Waiting for April

by Jaime Loren

  She opened her mouth, her brow furrowed.

  I stepped forward. “You hum tunes from the ’20s they don’t play on the radio anymore.”

  She swallowed and shook her head, confused.

  “You know things in AP History that aren’t in any of our readings.”

  “Just say it,” she demanded. “Was it me? Did I … die?”

  For a moment I saw each of her deaths, and it took every ounce of strength I had not to break down. Not to grab the desk and overturn it. I wanted to scream. To yell and beat at the walls. It’s not like I hadn’t done that before. But I discovered a new emotion: relief. I didn’t have to hide anymore. This was out of my control now.

  My exhalation was silent, and carried with it almost three hundred years of horror, tension and anxiety … I closed my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered. “You died.”

  When I lifted my eyes, she was standing still. I wondered if she’d even heard me. I took a step toward her, but she stepped back, almost tripping in her haste to put more distance between us. I ran my hands through my hair and shifted on my feet, my stomach turning with anguish. The truth might have given me momentary relief, but her nightmare was just beginning.

  She pointed to a stack of journals. “Those books have dates going back for centuries. Are you telling me—” She stopped to suck in more air—a half-sob, half-wheeze. “How many times have I come back as the same person?”

  My mouth went dry. “April, please, don’t …”

  She balled her hands into fists at her sides. “How … many … times?”

  I pressed my lips together, panic rising in my throat. This answer would perhaps be the hardest for her to hear. “Nineteen.”

  A short, high-pitched cry escaped her. She took another step back, her chest rising and falling faster with each passing second. She looked as though she might vomit, her pallid skin glistening.

  I felt as though I might be ill, too. “I wanted to spare you from this.”

  She stumbled away and jumped when her back hit the wall, as if it had suddenly attacked her. The sound of her teeth chattering could be heard from across the room. Shock. If her mind didn’t fold in on itself after learning the truth, her body could still do some damage.

  But after years of medical training, shock was something I could treat. Getting close enough to treat her would be a more difficult task. She flattened herself against the wall when I moved toward her.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I assured her.

  “I have to—have to get out,” she wheezed, scrambling for the door.

  “April—”

  She staggered down the hallway and threw herself outside. I was no more than three paces behind her, desperately wanting to calm her. The last time she’d run from me had been 1949 …

  My fingers brushed her elbow. “April, please.”

  She spun to face me, wrenching her arm away. “Stay away from me!”

  I stepped back. “You’re hyperventilating,” I said. “Put your hands on your knees and try to take deep, controlled breaths.”

  April lifted her hand to her forehead, her eyes filling with a helplessness that made me ache.

  “Deep breaths,” I repeated, unable to relax until she’d placed her hands on her knees and deepened her breathing. I counted for her, making her exhale for three seconds at a time. It took a minute or so, but eventually her breathing seemed to come easier.

  “What are you?”

  I furrowed my brow. “What am I?”

  “You’re not like me,” she said, shivering as she straightened up.

  “Not completely, no.”

  Her breath shuddered. “But you’re not a … monster.”

  “No. I’m not a monster.”

  She folded her arms tight against her chest and allowed her eyes to drift over me, studying my eyes, my face, my body. Goose bumps prickled my skin. She’d never gazed at me for this long during this lifetime.

  “Have you known me since my first life?” she asked.

  Okay—we were talking. This was good. She hadn’t curled up into a ball, or become catatonic. She hadn’t raced into town to raise a pitchfork-wielding mob.

  Maybe this was possible, after all.

  “It was our first life,” I replied.

  Her eyes held mine. “And when was that?”

  “I was born in December, 1710. You were born six months later.”

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Born as humans, April. We are human.”

  For a moment I thought she’d start hyperventilating again, but she didn’t. “Humans? You’re, like, impervious to harm. Normal people don’t get hit by SUVs, then get up and walk away.”

  “The only difference between you and me is that I’m stuck like this. I don’t age. But you’re right—I can’t be harmed. I can’t die.”

  Trust me, I’ve tried.

  “Whereas dying is something I’m really good at, right?”

  Even though she hadn’t meant to hurt me, her words packed a punch. “I really wish you weren’t. Life is miserable without you,” I said, my heart heavy with grief.

  She covered her mouth, her tears spilling over in silence.

  I wanted so badly to hold her.

  After a moment she swiped her cheeks dry and exhaled sharply, focusing her gaze on the ground at my feet. “Henry’s not your grandfather. Your family wasn’t killed in a car accident because cars weren’t even invented yet. You weren’t dating Stella, and you—”

  “And I’m in love with you,” I said. God, it felt good to say it out loud.

  Her eyes darted back to mine, wide and full of disbelief.

  Frustration coiled within. This was the one time I needed her to know the truth, and she refused to believe me. So, with a newfound burst of adrenaline, I stepped forward and grabbed her good hand. She tried to pull away, unsuccessfully, before I flattened her palm against my heart. “You remembered that day in the field,” I said, nodding. “When I kissed you the other night, you said ‘lavender.’”

  Her mouth opened, only to close again.

