by M. S. Parker
She gaped at me, pressing her hand to her breasts. “How can you talk to me like this? We’re…we’re…”
Ah, hell. If she was going to try and claim she was developing feelings for me…No. Just no. Throwing up my hands, I backed away. “I’m out of here, Kimberly. I already told you, I’m tired. I meant it.”
I got the hell out before she could quite recover from my quick exit.
I only made it halfway down the sidewalk before she flung open the door, screeching at my back.
But that didn’t slow me down.
At home, I stared out the window at the Pacific Ocean as it pounded into the sand. The water was rough, and it wasn’t having any sort of calming effect on me.
I missed my home. But I’d closed the place up after Mrs. B had died—and even before that, I’d all but stopped living there. This place in Malibu wasn’t exactly home, but it worked. I’d bought it in the days after I’d climbed out of my drunken stupor, after Maya’s disappearance.
Being home was just too much.
I saw her everywhere, in everything. If I was outside, I saw her everywhere we’d walked, everywhere we’d talked. And I’d worried, and wondered. Was she dead? Had somebody stolen her from me? I’d turned my property upside down, searching for a body.
If we were inside, I smelled the fragrance of her skin, even long after it would have faded.
Her ghost haunted me and after a time, I told myself maybe she was dead. Yes, I had the PI’s reports that Maya Cruz, as I’d known her, didn’t exist. But I’d known Maya. I’d held her. She was—or had been—real. Then she was just…gone.
Women didn’t just disappear.
But she had.
Maybe somebody had stolen her away from me, and that was why I hadn’t been able to find her. I’d almost—almost—come to accept that over those long twelve months.
And now she was here.
How could she possibly be here after all this time?
How could she look at me with those big eyes and expect…?
I didn’t know what she expected.
I knew that she flinched when I yelled at her, but she hadn’t raged back.
I knew she looked at me the same way she always had.
I knew that my heart felt the same damn thing it had felt three years ago.
You need to go and see her, Glenn. Give her a chance to explain.
But even on the tail of those thoughts, I had another. If I went down that road, then I had to consider something else.
He was gone, already shipped out to Vietnam, and I’d never so much as apologized. It was just another one of those things eating at me.
“So I’ll apologize. I’ll call.” The ludicrousness of that idea almost made me laugh, but hell. It had to be possible. People did make calls across the ocean, right? And I could write to him, too. I’d find a way. And I’d keep trying until I got in touch and apologized. Even if I was still trying when he showed back up stateside.
Give her a chance to explain.
The way he’d looked at me as he said it made me realize something.
He’d given Maya the chance to explain. He wouldn’t have insisted I do the same unless he’d talked to her and heard her out. And while Cane was a different man now than he’d been a few years ago, one thing hadn’t changed. He was loyal, and he was my best friend. If he thought I should hear her out, then whatever she’d told him had changed something inside him.
“Fuck.”
I dropped my head against the glass window and closed my eyes.
19
Maya
It helped, some, knowing that Florence believed me. Okay, in truth, it helped a lot.
It wasn’t the same as if Glenn had suddenly shown up and told me he was ready to hear me out, but it was better than nothing.
Plus, with Florence’s support came Astor’s. I didn’t think she’d told him everything, but he would stand by her through hell, high water, and crazy time travelers. Still, even having her believe in me wasn’t enough to solve all the problems I had to deal with. And those problems were many—I had no idea if Glenn was going to ever forgive me, or even talk to me.
I had no idea if the timeline was going to screw around with me again and send me packing back into my time.
I could always avoid it by not having the diary and the locket in the same place—except I didn’t know where the diary was. Almost every time I’d practically stumbled across it by complete chance, and I didn’t even know how close I had to get for it to happen.
I could always wear the locket as a warning, but it didn’t just react to the diary.
And I could be wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the diary that triggered the time loop.
And none of that was helping me focus on a plan for my future, either.
A plan. How could I plan for a future when there were two of them in front of me?
Did I try to stay in the sixties and focus on building a life here? One that might very well not include Glenn?
I sat in the window seat in the kitchen and stared out over the backyard as I tried to work my way through my forked paths. I just didn’t know.
Florence was out there with Astor, sitting at a pretty little picnic table, laughing with him as they drank coffee.
The sight of them hurt.
I found myself thinking of my parents. Would I ever see them again? Would I ever see Uncle Daniel?
Tears pricked my eyes and I looked away. “This isn’t helping. You need to focus.”
I got up and moved around the kitchen, opening and closing neatly organized drawers until I found a pen and pad of paper.
Then I settled down at the table.
Drawing a line down the middle, I made two columns. I almost wrote 1965 on the left, with the intent to put my own time in the right, but decided it would be better to be a bit more vague. I didn’t want to put Astor in a rough spot if he found my work, and thought maybe I needed to get some serious psychological help. And man, would he have a field day with this.
I went with stay and go instead.
