by JB Dutton
* * * * *
I took a chance that he was scheduled to work that afternoon. I showered and put on my shapeliest jeans – trying to look good without looking like I was trying, obviously – then headed out into a surprisingly warm late-December day.
Il Forno was an eatery on 7th Avenue that also made great lattes. Cruz was one of the busboys, and I knew that if I strolled in to “study” on my laptop during the dead zone between lunch and supper, I could grab a coffee and wait nonchalantly for him to show up. Yes, I would be nonchalant. Maybe suave... blasé even. Or some other cool-sounding French adjective.
Fail. Big-time. I trolled around YouTube for an hour while nervously watching the back of the restaurant like a hawk. (Right. More like a pigeon on espresso.) Then I saw his shape reflected in the glass behind the bar and almost dropped my coffee.
Even though the reflection was distorted, it was definitely him I could see through the open door to the kitchen, stacking a pile of aluminum trays on the counter. But his posture was slightly off – like he was wounded or something. His head was lowered. His usual panther-like movements were lethargic. I felt my pulse quicken and my temperature rise as the reflection came out of the kitchen.
He didn’t notice me at the other side of the restaurant. He walked past the dessert bar and through another door. But that briefest of glances at him was all that it took.
I knew instantly that I wanted to be with Noon. Whatever the reason, or whatever the emotion, that was the one thing I was sure of. I didn’t even care anymore what had happened between Cruz and Aranara. I didn’t feel jealous or angry, because... well, because I didn’t feel anything for Cruz when I saw him.
All I could think about was the sensation of Noon’s thoughts filling my mind, of his lips on mine, of the feeling of his body.
I was about to close my laptop and head back home when an email came in. My heart skipped a beat as I saw that the sender was Mom.
“Hey Kari – hope you’re well. I’ve had an amazing time. Bob is wonderful. We are returning tomorrow. We’ll be landing at 2 p.m. in his private jet at Teterboro, NJ. Would you come meet me at the airport? I miss you a lot and I can’t wait to see you and tell you all about the trip. I only have intermittent internet access so no need to reply. Love, Mom.”
Or maybe it wasn’t from Mom.
It was definitely her email address though. I wrote a quick reply, hoping to catch her while she was still online: “Hey! Just got your email. Will you pay for my cab to the airport? Luv ya, Kari.”
I hit Send and waited. If Bob had a private jet, why ask for me to go to the trouble of trekking out to New Jersey? I’d never even heard of Teterboro. I looked it up on Wikipedia and, okay, it was real enough and not that far away. But still – it didn’t really sound like Mom in the email.
I waited... then I got nervous that Cruz would come back and see me and things would get all weird. What should I do though? Should I go to the airport? What if it was a trap?
There was only one person who could give me advice, and that was Noon. Besides, I needed his calming voice and soft, ancient eyes. My freak-out on the rooftop the night before seemed like a century ago. Maybe, for an Embodied, it really was a century ago. Or maybe they’re time-travelers. In which case, why not just go back and fix things?
Wait... if they can do that, what would stop them being able to go back to the day that Dad had his accident? Oh, man... what if?
I slammed the laptop shut and ran out of the restaurant.