  I spoke quickly. “It was 1729, and you were seventeen. It was the best few months of my life, April. Please, try to remember me … remember me the way I was before all of this started?”

  Her lips tightened, her fear evident in the way her forehead creased. At first she shook her head, but then her eyes widened, and her forehead smoothed. Her gaze drifted to where her hand sat, over my heart.

  I let my mind wander back to that time, hoping it would somehow lead her there with me …

  *****

  Wallingford, Connecticut – 1729

  The sound of hooves grew closer. I gave the wheel one last turn, groaning in my attempt to tighten it, and then stepped back, breathless. I wiped the grease from my hands and exited the barn. The breeze outside brought some relief to my damp skin. April dismounted from Nutmeg, only to take a quick step back when she discovered I was shirtless.

  I looked down at my lack of attire. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”

  She blushed furiously and averted her gaze. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been naked in front of a lady.”

  I tilted my head. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  She mustered up some courage to look me in the eye. “Sally Owens?”

  I scoffed. “I wasn’t naked and you know it. You were there.”

  April placed her hands on her hips. “I didn’t see everything. And that’s not how Miss Owens tells it.”

  “Then she’s hardly a lady, is she? It only makes her look bad to spread such lies.”

  “So you didn’t make love, then?”

  I couldn’t hold my laughter in. “Make love? No, April. When would I have had time to do that?”

  She lifted her hand to examine her fingernails. “I’m sure a boy like you wouldn’t need much time, Mr. Parker.”

  I glared at her. “I assure you, Miss Fletcher, that I’m not so inexperienced in such matters.”
>
  Her mouth fell open. She quickly snapped it shut and lowered her hand.

  “In all honesty, though, I did not make love to Sally Owens,” I admitted.

  “But you kissed her.”

  “She kissed me,” I corrected.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that it happened.”

  The corner of my mouth turned up. “Are you jealous?”

  She crossed her arms. “You give yourself too much credit.”

  I smiled. But then I remembered the look on her face when she’d turned the corner of the barn to see me with Sally. My smile faded. “It didn’t mean anything.”

  “Why would I care?”

  I flexed my jaw. I had to admit, her words had struck a blow. “What is the purpose of this visit?”

  She took a deep breath. “Mother wanted me to invite you to dinner—all of you, actually. Tonight is the—”

  “The usual monthly dinner. I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Well, forgive me for informing you, Mr. Parker. My mother wasn’t sure if you’d heard they were delaying their trip to New York, and will therefore be home to host it.”

  I bowed dramatically. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

  She grabbed Nutmeg’s reins. “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be invited,” she muttered under her breath.

  “And if it were up to me, I would stay at home,” I said, raising my voice.

  “Then we’re in agreement.” She mounted Nutmeg and adjusted her blue dress. “It would be a more enjoyable night if you weren’t there.”

  I smiled drily. “Oh, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t want to offend your mother. Besides, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll be sure to have a good time.”

  April pulled Nutmeg around hard. “Good day, Mr. Parker.”

  With a sharp kick, Nutmeg galloped back down the road, leaving nothing but dust behind. I groaned and kicked a nearby rock, sending it in the direction April had gone.

  Later that night I sat alone, having decided not to go to dinner with my parents and my younger brother, John. Instead, I continued with the painting I’d started earlier in the week. My encounter with April had left me in no mood to endure her company any time soon. The sun had set a good two hours before I heard a knock at the door. I paused with my brush against the canvas, waiting for a sign that it was someone I knew.

  “Scott?” My heart skipped a beat at the sound of April’s voice. “Let me in? It’s cold out.”

  I opened the door and threw my coat over her shoulders. “What on earth are you doing?” I took a quick look outside before closing the door behind her. “It’s freezing out there—not to mention dark. Were you not escorted?”

  She shook her head and placed a plate full of food down on the table. “I’m seven and ten, Scott. I don’t need an escort.”

  “Of course you need an escort!”

  April flinched. I sighed and placed my hands on her shoulders, bending down slightly to look into her eyes. “There are dishonorable men in this world. A pretty young thing like you, all alone, would attract trouble on a road.”

  Her cheeks filled with color. “It’s dark. No one saw me.”

  I leaned back. “This time.”

  April looked down. “I wanted to apologize for my unkind words this afternoon.” She glanced at the plate of food. “And I was worried you wouldn’t fix yourself something to eat. I didn’t want you to go to bed on an empty stomach.”

  My body warmed. “If anything happened to you because of me, I’d never forgive myself.”

  She bit her lip. My heart beat faster.

  I cleared my throat and motioned toward the table. “Will you join me for dinner?”

  “I regret that I have already eaten.”

  I smiled. “In any case, I would rather enjoy your company, milady.”

  The pink tinge in her cheeks deepened when I pulled a chair out for her. She sat down slowly. I took my seat and picked up my fork. April looked everywhere but at me.

  “Is something the matter?”

  She spoke softly. “Do you think me pretty, Mr. Parker?” When I didn’t answer, she rubbed her hands together. “It’s just that you said, ‘a pretty young thing like you’—”

  “No, Miss Fletcher.”