The cons were terribly stacked against the stay column. If I stayed here, my baby would have no family, would possibly never know his or her father, and I had no resources. An unwed mother in the sixties with little to no experience in the workforce wasn’t exactly going to have a shining, stellar path in front of her. I wasn’t afraid to work hard, and if push came to shove, I’d do whatever I had to take care of the baby growing inside me—but I’d never had to work hard. What exactly could I do?
The pros for going home were just as long as the cons for staying. I had a family, I had resources, and I could count on my family to help me as I finished college. The stigma associated with being an unwed mother wasn’t gone, especially in my family’s circles, but it would be far easier to bear.
If I stayed, I’d have the chance to maybe fix things with Glenn.
Maybe.
If I stayed, I’d have to find a job, find my own place to stay.
And the lists went on and on.
A long time later, I dropped the pen and leaned back to read through all the notes.
If I was looking at things on a solely objective level, the right thing to do would be to find that damn diary and try to figure out how to get back to my time.
My child would have a better future. My child would have more resources. My child would face fewer hurdles and challenges—and so would I.
And yet here I was, still debating on what the right course of action was.
“Hey.”
I flinched at the sound of Florence’s voice and looked up, one hand covering my list. But Astor wasn’t with her.
“Hi,” I said, smiling at her.
“What are you doing?” She sat down next to me, her head cocked as she looked at the paper in front of me.
“Ah…making a list.”
“That doesn’t look like a grocery list.”
“Ha, ha.” Rolling my eyes, I flipped it over, nervous about letting her see it
despite the fact that she had voiced her support when I’d told her everything. “It’s…I’m trying to plan.”
Understanding lit her eyes. “You have a lot to plan for. Mind telling me if you’ve settled on anything in particular?”
“Well…” Glancing at the back of the notepad, I grimaced. “I’ve settled on the fact that I have absolutely no idea what I’m getting into.”
She laughed. “Women across the world have been doing this for centuries, sweetheart. You’ll be fine.”
“It’s not just that.” Although yes, I was more than a little nervous about the baby, too. I had no idea what health care was like in the sixties. Was I making a mistake not leaving for that reason alone? Panic tried to flutter to life inside me at the thought, but I quickly shoved it aside. “It’s—well, it’s kind of everything. If I’m going to be a mom, I’ll need a job, a way to take care of the baby. I can’t just live off your kindness the rest of my life.”
Florence looked wounded.
Taking her hands, I squeezed them. “I love you for what you’ve done, what you’re doing. But this is my responsibility.”
“I understand.” She squeezed back and tugged free, rising from the table to move to the refrigerator. A moment later, she returned with two tall glasses of lemonade. “Just what do you have in mind? Or have you even gotten that far?”
“No.” I laughed weakly. “I haven’t even come close to getting that far.”
Rubbing at my temple, I flipped my list over and went through the notes I’d made. “I’ve jotted down a few things I might be good at—other than being an assistant—but I don’t know if any of them are viable or not.”
“Well, I’m more than happy to reach out and do whatever I can. You know that. Consider Astor and me your family from now on, honey. And family takes care of each other.”
We talked for a little longer and then she left, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
I studied the list once more, but I wasn’t really seeing it.
I was thinking of my family again.
Family takes care of each other.
Now, more than ever, I missed my mom and dad. They’d done so much to make sure I had everything I needed and probably too much of what I wanted. Had I ever shown them the appreciation they deserved?
No.
I hadn’t.
And now I had no idea if I’d ever see them again.
“Mama…” Closing my eyes, I pressed my hand to my belly.
20
Maya
My stomach had decided that breakfast wouldn’t consist of bacon and toast today. That had been perfectly fine yesterday, but today, even the scent of it had sent me running to the bathroom.
Harrison, one of my favorite people, had already put a Sprite outside the bathroom on the small hallway table, along with some saltine crackers. I had been so relieved when he’d come home from the store with the bottled soft drinks. I had no idea when the soft drink had first started being made, and I didn’t care. I was just glad it was around in 1965.
It settled my belly and I sat in the front salon with my boring breakfast of crackers and the lemon-lime soft drink while I waited for the rest of the nausea to subside.
I ended up falling asleep. I did that too often these days.
The sound of a phone ringing jerked me upright and the bottle fell out of my hand to thud lightly on the carpet. Fortunately, it was empty. The few crackers remaining hit the ground as well, and I glanced up sheepishly at Florence as she stepped into the room to pick up the phone.
She winked at me as she answered with a bright and cheery, “Hello!”
But the smile faded all too quickly.
“What…Peter, slow down, say that again…” Her eyelashes started to flutter, tears welling up, then spilling over. “Oh, no. You’re certain? They couldn’t have been mistaken?”
I got up from the chair, twisting my fingers at my waist. The distress in her voice had a knot in my throat.
“Oh, no. No…”
Astor appeared in the doorway, as if his wife’s grief was a beacon and he’d been drawn straight to her.
