Waiting for April

by Jaime Loren

  I muttered in agreement. The information I’d received today was the most valuable I’d ever received in my life.

  “Call me Scott.”

  “Scott?”

  “Scott Parker.” I smirked at him. “We’re beyond secrets now.”

  He smiled. “Very well.”

  Tom had to ask me to slow down, and physically stop me from banging my fist against the horn as we entered the town. “You might be invulnerable, but I’m not,” he said with a nervous smile. “We don’t want to piss these people off. Law enforcement isn’t exactly a priority around these parts.”

  I clenched my jaw. “We’re wasting time. I need to know why we can’t get through to April—or anyone. I need to get to the nearest phone.”

  “Try the nearest school,” he said, pulling out his phone to search Google maps. “Turn right up here.”

  It took some convincing, and we were met with some nervous looks, but once I showed them some hundred-dollar bills, a phone was shoved right under our noses. As much as I didn’t like modern technology—it was merely something I’d become accustomed to over the years to keep up with the times—I’d never been so happy to see a phone in my life.

  My gut tightened as April’s phone rang. She answered on the third ring, and was greeted with a huge sigh of relief from me. “April, thank God you’re okay. I’ve been trying to reach you and just about everyone else—”

  “Scott?”

  I stood straighter. “April?”

  “No, it’s Celia.”

  I closed my eyes. “Where’s April?”

  For a moment I thought the phone had gone dead. Then she finally spoke. “She went to a party in Burlington with Stella and Rowan.”

  “She what?”

  “They’re staying at Joshua’s. They’ll be back tomorrow. I’m surprised she left her phone here, though. She’ll be so upset she missed your call.”

  My soul plummeted. “Not to worry. I’ll try again tomorrow.” I stood in silence, holding the phone against my ear for another few seconds before hanging up slowly. Tom gave me a questioning look.

  “We have to get home. Now,” I said, before running for the door.

  Chapter 44

  (April)

  I now completely understood the necessity of convincing lies.

  Mom and Dad had bought the whole party ruse, and Stell had promised to cover for me.

  I’d told Stella I was really going to a clinic in Burlington to terminate the pregnancy before Scott came back. It was my worst lie yet, and I wondered if I’d be allowed to come back if I died again, or whether I’d go to Hell for simply saying it aloud.

  The truth was, I already felt a connection to this baby. For the first week after finding out I was pregnant I’d tried hard not to get too emotionally attached to the little person growing inside of me, scared I wouldn’t even be able to bring it into this world. But with each passing day, the bond I felt with it grew stronger, and I prayed to all who’d listen, begging them to let me live another eight months. To let me see it.

  To leave Scott with a reason to keep it together if we didn’t succeed this time.

  Stella had wanted to come with me, but I’d talked her out of it. I’d even gone so far as to drive to Connecticut via Burlington, even though it was in the complete opposite direction. I couldn’t risk her following me. I couldn’t risk anyone stopping me.

  I had to see for myself where it all started.

  As soon as I crossed the town boundary, I thought of him and followed my heart, and it led me home. And okay, I had a little help from Google Maps, because the turnoffs weren’t where they used to be.

  The Parker headstones under the willow tree in the back yard were obviously well taken care of. I pushed aside the short weeds—shorter than the surrounding weeds, at least—to read the inscriptions. Scott’s parents and brother lay before me, sleeping eternally in a slice of paradise. I looked around, wondering if I was buried nearby. Had Scott bought my family’s property after they’d passed away? I’d never asked him. There were a lot of things I still didn’t know, and wanted desperately to find out.

  A blast of wind made me shiver. I held myself tight against the chill and shifted on my feet. I wanted to say something to his family. I wanted to tell them they were going to be grandparents, and an uncle. It was impossible, but true. My hand slid across my belly, which wasn’t yet showing. I was seven weeks along, and each day the nausea grew stronger. Every morning I fought the urge to vomit, and almost every morning I lost that fight. Until now the only thing that had kept me going was the hope I’d see Scott again soon. The knowledge that he was going to move Heaven and Earth to be at my eighteenth birthday party.

