by Jill Cooper
Copyright 2012-2017. All Rights Reserved, Jill Cooper. No part may be duplicated, reproduced, sold or distributed without permission.
Cover by Laécrio Messias
Edited by: Jacob Neff
Prologue
Ten Years Ago….
Miranda Crane waited at the crosswalk on Massachusetts Ave, her arms full of grocery bags, but the cars continued to whizz past. Impatient, Miranda sighed and tore a glance at her watch. It was her turn to make dinner and she wasn’t going to make it home before Lara, her little girl, got off from school.
Couldn’t happen at a worse time. She’d been consumed by work, and it had nearly led to her marriage’s destruction. Miranda had no choice; she had to get home. So, taking her life in her hands, she sprinted for it. As luck would have it, she made it to the center, waited for traffic to pass, and finished crossing the street.
She blew out a sigh of relief. There was so much to do, but getting home was top priority. There was always tomorrow, Miranda reminded herself, to finish her errands and secure a moving truck. Moving across the country took a lot of work, but she was determined to get the job done.
And no one from the office would ever know—not until it was too late.
When her cell phone rang, Miranda sighed with exasperation. Like she wasn’t running late enough as it was? When she dug her cell phone out of her purse and saw who it was…
Pushing back her long, brown, curly hair, Miranda answered the phone. “You weren’t supposed to call me again, Jax.”
“Miranda, we need to talk.”
‘Talk,’ like that was the only thing he wanted to do. “What is there to talk about? Lara needs me. John and I, we’re starting over. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but you only complicate things."
Jax’s words tumbled out fast and furious. “That’s not what I want to talk to you about. Miranda, you’ve got to listen to me. It’ll be quick, I promise. Before you leave Boston for good.”
How did he know? How had he found out? A shiver ran up her spine. “You can’t change my mind. I love my family, Jax."
“I know you do, and this concerns them, too. Just listen to me, for God’s sake.”
Miranda gazed at the Tower Records music store as she passed by. She was standing in the mouth of the alley behind the old record store when she heard something drop. Her eyes shifted and she gazed back at the street. “My family doesn’t need this. John’s given me a second chance. One I don’t deserve. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m not going to waste time listening to any more of your lies.”
Her voice trailed off. A void, a small wisp of a man, called out to her from the alley—but who could it be?
“Miranda…"
A shiver ran up Miranda’s spine, but she still didn’t move. “I’ll have to call you back.”
Jax sighed. “Hold on a second—"
Miranda ended her call and took a ginger step forward, just into the opening of the alley. “Is someone there?"
She saw a figure move in the darkness and a head popped up from behind the dumpster.
Her heart skipped a beat. She backed away as she saw the man raise his arm. Was he holding something?
Miranda gripped the side of the brick building with her hand as she turned to leave, but the gun went off. A shiver of cold raced through her body. She screamed, and the grocery bag, along with her phone and her handwritten to-do notes, fell from her hands.
She clutched her chest, unable to take a deep breath as footsteps rushed towards her. The man in his thick black overcoat barely paused to grab her hand-written notes. He jumped over her body, fleeing the scene.
The phone was just out of her reach, but even so, her bloody fingers reached for it. She tilted her head back and wheezed her shallow, final breath. “John…"
Chapter One
"Dad, you’re going to be late for work!"
The apartment is small enough that dad can hear me even though I’m still in the kitchen making his breakfast. Hell, the walls of the apartment are so thin, our neighbors on all sides can probably hear me—at least, if Apartment 20B would turn their music volume down.
But I’ve grown up like this since I was six-years-old. Ten years of bad apartments and worse neighbors—I barely remember anything else.
Breakfast finishes cooking. Scrambled eggs, bacon, a side of toast with jam, and coffee. Just the way Dad likes it before he heads off to his first job of the day.
Toast is already on the table, and I scrape the eggs onto two blue plates, pour the coffee, and set the small table that’s cramped in the corner of the kitchen. By the time I head back over to the stove, Sparky, our dog, pulls a piece of bacon off the baking sheet.
“Bad dog,” I pet his head and he knows I’m not serious. Who could be, with an adorable face like his?
When the bedroom door opens, I stand with one hand on my hip while the other grips the wooden spoon that still has scrambled egg bits stuck to it.
“I know, I know.” Dad rushes to the table and buttons up his blue gas attendant shirt. There’s a patch on the left-hand side of his chest that reads ‘John’. He’s a beefy guy, but handsome, and I smile at the sight of his smooth cheeks.
“You shaved.” I sit down across the table from him, and we eat breakfast without a lot of fanfare. Sparky whines and circles our feet beneath the table, but we’re so used to it, he’s easy to ignore.
Dad shovels eggs into his mouth, and then rushes it down with his coffee. “Well, you told me to,” Dad smirks. “But I have to wonder what this is all about.”
I’m so giddy, I giggle. “You’ll find out tonight after work. Just bring home flowers.”
He studies me as he chews his food. “At least life with Lara Crane is never dull. You have your mother’s spunk, have I ever told you that?”
When Dad brings up Mom, his eyes sparkle and look sad—at the same time. That sense of longing has always been with both of us. It’s never changes. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that once or twice.”
