Surprised to be following the teachings so well, I nodded. “And the loops? How do you find those?”
Smiling, she motioned toward me. “How did you grasp one had opened on your end when you went through?”
I shrugged. “There was nothing really. Only a flash of light, like lightning.”
“Exactly,” she agreed happily. “The added mass of a string connecting with itself creates air bubbles in the water—cavitation, if you were wondering what the scientific name is—and the sound wave created by the string’s singing brings about sonoluminescence, which is the process of rapid sound breaking apart the gaseous zones in a liquid, causing light to be emitted. Or, in other words, a flash like lightning.”
She laughed as I stared at her blankly, the reasons she shared both making sense and leaving me completely stumped because of the words she’d used. “So . . .” Frowning, I folded my arms, brow furrowing as I thought it over. “The loop is only open for as long as it is connected to the string?”
“Right again,” she quipped. “Once it breaks away, the string is straight, and the dates do not touch.”
“And you have to wait for the string to loop over before you can go through again,” I finished, understanding settling around me at last. “Which is why we have to wait a year before we can revisit the Delaware and travel to my own time once more.”
“No.”
Miss Mercer’s response was quick and harsh, warning covering her face as she placed her hands on the table and leaned toward me. “You absolutely cannot travel to a time you have already been in. The only instance in which you can use a loop twice is like Olivia did. She left this time, traveled to one she’d never been to, and returned to the moment she first left from. If she were to try and go back to seventeen seventy-six, she would never make it.”
“Why not?” I asked, surprised by her sudden insistence.
She shook her head. “Time will not let you.”
I scoffed. “Time? You speak as if it were a person, with thoughts and ambitions.”
She stared at me pointedly. “Close enough,” she muttered. “I’m not sure if it’s a person, or a god, or whatever you want to call it. All I know is that time knows. It can tell if you’ve changed something you aren’t supposed to, if you’re trying to go somewhere you’ve already been, or if you traveled and came back with knowledge that doesn’t exist anymore.” Gesturing to the books around us, she huffed. “That’s how I see that you’re missing. Ten years ago, I returned to this time and looked you up to see if you were telling the truth about who you were. Everything I searched turned up. But now? You’re gone. The only reason I remember finding everything is because I’m a traveler. For whatever reason, travelers are allowed to remember the altered timelines. Maybe it’s a blessing, or even a curse because we have to live with the comprehension of what was. Either way, you used to be a part of history, but now you aren’t. Someone has changed the timeline, trying to get rid of you specifically. I can only think of one person who would have done that.”
“Gabriel,” I breathed immediately. “But why? What does it benefit him to erase me?”
She shrugged. “I’ve yet to figure that out. I don’t think I can do it on my own.” She stared at me pointedly. “What was the nature of your relationship with my brother?”
Frowning, I shook my head. “Nothing of consequence. We met only a handful of times, and the most significant of those was when he saved my life at the Battle of Germantown. When I saw him last, he was drunk and complaining that I had taken the medicine he needed to save General Mercer. Our conversation came to blows and the eventual stabbing of Olivia.”
Sitting, Miss Mercer rubbed her temples, squeezing her eyes shut as she muttered to herself. “Olivia’s parents are supposed to be dead too, right? Which means Gabriel messed with her life too for some reason . . .”
Sighing, she rose to her feet, folding her arms as she stared at me. “Here’s how I see it: we’re going to have to go and find him to figure out why he’s done all this stuff.”
“You mean to when you met me in the past?” I questioned, losing her meaning.
“No.” She shook her head. “You’re going to have to do that on your own. I can’t go with you because I’ve already been there. After you get back, then we can work on getting to Gabriel.”
“You want me to travel by myself?” Shocked, I rose as well, shaking my head as I backed away. “I don’t think I can do that. If Olivia finds out—”
“It’s your choice,” she stated, shrugging nonchalantly. “But I think I know which way you’ll end up going.”
The movement of a paintbrush over canvas had always relaxed me. There was something about the sound of the bristles pattering their way along, paint swirling across a surface, and an image revealing itself from nothing that was utterly intoxicating. Whenever I had struggled with life in the past, art had been there for me. As I thought August lay dying in Philadelphia, the only thing I’d been able to do to comfort myself and preserve his memory was create his portrait. I never thought there would be a time when I couldn’t turn to a blank sheet and let out my frustrations peacefully and creatively.
Unfortunately, it appeared that day had arrived.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I stared at the piece I was supposed to be restoring, trying to ignore the churning in my stomach. Everything had appeared the same when I first came into work this morning. Josh was still my boss, I continued to be considered a talented member of the team, and even the decorations in the studio were unchanged. However, there was one major thing I couldn’t help but notice.
The art was different. Scenes that were burned into my mind as iconic moments in time were changed. The Death of General Mercer at the Battle of Princeton, January 3, 1777 was now titled The Wounding of General Mercer, a brave doctor tending to him and warding off the British soldiers who would see him dead. The same man appeared beside George Washington in other renderings, as well as the centerpiece of several other works. One such frame sat before me now, in need of general maintenance and care after being on display for several years at another location.
