by Calia Read
When Mom pulls back, I see the worry on her face. I know that my brothers won’t say a word about my engagement ending, but my mom isn’t stupid; she’ll quickly unearth the truth. What will her reaction be when I tell her that the wedding is off? Will she be angry or supportive? I hope for the latter because she’s my mom.
“How was the drive?” she asks as she ushers us into the warmth of the house.
“Cramped,” Ian cut in before I can reply.
Mom looks to me for confirmation. I shrug. “I think it went by fast.”
“You weren’t the one driving,” Ian mutters before he walks down the hall, probably toward the kitchen.
“Neither were you,” I call.
He flings a hand in the air and keeps moving.
Before we’re interrupted again, I face her. “I know you want to talk and catch up, but I’m exhausted.”
And it’s the truth. Since I got back home, sleep had eluded me. Even when I’m dead tired and my eyelids continually flutter shut, I remain awake. My mind can’t seem to stop running. But exhaustion is finally taking over.
Small lines appear between her brows as she frowns. “Oh. I was hoping we’d have a small chat before you went to bed.” Disappointment coats her words. She gives my arm a small squeeze. “We’ll just catch up over breakfast.”
I give her an unsteady smile. “Absolutely.”
I feel a sliver of guilt. My mom is one of the kindest, most understanding people I know. Growing up, she was nurturing, yet firm with my brothers and me.
With her small, turned-up nose, sharp cheekbones, golden hair with strawberry-blond strands, and wrinkle-free skin (that may or may not be thanks to the help of her plastic surgeon), Kate Parow looks more like my older sister than my mom.
Those kind eyes are patiently staring at me, and I find myself giving in.
Don’t say a word, my mind warns.
“Hey, kiddo.”
At the sound of my dad’s voice, I turn around and smile. There’s so much I want to tell him. And so much I can’t. Instead, I give him a bright smile. He hasn’t changed at all. His hair is becoming grayer. He’s of average height and on the lean side but jokingly says that if he keeps eating sweets, it’ll catch up to him. He’s had the same pair of glasses for the past ten years. Every time he takes them off, the upper edges of his nose are red. Ian favors Dad the most, but I got his light eyes.
Dad gives me a side hug before he gives a quick once-over. “Good to see you.”
“You too.”
My brothers filter back into the foyer, and everyone starts talking at once. The sound of their voices is almost as soothing as my mom’s hug. I find myself repeatedly yawning and wanting to curl up on the nearest couch.
“I think we’re keeping Sleeping Beauty up with all our talking.”
I’m so sleepy, I can only grunt. Dad laughs.
“I think I’m going to head on up to bed. I can barely keep my eyes open,” I say, punctuating my sentence with a long yawn.
I mutter a weak good night to everyone, grab my nearest duffle bag, and trudge upstairs. I’m not even out of earshot when I hear them murmuring about me and how I acted on the ride here.
I’m too tired to care.
I walk into my childhood bedroom without bothering to flip on the lights and belly flop onto my bed.
I’ve called off my wedding.
My living situation is up in the air.
I’m not on speaking terms with my best friend and business partner. And I’m no closer to finding a way back to Étienne.
I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but I can’t give up, even though the odds are against me.
“I NEED EVERYONE to stay perfectly still,” Nat demands.
Shading my eyes with my hand, I stare in Nat’s direction and watch as she sets up her camera. “How much longer is this going to take?”
Not long ago, she confided in me that she had spoken to Serene about her desire to purchase a vest pocket Kodak. That was all I needed to hear and immediately bought one for her.
“A few minutes. Be patient,” Nat replies as she deftly handles the expensive equipment.
Since I’ve purchased the camera, she’s been using it constantly, taking pictures of the property and staff as practice. Watching her become more confident with each use has been my one joy since Serene left.
It’s been a week since Serene disappeared. I’m starting to hate that word, but it’s the only way to put it. One minute she was there. In my arms. In my bed. And the next, she was gone, snatched from me.
Poof.
Never to be seen again.
And I blame time. It is a thief that stole her from me.
I’ve done everything in my power to find her, but I can’t go against time. All I have is hope that she’ll come back to me.
“Nat, if I continue to smile like this, I’m afraid my face is gonna become cemented in this position,” Livingston says out of the corner of his mouth.
“Patience,” Asa says, leaning around me to get a better look at Livingston. “She’s takin’ her time.”
“She has been takin’ her time all day, loadin’ that film, and I’m startin’ to get hot under the collar.”
“Why? Because she’s enjoyin’ her camera and this is takin’ up half your day?”
“Precisely.”
Asa laughs and crosses his arms as he leans against the brick pillar. “Be honest with yourself. You weren’t doin’ anything important anyhow.”
Resting his arms on his knees, Livingston grunts before he glances at Edward to his left, then Asa, and finally at me. “I’m confused.”
