone in this era and place for the first time since she’d left the hospital.
“Fiancé, huh?” Bart grinned. “You’ll have your hands full with that one.”
Grinning sheepishly, I nodded. “Yes, it would appear I do.” Straightening, I ran a hand through the unfamiliar length of short hair on my head. “Thank you for the directions.”
“Good luck with your interview.” He sat down, returning to the paper and pen he’d been using before Olivia interrupted him.
Swallowing, I moved past the pair of sentinels and through the doorway as I’d been instructed. A grand staircase met me on the other side, with passages branching off beside me. Natural light flooded the space, illuminating the direction I’d been given, and I paused, staring down the long hallway. A few art pieces were hanging on the walls, but it was mostly deserted, the visitors of the museum moving up the stairs and skipping whatever lay ahead for me.
Swallowing hard, I pulled the cell phone from my pocket, looking at the front and the words scrawled across it. They’d appeared after we left the house this morning, buzzing into place without Olivia noticing as we rode here in a cab. I’d been uncomfortable keeping my planned meeting a secret from her these past weeks. Now . . . Well, it was safe to assume she wouldn’t have handled it well at all.
Meet me in the American History exhibit. ~CM
Stowing the small box in my coat, I cleared my throat and shook my head, moving in the direction of the curator’s office. If I was honest with myself, I did not k
now if I was willing to meet Miss Mercer on my own again.
What if Olivia was right? She had been stuck in my time for an entire year, forced to find a place to live and a means to take care of herself. She’d stayed on the Anderson farm because they paid her to, not because I was there.
Not at first, I’d like to believe.
Was it not the same in this time? We had managed to discover Olivia still owned her home in Garden Court, shared with Emilia, who remained absent from its façade. Without question, I was welcomed into the space, a shelter provided without so much as a blink on her part. She was also trying to procure employment on my behalf. It was the least I could do to follow through on my end and meet with the man who ran this business and attempt to woo him into bringing me on.
“The American History Exhibit is the other direction.”
Pausing at the voice, I let my shoulders slump, my head hanging slightly as I stared at the floor, willing myself to continue walking and ignore the woman behind me. Life could be so easy if I would just take the path Olivia wanted. We would be together and happy.
But I couldn’t do it.
Just as Olivia had felt the need to return to her own time, I felt the draw to mine, the siren call of my home spinning beautifully from the lips of the one person who could get me back there without a second thought.
“Miss Mercer,” I breathed, straightening and turning around. “I have a meeting prior to our engagement. Olivia has expressed a desire for us to keep a distance from each other and I intend to uphold—”
“You aren’t going to that meeting,” she replied with ease, flipping a long braid of dark hair over her shoulder as she smiled, dressed in her black outfit once more. “I called ahead, pretended to be Olivia, and canceled it.”
Taken aback, I frowned. “Whatever would you do that for?”
Pursing her lips into a small grin, she shook her head, motioning for me to follow as she turned and headed for the stairs the rest of the museum’s patrons had filed up. “You already have a job, Mister Bancroft,” she replied over her shoulder. “As of this morning, you are an official employee of Mercer and Smith Incorporated. Put simply, you work for me.”
Abandoning Anarchy (The Lost in Time Duet #2) Page 6