The man stood in the center of a road, his hands locked around a struggling spy, Redcoats in the background aiming their guns at the pair. It was a moment of pure bravery and patriotism, considered one of the greatest American victories of the Revolution.
And it was completely twisted, the moment in time altered by a man who never should have been there in the first place.
Frowning, I stared at the face of Gabriel Scott Mercer, triumphant and victorious as he shattered the turncoat Benedict Arnold’s plans to escape to the British. It appeared he had caught the traitor just in time, stopping him as he fled for his life.
“Can you believe it?” Josh asked excitedly, staring at the picture with reverence and awe. “Captain Mercer and the Capture of Benedict Arnold. When we requested it from the Metropolitan Art Museum, I thought our chances of getting it were slim at best. And here it is! This painting was one of the ones that made me want to become a conservator, you know? I loved the story this thing shares with us all these years later.” Sighing happily, he folded his arms. “Look at him. Can you imagine what would have happened if Arnold had managed to get away? Mercer was an American hero.”
“If you say so,” I mumbled under my breath. “The British wouldn’t have trusted a traitor. He betrayed his fellow soldiers. Who’s to say he wouldn’t have done the same to them? At least, that’s what I think the British would have thought,” I amended quickly, realizing that the falsified portrait I stared at now was one hundred percent real and genuine in his eyes.
Josh laughed, raising his eyebrows. “Quite the conspiracy theorist this morning, aren’t we?”
I smiled tightly. “Only considering all the options,” I answered, the words stiff.
“Well, consider all you want,” he replied without condemnation. “You’re the only one I would trust to fix this beauty up other than myself. You’ll have it looking like
new by the end of the day, and it can take its place back in the American History Exhibit as planned.” Patting me on the shoulder, he stepped away, moving on to whatever else it was he had to do today and leaving me alone at last.
Frustration ripped through me as I sat on my stool, staring at the abomination in front of me. The brush clutched in my fingers was near snapping, I was gripping it so hard. Try as I might, I couldn’t relax my hold or wipe the smug expression off my face.
All I wanted was to go on like nothing happened. Was that so much to ask? By some miracle, I had been given my family back and allowed to keep August as well. Trying to set everything in order would be the same as murdering them. Even if I wanted things the same as they had been, I would never be able to live with that on my conscience.
And why should I want to fix it? Who was to say this wasn’t some divine plan, set in stone a millennium ago by a god who knew I should have all the people I love with me at once? I hadn’t done anything other than try to be a good person in the past. Surely, deciding the fate of my mother and father was not an appropriate punishment for doing nothing.
Tossing the clean brush on the table beside me, I rubbed my hands over my face, feeling like I could cry for the next hour. Going back to work was supposed to be my escape from August and his attempts to get me to talk about what we should do. It wasn’t that I wanted to be away from him, but I didn’t know how many more times I could redirect him. He didn’t understand my reservations, and I wasn’t able to explain them to him without giving in and talking about our plans in this time.
You’re going to have to deal with it, Olivia, I told myself firmly. Things are different in this time, but it’s worth it to leave them that way. History hasn’t changed too much. America is still what it’s supposed to be, your life is on track, and, aside from a few minor nuisances, everything is how it is supposed to be. You’ve got this. Don’t go spiraling out of control now just because Gabriel’s face is everywhere.
Shaking my head, I swiped the brush from the table once more and set to work, forcing myself to focus on the small details and not what the picture as a whole meant. As I retreated to a place in my mind I could work from without distractions, I found the labor came more natural, my absent-minded musings humming along to the classical music I loved so much. The chords were familiar and calming, welcoming me back from the year-long respite in which I’d lived without them.
After a few hours, the work was complete and sent away, letting me breathe a full gasp of relief as Gabriel’s face vanished at last. Something about looking at him made the site of my stab wound tingle, like an unpleasant reminder of his actions against me.
Glancing at the clock and seeing it was time for my lunch break, I bit my lip, trying to decide what to do. August should have been finished with his interview hours ago and would be ready to meet up. He was probably wandering through the museum, waiting for me to call and tell him where to go.
Pulling my phone from my purse, I stared at the screen, the reflection of my eyes in the glass uncertain. I unlocked the device and went to my contacts, finger hovering over August’s new number. Then, deciding to follow my gut instinct instead, I scrolled down and clicked the name of the person I wanted to talk to most.
“Mom?” I asked as soon as she picked up the phone. “Are you free for lunch?”
Laughing as I picked my wine glass off the table, I shook my head, holding my free hand up in disagreement. “I never said I liked Johnny! We went to junior prom together, that was it.”
Finally, something was the same as I remembered it. Our favorite lunch spot—a tiny but elegant bistro decorated with overflowing green plants and colored glass—remained just as I had always pictured it, right down to what my mother ordered to eat and drink.