“Thanks for breakfast. Saturday it’s my turn, I promise.”
He shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep, but I’m grateful he at least wants to make me breakfast. “Pancakes?”
“Pancakes. Maybe I’ll try the funny shapes again.”
I cringe without meaning to. The last time he tried to make shapes, I ended up with crisp Picasso drawings.
“Or…” Dad slugs back from his coffee. “Circles might be better.”
I agree. “Sorry, Dad.”
“It’s all right. Can forgive your old man for trying, right?” Dad gives me a wink and he reaches over to ruffle my brown, curly hair. “Get to school on time, and I’ll see you tonight, baby girl.”
I smile from ear to ear. “I will. See you. Dinner at eight. Tonight, we’ll have something other than mac ‘n’ cheese out of the pot.”
“Something big must be happening if you’re breaking out the bowls. Pay attention in class. If you need anything…well…you know where I am, Lara.”
I do. I just wish it was at home, but I understand why he’s gone. The crummy apartment we live in isn’t free, and neither are things like food and clothes.
Like a whirlwind, he’s gone and out of the house. Dad heads to his first job, and by the time he’ll be back tonight, long after the sun has set, he’ll have just wrapped up his third.
It takes a lot for him to support us, since mom…
She’s been dead ten years. Ten long years of me and dad living in crummy apartments, with barely enough money to scrape by. Sometimes, I can barely remember her face. I can sort of remember what life was before it suddenly changed. Instead of Mom, I ended up with my grandmother as a babysitter, until she died, too.
Just like that.
That’s what people always sa
y, ‘life changed,’ but really it was so much more than that. And life is going to change again. This time, for the better.
I’m going to fix everything. I’m going to bring Mom home.
****
The apartment is cold, so I dress in warm layers on top of my jeans and running shoes. I pull on my beat-up jean jacket and head outside, but in the sun and away from the drafty windows, it’s warm. My skin gets a tingly glow to be out and about on the streets.
I stand on the corner and wait for the city MBTA bus to let me on. I skip up the steps, and plunk my change in the fare machine beside the driver, and take a seat at the back of the bus.
“School?” The old lady two seats up gives me a smile. She seems nice enough, with her tight curly hair; in her hand, she tightly clutches her purse like whatever is in there is more precious than life itself.
“School.” I nod, but it’s a lie. School is the other way. I’m not going anywhere near Boston High. No, I’m headed to the other side of town to my secret project. Good thing it’s wrapping up, because any day now I might be caught.
I lean my head back as the bus rolls forward. My head knocks around as the bus quickly accelerates, and my eyes fall to the advertisement that lines the wall of the bus.
Want to relive a past memory or see a loved one? Visit the Rewind Agency today!
The children in the advertisement smile up at their grinning happy parents. So much to live for and so much to do—that’s what I want.
That’s what I was going to do, but I was going to do more than relive an old memory. I was going to change history, change my life to before everything went bad. Before this all happened.
I was going to change the past.
Make sure my mom never died in the first place.
Chapter Two
The Java Bistro is a small coffee shop on Tremont Street in Boston. It’s more upscale than your run-of-the-mill greasy spoon; mostly it caters to professionals. It’s a good after-school job, and I make good money on tips. Pretty good money, and I put it all into my secret project. I’m almost at the end of my shift, and that means soon, I’ll get paid.
Hopefully, I won’t need this job after today.
The walls are a soft green, and the tables are set with simple elegance, a simple white flower in a glass vase. By the window, men in business suits log onto their computers and nurse cups of coffee. When the door opens next, two teenagers enter. I recognize them from school, but they’re not the type to hang out with me.
“Take any table you want, and I’ll be right with you.”
“Two coffees,” the blond says as they pick a table by the window. I head behind the counter and grab the coffee pot. In the back, Josh, the portly boss, slaves over the stove, flipping burgers. He doesn’t say anything, but raises his eyebrows as I head out to my latest table.
I flip over their green coffee cups and fill them. I steal a glance at the blond. He’s in a polo shirt, khakis, and a pair of brown loafers. Not exactly high school wear. “Thanks,” he says, and gives me a smile. His blond hair is wavy in a perfect sort of way, and his blue eyes crinkle as he takes in my appearance.
Oh, God. It’s Donovan James. The richest kid at school. His mom even ran for senator once. She lost, but she still had enough money to run for Senate, which means she has a million times more money than I do.
“I know you, don’t I?” Donovan strokes his chin and then points his finger at me. “I have seen you before. At school. You sit in front of me in US history. Laura Cranberg…something?” He laughs like it’s a pretty funny joke.
If I want a good tip, I have to go along with it, so I give a gentle laugh even if I can feel my cheeks and nose reddening from embarrassment. “Pretty close. Lara Crane. Can I get you boys anything to eat while you’re here?”
“Let me guess,” his friend says, “you’re not on the menu.”
Donovan’s eyes widen. “That’s not what I was doing. I wasn’t hitting on her.” He turns his head to me. “I wasn’t hitting on you.”