Edward leans forward. “By?”
“Well, you, Asa, and I are dressed like gentlemen. Étienne looks… homeless.”
“Your brother’s observation is compelling,” Asa remarks. “You do not look…” He gives me a cursory glance. “Well.”
I touch my facial hair. I haven’t shaved since Serene left. And my clothes? I look down at them. I need to change my shirt, but I’ve been spending late nights in my office and just falling asleep at my desk, attempting to get some work done. I will admit that I haven’t spent much time focusing on my appearance. Compared to my brother, Edward, and Asa, I look similar to a vagabond. I couldn’t care less.
“Brother, don’t be afraid to ask your valet to pick up the razor and clean you up a bit. If Serene sees you like that, she’ll run for the hills.”
If my Serene saw me like this, she wouldn’t think twice.
After she left, I told Livingston and Nat and her fill-in parents that Serene decided to take an impromptu vacation to New York. It didn’t seem to faze anyone, considering the Old Serene had a deep-rooted love for New York and tried to visit any chance she could.
But sooner than later, Serene will need to come back home. What do I say then? I need to confide in Livingston and tell him the truth. That there’s an excellent chance she will never come back. But not now. Right now, if I have to extend Serene’s “vacation” by saying she decided to tour all of Europe, I will. Anything to buy some time.
“All right,” Nat cheerfully announces, “I am ready. Now everyone look at me, please.”
“Gladly,” Livingston mutters before he plasters on his mega-watt smile.
Edward and Asa face the camera, their backs resting against the pillars. Stubbornly, I stare at the camera. Not smiling like Livingston. Or posing like Edward and Asa. I’m just… here. And I’m only here because I love my sister and she asked me to do this.
She raises her head and stares at me with concern. Nat knows something is wrong. She’s happy and always buoyant, but she’s far more astute than any of us give her credit for. Our eyes hold for a handful of seconds before she sighs and looks through the small viewfinder.
Raising her hand, she snaps her fingers. “Everyone look at me.” She counts down from three with her fingers and takes the photo. Once again, she looks at me. This time, impatiently. “Étienne, can you try to smile?”
<
br /> “No.”
“Please?” She gives me an optimistic smile.
“This is all you’re gettin’ from me, Nat.”
Her shoulders fall. “Fine. You can leave. The rest of you, stay.”
Before she can finish, I’m up off the steps, heading down the drive for a much-needed walk. I need to clear my head.
Behind me, Livingston groans. “Oh, God, why do I feel as though I’m gonna be here all day?”
It’s only until I’m halfway down the drive that I realize I took the photo Serene claimed to have found in her time.
THAT NIGHT, I stare at the flames licking the surface of the chopped up wood. I roll my shoulders, trying to ignore the tension building there. Behind me, the door opens. I turn to see Livingston.
His expression is grim, yet I still ask, “Nat done with her photo session?”
Livingston goes directly to the sideboard and pours himself a drink. “About fifteen minutes ago, she blissfully ran out of film.” He drains the amber liquid in one gulp and pours some more.
I smirk and stare at the flames. Livingston is oddly quiet. Even though he appears nonchalant as he walks toward me, I know he wants to discuss something.
I wait patiently.
Resting his arm on the fireplace mantel, Livingston swirls his drink. “Serene isn’t in New York, is she?”
“No. She isn’t.”
He leans in. “Then where did she go?”
I hesitate. “I don’t know.”
“Did you two have one of your fights and she left?”
Sharply, I stare at my brother. “No. We didn’t fight.”
“Then what happened?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
The entire time Serene was here, I kept the truth of her time traveling secret because I wanted to protect her. No one would believe her, and it’s a wonder that I did. Since she’s been gone, the idea of confessing the truth has crossed my mind more than once. I always hold back though, because I don’t want anyone to dispute Serene’s arrival into my life.
I didn’t make her up. The fact that Old Serene hasn’t come back only solidifies that Serene does exist. To me, it’s also a sign that my Serene changed something in this time.
Or maybe we did. Perhaps the second I let Serene into my bed, the past and future collided and everything was irrevocably changed.
Placing his drink on the mantel, Livingston gives my shoulder a firm pat. “Try me, Étienne. I’m your brother, and you can tell me anything.”
Perhaps it’s exhaustion that lowers my defenses, or maybe the burden of carrying this weight on my shoulders makes me give up. Either way, I open my mouth, and I tell my brother everything, from the beginning to the last time I saw Serene.
He stares at me, looking perplexed. He shakes his head. “You are tryin’ to tell me that Serene is from the future?”
“Yes, 2017. And there’s no tryin’. Tryin’ implies I need to convince you, and I’m not gonna do that. I just needed to get the truth off of my chest.”
“You understand that your truth is beyond the bounds of possibility, right?”