  I held myself tighter as I turned for the house. It was a two-story white weatherboard home, and could easily have been built within the last decade. Scott had kept it in fantastic condition. I felt at home here. Comfortable.

  Safe.

  The back door was hard to open. I had to hip-and-shoulder it to make enough room to slip through. It wasn’t much warmer inside. Rubbing my arms, I moved across the creaky floorboards through what appeared to be a kitchen, and turned right. The hallway was long and dark. I jumped when a spider’s web brushed against me and stuck to my arm. An uncontrollable shiver racked through me, making me squirm in spaztacular fashion as I brushed the webs away. I should’ve brought a flashlight.

  After taking a deep breath, I ventured up the stairs and turned left. Another shiver ran down my spine—a good one this time. This hallway looked familiar. I walked faster, knowing that the first door on the left was Scott’s. My shoes clanked against the hardwood floor, echoing through the house as I hurried toward it and burst into the room. Soft light filtered through the dust that whirled up around me as I trod carefully around furniture covered with white sheets. It was fitting that although it was a cold, gloomy day, the moment I’d walked into his room the sun had appeared to brighten it. It warmed me, despite the damp chill in the air.

  I’m home.

  I dropped my bag and ran my fingers over the largest sheet, which covered his bed. Carefully, I pulled it off, sighing aloud at the dark wood frame. The mattress had been removed. It’d probably been worn and broken down over the years. I found that small detail upsetting, and closed my eyes as I braced myself against the foot of the frame …

  “Shh, April! You’ll wake John,” Scott said, laughing quietly as we fumbled under the covers. I couldn’t stop giggling as we became more and more tangled in a mess of blankets, clothing, and limbs.

  “John never wakes up,” I replied as my lips found Scott’s, but in the instant they did, a floorboard creaked. We froze, lips pressed together, listening for the squeak of John’s bedroom door. The creak sounded again, and we both relaxed. It hadn’t come from John’s room. “I told you,” I whispered.

  Scott’s hands again moved to my undergarments. After a minute of loosening and pulling, he groaned dramatically. “I swear there has to be an easier way!”

  My hands moved to where his were, and I took over, removing the rest of my clothes and pushing them out of his bed, onto the floor. “Practice makes perfect,” I said as I wrapped my legs around his waist.

  He sank down onto me, pressing his hot skin to mine. “Then practice I shall,” he replied, grinning as he kissed me again and moved to join our bodies as one.

  I turned away with tears in my eyes, longing to have that night—and so many others—back. To have what we should have had this whole time.

  A chance.

  I gritted my teeth and crossed the room, pulling off another sheet to reveal a bookcase. More dust thickened the air, sticking in my throat and making me cough. There were empty spots on the shelves—books that he’d no doubt taken to the cabin, or to Henry’s—but otherwise, it was mostly full. I trailed my finger along the flimsy spines, wondering if the books he’d read to me whenever I was sick had been picked from these very shelves.

  Two more sheets revealed an easel and a portrait—
an oil painting of me. It was so lifelike. He’d captured my hair and eye color perfectly and there was a hint of a smile on my face as I looked down to the side. Something wet fell against my hand. A tear, I realized, after lifting my fingers to my cheeks. I swiped it away and cleared my throat, then walked to the window.

  There was nothing but trees for miles around, the roads and fields completely overgrown. Branches scraped against the house, the white oak tree I used to climb to reach his window now twice as thick as I remembered. I looked beyond it, knowing that even back then the field of lavender flowers couldn’t be seen from the house, but hoping to catch a glimpse of pink anyway.

  I ventured outside in the direction of the barn, which was still standing, although only just. It was smaller than I remembered, but still big enough to house a few horses and prize cows.