She turned to him, still talking into the phone. “Yes…I know. Does…yes. Does Glenn know? He does? No, I imagine he’s not.”
Glenn.
My heart started to race, and I bit my inner cheek to keep from demanding to know what was going on.
A soft sob interrupted her before she could finish her next question, and Astor gently took the phone. He gave me a quick look and I went to Florence, escorting her to the couch while Astor spoke. “Hello…this is Astor…oh, hello, Peter. He…yes, I see. Understood. No, I wouldn’t think he would take it well. I’ll…yes, we can try to go over there, but Florence needs some time herself. They were…close.”
I tucked Florence against my shoulder as she cried, waiting for somebody to talk to me.
Glenn was fine.
That was what mattered.
Glenn was fine.
A moment later, Astor hung the phone back in its cradle gently and came to sit on Florence’s other side.
“He’s gone, Astor. Damn that war! I told him not to go!”
The war…dread crept through me and I squeezed my eyes closed.
Florence turned into Astor, but she still gripped my hand as she started to cry in earnest. There wouldn’t be any talking now. Not for the next few minutes at least.
Leaning in, I rested my head against the back of hers, while Astor rocked the both of us.
“Cane is dead.”
Sometime later, the storm passed and Florence rose to pace over to the window. She spoke in a sad, distant voice that sounded nothing like her. Slim shoulders trembled under the depth of her wracking breaths and she said it again, as if she had to hear it, just to be certain. “Cane is dead. He was killed in Vietnam—he wasn’t even there a month. Peter got the news this morning. He and Glenn were listed as next of kin and they just…well, they heard. Cane is gone.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to think of anything else to say. What else was there?
Florence nodded. “Cane went into the same clinic where I was. Got out about six months after I did. We became friends. We…understood each other. The two of us did everything we could to help Glenn, but we helped each other, too. Nobody knows what it’s like to deal with addiction unless you’ve been there. We’d both been there. I feel like a piece of me is gone now.”
Astor went to her and wrapped his arms around her, his chin nestled in the waves of her hair. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t hold him back either. She kept her arms folded around herself, as if she thought she’d fly into pieces if she dared to move.
“Peter wants me to go see Glenn, Astor. I…I know I should. He shouldn’t be alone. But I don’t know if I can.” Her voice shattered.
“I’ll go.” I don’t know why I blurted it out. Immediately, I wanted to yank the words back. He wouldn’t want to see me. How in the hell would that help? It wouldn’t. It couldn’t.
But the words were out there and Florence lifted her head from Astor’s chest to stare at me. “That…yes.” She nodded. “Yes, you should go.”
“I…um, okay, but are you sure?”
“I won’t be any good for him. We’re both too hurt right now to hold each other up, and Glenn needs somebody there to make sure he doesn’t fall back down into that hole we dragged him out of. You can do that.” Florence stared at me with such hope in her eyes, it almost hurt.
It also made me feel a little sick inside and I couldn’t blame pregnancy hormones either.
I had a bad feeling what I was getting ready to do would make things worse, not better.
But it was too late to do anything about it now.
“You’re not going on a date,” I told myself, staring into the mirror over the sink.
The lights were too bright, too harsh and called out too many flaws. The sleepless bags under my eyes, the pallor of my skin. I wore a loosely flowing mini-dress with a pair of brightly colored
tights that hid the very faint thickening of my waistline. It was very faint, but it was enough that my jeans were getting uncomfortable, so I was wearing dresses more often than not.
Fortunately, the loose flow of the current style meant it was pretty much impossible to distinguish any change in my figure.
But none of that mattered, because I wasn’t going over to Glenn’s for any reason other than to check on him.
Right?
“In a pig’s eye,” I muttered.
No woman ever goes to see a lover without primping a little.
But I’d done enough.
It had been nearly forty minutes since Peter had called Florence and every minute that passed was another minute that Glenn was alone.
Or maybe he wasn’t.
Maybe Kimberly was with him.
Clenching my hands into fists, I promised myself I would handle it if she was with him—and not by grabbing her by the hair and wrenching her away from him either.
I’d just…deal.
I’d cope.
I’d be fine.
I’d be jealous as hell.
On the way down the stairs, I committed myself to the fact that I’d hide my jealousy from him—and her—no matter what.
Harrison had already brought the car around and was waiting for me. We left without speaking to Florence or Astor. I could still hear them talking, and her voice was husky, rough with tears. I hurt for her, but the best thing I could do for her now was this—try to talk to Glenn.
Try.
Fail.
Make it worse for her and him.
“What am I doing?” I whispered.
“You’re helping a friend,” Harrison said softly as he opened the door for me.
I gave him a wan smile. “I feel like I’m about to face the lion in its den.”
“He won’t be much of a lion today, Miss Maya.” He gave me a tired smile and patted my shoulder before nodding at me to climb in.
As I sat in the back of the car, I found myself smoothing my dress down, then my hair. I could do this. I’d traveled back and forth through time. I could go up there and face the lion in his den.