Sure he wasn’t. I knew the type. He hit on anything with a skirt. Still, I was surprised he knew my name at all, even if he did get it wrong. “I’ll give you time to look over the menu.” As I make my way over to the counter, I can feel their eyes on me.
I keep my eyes down as I go in the back and grab Josh. “I’m going to be late for my appointment if we don’t hurry this up. Please.”
Josh sighs and wipes his hands on his apron. “Okay, okay. I wouldn’t want you to be late, would I?”
I shrug as Josh waddles out to the register. He counts out the one hundred-and-fifty dollars he owes me, and hands me the crisp bills. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“A gift,” I fold the bills and slip them into my pocket, “for my dad. Nothing else.”
“You sure I can't change your mind?” Joshua shakes his head. “Time travel isn’t something a girl like you should be playing around with. Life is for living, not living in the past.”
Donovan and his friend have been joined by two teen girls. Their clothes are stylish, like something out of a magazine, and each girl holds a giant purse. They wear giant sunglasses, like reporters might jump out at any moment to take their picture. When Donovan says something, both girls laugh as if he’s God’s gift.
He leans back in his chair with a smug smile, his arms spread wide against the back of his chair. I guess he thinks he is, too.
If that counts as living, I’m happy to play in the past.
“I better go…”
The door opens again, and my boyfriend, Rick Miller, a tall African-American boy, steps inside. From how he holds himself, I can tell he’s stressed out and probably has been looking for me for a while. His panicked expression is replaced with relief when his eyes fall on me.
“Lara,” He sticks his hands in the pocket of his worn jeans as he hurries over to me and my back stiffens right up.
Great. Here we go again. I step forward, and Josh tiptoes away back to the kitchen to avoid what was going to happen next. I wish I could go with him, too. “Hey…Rick.” His face wears such a pained expression, it’s hard to look at him. He’s been my rock for so long. We’ve known each other ever since I moved into the apartment Dad and I share.
We’ve been friends, and more, for a long time now. I don’t want him to be upset—or hurt.
Rick reaches into his jacket and pulls out the letter I left him in his locker. “After everything we said last night, how can you…?”
I sigh and glance around the bistro to make sure no one is listening. “I have to try, Rick. I need my mom.”
He pulls me closer and we step off to the side. I cross my arms and refuse to make eye contact as he continues. “You’re not just risking your future. What about mine? Your dad’s? You can’t know what will happen if you change the past, Lara.”
“Whatever it is, it has to be better than a life without my mom, Rick. She’s dead. It’s not like dad and I are just having a bad day. We’re having a bad decade.”
Rick shakes his head. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know bad? I’ve watched my parents fall apart since my brother went to jail. It sucks, but you can’t play God. Even if you could, it’s illegal.”
Only if I get caught. They haven’t caught me messing in the past yet, and I have to hope they won’t catch me now.
“And what about time travel sickness? What happens if you have to absorb memories of a whole new life? You know what happened to people before it was outlawed. That’s why it’s illegal in the first place, Lara. You’ll die.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “But we can’t know that for sure.”
“Why? Because you're special? Because you can touch people in the past?
“No one is supposed to be able to, but I can.”
“You are special, Lara. To me, to your dad. But your brain is just like any other brain. And you'll die from the internal hemorrhaging, just like anyone else.” Gingerly, Rick touches my chin so I’ll look in
to his eyes. He won’t let this go—that much is obvious. “Stay here in the present, with me.”
I’m sorry, Rick. Really sorry, but I can’t let this go.
Still, I nod. “You’re right. The past is just that. It’s past. Let me just grab my stuff.” I smile at him, but I’m afraid it isn’t very warm. I’m afraid he’ll see right through me.
He gives me a sweet, gentle and compassionate kiss. “Just hurry up, okay?”
“I will.” I grip his hand and hope for the best. I believe, I truly believe, that I’ll see him again. That we’ll be together, and it’ll be as perfect as before.
Rick takes a seat at the counter, and I hurry into the back. I watch him for a second. Then I turn to Josh who is manning the grill. “You’ll need to take their order.”
“And what about Rick? He’s a good kid, Lara.”
I know that. God, I know that. “Just keep him here for fifteen minutes.” I take off my apron and stash it under the counter. I grab my jacket hanging on the hook, pull out the Rewind Agency pamphlet, and glance at it.
“Just give me fifteen minutes.”
Josh sighs. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing, kid.”
I hope so, too. I push out of the back door of the bistro. As my feet slam the concrete sidewalk, I glance at my watch. One more sprint test, and then I’d be ready.
I’m coming for you, Mom. I’m coming.
Chapter Three
I have fifteen minutes.
“Lara Crane?”
Standing in the sterile waiting room of the time travel agency known simply as Rewind, I turn towards the voice. Delilah, a redhead technician with a tight ballerina bun, offers me a handshake.
I should be in fifth period lab class, but instead I cut. I have something more important to do than completing junior year chemistry.
“Nice to see you again.” After a glance over my shoulder, I follow her through a tiny hallway and into a secure room. A crinkle paper brochures in one hand, and with the other repeatedly tuck my hair behind my ears.