  The closer I got to the entrance, the more nauseated I felt. I stopped short of it, wondering if going inside would be more morbid than digging up my own grave. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my heartbeat, but all I saw was Scott’s hands, bloodied from trying to turn Nutmeg’s foal.

  I feared she wasn’t going to make it. I didn’t want to lose two horses in one day.

  “Scott, is she going to be okay?”

  “Can you run back to the barn and get some rope? The longer she’s in there, the more distressed she’ll get. We might be able to tie her feet to pull her out.”

  I frowned.

  “I’ll get her out, I promise. She’ll be perfect, just like you.”

  His reassuring smile put me immediately at ease. I grabbed his face and kissed him before running as fast as I could toward the Parker’s property, turning back to call out, “I love you, Scott Parker!” John was in the barn when I arrived, which was a relief. I figured he’d be able to help Scott turn the foal. Lord knows I had no strength. I must have startled him, because he turned quickly. A loud bang echoed through the barn and, soon after, the smell of smoke filled the air.

  John’s eyes widened in horror. Something fell from his hand. “April?”

  In all the confusion, I forgot why I was there. Scott needed something? I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. When I attempted to walk toward John, my legs gave way, my knees hitting the hard dirt. Good Lord, I hadn’t tripped on my own feet since I was a child. Embarrassed, I tried to push myself back up, but failed. Perhaps my legs were stiff from running. I made a mental note to rest that night. I wanted to be able to walk down the aisle the next day.

  The burning smell was rife throughout the barn. I tried to stand again, but the effort made me groan. My hands automatically went to my stomach—the source of my sudden, excruciating pain. When I lifted them, they were covered in blood.

  Tears filled my eyes. “What?”

  “It was an accident,” John choked. “I’m so sorry, April. I wasn’t even supposed to be … I’m forbidden to use … Please, please be okay—I’ll get Father!” He ran from the barn, only to return a second later to retrieve what he’d dropped.

  A shotgun.

  Did … did he shoot me? Have I been shot? It dawned on me that it was gunpowder I could smell in the air. “Oh God,” I cried. “Is it bad?”

  John didn’t answer. Instead, he gripped the gun hard in his hand and turned this way and that, then opened the gun and took the rest of the ammunition out.

  He didn’t look at me as he wrapped it in an old blanket, then threw it into the loft overhead. I lay, gasping, as he walked slowly past me and out of the barn, leaving me alone with my terror.

  It seemed like forever passed before John and Mr. Parker came running into the barn, but by that stage, I was freezing, despite the warm day.

  “They just came and demanded … Father, I tried to stop them. I tried to push April out of the way.”

  I looked up at John as Mr. Parker dropped to his knees, but he looked away.

  Why would he lie? It was an accident. I’d already forgiven him.

  I coughed a mouthful of blood. “It was—”

  “There were four of them,” John said, his eyes wild. “If we go now—”

  “John!” Mr. Parker snapped. “We have to stop the bleeding.” He turned to John, who was as white as a ghost. “Get something to stop the bleeding!”

  My teeth were chattering so hard I thought they might break. Mr. Parker pushed his hand against my stomach, making me cry aloud. “I’m so sorry, baby girl.”

  John simply sat there, staring at me.

  “John! Now!”

  He got up and spun around aimlessly, looking at me more than he looked for something that could actually help. But I could taste the blood. Smell it. Feel it running from my wounds, slower now, like my heart rate. I was beyond help, and John knew it. He’d taken too long. I supposed he was hoping I would be dead by the time he got back, and no one would know it was him who’d shot me.

  I tried to lift a hand to point to the loft, but John handed Mr. Parker a sheet and dropped to his knees to take my hand in both of his, rubbing me in a false act of sincerity.

  Mr. Parker kept firm pressure on my stomach. “April! Don’t you leave us. Baby girl, stay with us!”

  “Scott,” I managed to whisper, burning tears spilling out.