  The expression fell from her face as she lowered her head.

  “I think you are stunning,” I admitted. Her eyes quickly found mine. I smiled, and she bit her lower lip before turning away. I sank my fork into my potato. “Thank you for the meal, April.”

  She kept her eyes glued on the solid oak seat next to her. “You’re more than welcome.”

  The tension was high as I finished my supper, and the conversation limited. April accepted my offer to escort her home, knowing I wouldn’t let her go alone, even if she’d insisted. Once outside her door, I dismounted Shadow and offered April my hand. She dropped down before me and stumbled. I caught her by the waist. When she slowly looked up, I couldn’t tear my eyes from her mouth.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  I cleared my throat and let her go.

  Disappointment filled her eyes. “You won’t come inside?”

  My father’s laughter echoed from within the stone walls.

  “No. I’d best go back and keep the home fires burning.”

  “Oh. Very well.” She moved to open the door, but then turned to me again. “Scott, if you’re so worried about my being alone on these roads, why don’t you join me on my ride tomorrow? It’s been so long since we’ve ridden together.”

  I grinned. “I would like that.”

  A quick smile spread across her face before she turned to leave.

  A week later we shared a kiss in a field of lavender flowers.

  Chapter 12

  (April)

  A soft breeze tickled my salted cheeks. I stepped back, my hand dropping away from his chest. I remembered—more than I wanted to admit to him right now.

  Scott’s ocean-like eyes stared back at me, filled with sadness. “It feels more like a dream, now.”

  The pine trees rustled, sending needles to the ground between us. It was the spot where Rowan’s car had been parked less than half an hour ago.

  “Seeing me with Rowan this whole time … that must’ve hurt you.”

  Scott lowered his head. “Your choices are yours alone to make.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Is that why you kissed me the other night? Because you were unhappy with my choice?”

  His eyes flicked back to me. “I was scared I was losing you. I panicked. I know I shouldn’t have confused you, but kissing you was the only way I could think to show you that I wanted you closer.” He sighed. “I wanted to show you what you mean to me. I wanted you to … I just wanted to—” A hint of crimson painted his neck. “I thought that maybe if I kissed you, you would know in your heart … I hoped you would—”

  “Know you?”

  His head bobbed once.

  My heart flipped. So that was it—the feeling I got whenever he looked at me. We were connected.

  I was unable to shift my gaze from his mouth.

  He lightly placed a pink lavender flower on my forehead and dragged it down my nose, then across my lips and over my chin … down to my chest … across my breasts, circling my nipples … continuing down the center of my body before replacing the touch of the flower with the touch of his hand as he leaned in and kissed me softly, his tongue parting my lips as the tips of his fingers—

  My breath fell from my lips. “Have we ever done more than just kiss?”

  He stood up straight and furrowed his brow. “Have we ever … made love?”

  I laughed nervously. “You’re the only guy I know who doesn’t refer to it as fucking.”

  His eyes flittered to the cabin. “Perhaps we should go inside.”

  “Oh God. We have, haven’t we?”

  The color in his neck spread to his cheeks as he met my eyes. “Yes.”

  The ground moved beneath my feet. I fiddled wi
th my sweater, butterflies the size of birds filling my chest, my stomach.

  He could look at me and know exactly what it was like to be intimate with me, but I had no knowledge of intimacy with anybody. “This whole time, I’ve felt that you know me so well.” I stepped back. “But I never knew how well you know me.”

  “April—”

  “I don’t know what to think of all of this. I mean, I believe you, but … we’ve made love? How many times?” I almost squealed.

  He shook his head; his eyes filled with a look that told me it was probably best I didn’t know. But too many lies and omissions had kept me in the dark thus far. From now on, I wanted to know everything. “Scott?”

  “It wasn’t like I was counting.”

  “Ball park figure, then,” I said, my voice still a little higher than I would’ve liked.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “It was maybe … five or six times.”

  I exhaled, a little relieved. That wasn’t so bad. I mean, it was still—

  “A day,” he added.

  “A day?” My voice echoed.

  He shrugged, helpless.

  I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move, except to lift my shaking hand to my mouth in shock. I’d tried so hard to be the only woman who didn’t fall at his feet, but as it turned out, I’d been falling into his bed for centuries …

  He shifted uncomfortably, reaching out then pulling back. “April, please, sit down?”

  “You know me intimately?” I suddenly felt the need to wrap myself in a poncho. “You know my body?”

  The color drained from his face.

  “I don’t even know my body, Scott! I’m a—I’ve never …”

  His eyes narrowed. “Wait. You and Rowan never …?”

  My cheeks were the color of beetroot, no doubt. I shook my head.

  Scott’s expression fell as he slowly lowered himself onto the stump he’d used for splitting wood. I crossed my arms and pulled them tight against my chest. I was a virgin, but I wasn’t a virgin? Scott Parker had seen me naked countless times? He’d touched me in places no one else had—not even me? He’d been inside of me?

  It was too much. Too much.

  His eyes filled with remorse. “I’d give anything to remove the look of horror on your face right now.”