“You were head over heels in love with him,” Mom insisted, laying her fork across her salad plate. “And it was more than junior prom. You two went to every school dance and dated through your first year of college. When he broke up with you, I . . .” She paused, her face flushing as she gulped down a sip of her own wine. “I thought that was the reason you started acting out so bad. I mean, you were a bit of a troublemaker before, but nothing like what happened after Johnny.”
The mirth faded away from my face as I leaned in my seat, glancing around the crowded bistro, and I bit my lip. “Mom.” Hesitating, I met her stare, an apology I didn’t know how to make on my lips.
“Of course, not every teenager has a run in with the police, but still. I suppose that was to be expected, what with all those loud parties you kept going to.” She shrugged, returning to her plate, the conversation grinding to an uncomfortable halt as we obviously breached a subject she didn’t want to talk about.
“Mom,” I started, desperate to make her understand that I wasn’t the same person she knew. Something about me was different in this timeline, something bad, and I hadn’t been able to fix it. “When I went into the river the other day I . . . I actually . . .”
The truth wouldn’t come out of my mouth. She would never in a million years believe that time travel was possible, let alone the fact that her own daughter had done it. There had to be some sort of explanation she would understand, but all I could come up with was a weak attempt at reversing whatever my altered-time-self had done to make everything so horrible. “I don’t remember what all happened,” I confessed softly. “In my life, I mean. The last few years are all a blur. When you came to see me at the hospital, I had no idea we were estranged. My accident has changed everything, though.”
Her eyebrow raised, a hint of disbelief in her stare.
“I’m not saying that excuses whatever I did,” I hurried to say. Twiddling my thumbs, I stared at my lap. “It sounds like it was a crap fest, whatever it was. Emilia said I took your money and ran off? I have no idea.” Sucking in a long breath, I met her expectant eyes once more. “But, I do want to tell you I’m sorry. I can’t imagine a world where we can be together and we aren’t. Will you forgive me?”
She stared at me a moment longer and then smiled, reaching across the table to take my hand. “Of course I will, sweetie,” she assured me. “There’s nothing you could do that would keep me mad at you. Why do you think I’m here now? You’re reaching out. It’s time to patch things up.”
A long sigh released from my lips, relief flooding through me at the words. Grasping her fingers in my own, I covered them with my other hand, our arms spread across the tabletop. “Thank you,” I replied sincerely. “It means a lot to me to hear you say that, Mom. I’ve missed you like crazy.”
“I’ve missed you too.” Sighing, she pulled away, resting in her seat as she crossed her legs and relaxed. “Of course, this means you’re going to have to talk with your father about paying the money you owe us. You’re fine with doing that, aren’t you?”
Taken aback some by the no-nonsense tone she was using I swallowed, folding my hands. “Right. What happened with all that again?”
Shaking her head, she held her hand up, stopping me from replying. “I don’t want to hash it all out here, but I think we should at least agree to speak about it sometime soon. Not like the last time your father and I tried to work it out—we don’t need you running off with another strange man to who knows where for however long. Can you agree to be civil about it this time around?”
Raising my eyebrows, I leaned back, folding my arms. “Strange man?”
She took another sip of her wine and shook her head. “I assume that’s who this August man is, isn’t it? Or is he a different one from the guy who took you to Vegas two years ago?”
Blinking, I strained to comprehend the tone she was using with me. If I wasn’t mistaken, my own mother was basically calling me a slut without saying the actual word. The way she was looking at me, her posture, and the sickly condemning sound of her voice left no doubt in my mind.
“Mom, if you have something to say, why not just say it?” I pressed. “I already told you I don’t remember what’s happened.”
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br /> “Naturally.” The volume of the word caused the people at the next table to look over. “You have no memory of the wrongs you committed against your parents, yet you remember a man who you claim is your fiancé. A man I have never met or heard about until now.”
“I’m not claiming anything,” I replied defensively. “August is my fiancé, and I don’t remember what happened. Why are you getting so upset?”
Frowning, she took a bite of her salad, holding her hand up to keep me from talking more. “I think, after everything you’ve pulled, I am allowed to be upset, Olivia. This isn’t something that can be fixed over lunch. Your father should be a part of it too.”
The way she said it made it clear she was done talking with me. The rest of our meal was eaten in silence before she announced she had to go and asked me to call whenever I was ready to meet up with the both of them.
My heart hurt. I’d been so sure we were on the road to patching things up. Life wasn’t supposed to be this way! Why was it so hard to make everything right again?
Steeling my nerves, I paid the check and headed to work. This is just like Gabriel, I reminded myself. Things are all screwed up, but I can fix them. All I have to do is work through it.
It was so easy to feel like the world was spiraling out of control. No matter what I tried to do, my life somehow stayed screwed up. Emilia still wouldn’t answer her phone. Mom and Dad were mad at me, though it did seem like they were willing to work together for some resolution. The art was all different, a man named Louis Mercer—a name that I was sure wasn’t a coincidence—was plastered everywhere as the newly elected governor of Pennsylvania, and to top it all off, August was missing.
Abandoning Anarchy (The Lost in Time Duet #2) Page 8