  “You hold on, you hear me? You are going to be just fine, baby girl. Just fine!”

  I whispered Scott’s name one more time before leaving the weight of my body in his father’s arms. It was the same feeling you have when you’ve tripped in a dream, only that sensation usually pulls you from your dream and back into the light. There would be no such relief for me. I reached out for Scott in the darkness, searching for my life’s anchor—for my reason for living.

  I found nothing but emptiness …

  I staggered back, tripped and landed on my ass, then hung my head and cried. Not only did I have to tell Scott we were having a baby, but now I had to tell him his brother was the one who started all of this?

  I lay down on my side and curled into a ball, my tears sinking into the earth.

  I wasn’t sure I could do either.

  Chapter 45

  (Scott)

  At first I didn’t see her. I was too focused on the exit, running as fast as I could without drawing too much attention from airport security guards. But then her voice rang through the terminal, the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. I turned to see April running toward me, slowing down only to throw herself into my arms.

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief as our bodies collided, wrapping my arms tightly around her and burying my face in her neck. “Oh my God, you’re safe.”

  “I’m safe.”

  “I was so worried. How did you know I was coming?”

  “Henry said you called from Washington. Scott, I have so much to tell you.”

  “Me too.”

  She drew back. “But I don’t want to tell you here.”

  I nodded in agreement, and her gaze fell on Tom when he sidled up beside me. “Oh. April Fletcher, meet Tom Newberry.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” Tom said.

  Her eyes widened, her mouth opening in question as she shook his hand.

  “I’ll explain at home.” I wrapped my arm around her and ushered her toward the exit.

  April was unusually quiet on the way home. She’d brought Big Blue, which I was grateful for, because it meant she was basically sitting on me, her warmth a constant reminder she was still here. I rubbed my thumb over her knee as I drove, my fingernail catching on some dried paint. It was going to be difficult telling her there was someone out there like me. Someone intent on killing her. Someone we couldn’t kill unless he became mortal when I did. If she were to tell me she loved me, rendering me vulnerable, there was a chance he’d become vulnerable too.

  The huge risk came in the possibility that that wasn’t the way it worked, and instead she’d only render me unable to protect her, just like in 1862.

  “This must be the strangest car ride you’ve ever taken, sitting next to an immortal and a reincarnate,” Apri
l said to Tom.

  He laughed. “It’s definitely up there, yes.”

  “Tom has been invaluable,” I told her. “The places we went in Africa—the customs and languages he knew? I wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for him.”

  Tom bobbed his head toward me. “He’s a fast learner, though. Two more weeks and I think he would’ve mastered the Yoruba language in its entirety.”

  “You give me too much credit.”

  He shrugged in disagreement.

  I squeezed April’s knee. “How have you been, despite everything?”

  Her smile didn’t reach her eyes as she turned and pressed her lips to my shoulder. “Missing you.”

  “Same. God, so much.” I took her hand in mine and lifted it to my lips. If Tom wasn’t here, there would’ve been a good possibility I’d have pulled over and done more than kiss her.

  There wasn’t much else to say without getting into the deep end of it, and Big Blue wasn’t the place for a conversation like that, so we drove the remaining half-hour in silence, April resting her head against my arm and her hand on my thigh.

  The fact Duke wasn’t here to run up the drive in greeting was something I still wasn’t used to. I wondered if he’d come back, too, considering this other immortal was the one to kill him.

  That was, if it was the immortal who’d killed him, and not some mentally unstable person he’d talked into doing it for him. The driver in Millinocket who’d hit me wasn’t immortal. They’d taken his blood for testing. The confederates in 1862 hadn’t been immortal. I’d spilled their blood after April had died. Every last one of them.

  Tom and I had discussed this at length on the way home, both coming to the conclusion that most of April’s deaths occurred before she had the chance to tell me she loved me. It would seem he knew her love for me would break whatever curse this was and steal away his immortality.