“Yes, that is why I’ve never told you.”
Abruptly, Livingston turns his back to me. He doesn’t say a word as he walks around my office. With his head down and brows furrowed, I know he’s deep in thought. I accept that he’s going to declare me of unsound mind. He’s already said that what I’ve claimed is impossible.
But then he faces me. “Serene has been actin’ bizarre these past few weeks.”
I hold my breath, not daring to interrupt him.
“She was kinder to the staff. Her frivolous soirees stopped. And better yet, the two of you seemed to be gettin’ along. Naturally, I assumed the two of you were giving your relationship a chance.” He snorts. “However, in all the years I’ve known Serene, she’s never behaved that way.” My brother steps forward, unsmiling as he looks me in the eye. “You’re my brother. I may regret this later on, but right now, I believe what you’re saying.”
For the first time in days, a genuine smile spreads across my lips.
Before I can utter a word, Livingston holds up a hand. “But this cannot leave your office. Just as Serene was lucky for you to believe her, the same applies to you. Your friends and colleagues will not be as forgivin’.”
“I agree.”
“Until you get”—he glances at me—“a handle of yourself, perhaps it’s best if you lay low at work.”
Of all the things I expected him to say, that isn’t it. “That wouldn’t be for the best at all.”
“Étienne, even I can see you’re not focused at work.”
He’s right, and I know it. Before Serene came along, I loved my job. I could go to work and immerse myself in each investment. I had all the power. People relied on my thoughts and opinions.
But now I can’t focus on a single thing.
I walk toward my desk. Typically it’s organized, but now paperwork is scattered about. It’s a mess. I lay my palms on the cluttered surface, hunch my shoulders, and take a deep breath. “What do you suggest I do?”
“The only thing you can do. Move on.”
Whipping my body around, I glare at Livingston. “Move on?”
“Of course.” Livingston throws his hands in the air. “My God, it’s been a week. The chances of her ever comin’ back are low. The quicker you accept that, the faster you can move on. And move on is what you need to do because you cannot continue the way you are.”
I don’t reply because deep down, I knew she’s gone. I can feel it in my bones—a hollowness I’ve never felt before. She has left my time. Disappeared from my hands and left traces of her scent and memories of her laughter and body.
But to move on and give up on the possibility of her coming back? Not an option.
I laugh humorlessly. “You don’t understand. You never will.”
“I can tell you’re furious with me, but I want you to be happy.”
I don’t reply.
“There’re other—”
“Don’t even say it.”
“Why not? Someone should!”
“There will be no one else.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I rub the bridge of my nose before I mimic Livingston’s actions and pour myself a drink. My newfound relationship with brandy is the only thing keeping me subdued. I want the pain to leave. I want the memories to disappear. I want to silence all the questions running through my head. “Serene has a stubborn heart, and I have a stubborn mind. We fit. I love her because neither one of us knows how to give up.”
“And while that’s a trait some might admire, it could very well be your downfall. You need to accept that you might never see Serene again.”
“I will never accept that.” For me, it’s not an option. I love the Serene time gave me, not the one life gave me. I love the one who came to me when I needed her the most. My devotion to her borders on pathological. “She’s coming back.”
“But what if she—”
“I said she’s coming back!”
“You need to accept the possibility she won’t!”
What Livingston’s saying is too much for me to handle. With my hands on my hips, I pace the room. No one will understand how I feel. I know I can find her and I know I’m close to finding the solution. I just can’t reach it.
“Why don’t we go out? Have a drink, eh?” Livingston tries to place a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug him off and ignore his suggestion. “You need to get ahold of yourself. Look at you. You’re a mess.”
“Please leave.”
“Étie—”
Twisting around, I point at the door. “Go!”
My brother covers his mouth with his hand and rubs his jaw. He steps back and shrugs. “Fine.”
The door slams behind him. And even though he’s gone, his words linger, surrounding me, choking me.
I’ve begun to lose my mind, and I have no idea wha
t to do.
In a fit of rage, I hurl my empty glass against the wall. It breaks apart into thousands of little pieces littering the floor. I laugh because the room resembles the rubble of my life. I place my palms against the wall and close my eyes, breathing deeply. I need to get ahold of myself.
I walk back over to my desk and sigh loudly as I sit down. There’s a stack of papers in front of me. If I go through the entire stack, it will take me all night. But it’s not as though I’m going to bed any time soon. Might as well do some work.
Methodically, I stack the paperwork that needs my signature, and when I’m done, I move to the files that need to be read. I need more time for that. I push those aside and continue to clean my desk until I can finally see the surface. Dear God, it’s only been a week. What would my desk have looked like after a month?
I shudder at the thought.
It’s close to three in the morning when I spot the black ledger in the middle of my desk. I frown; this is the type of ledger my accountants use, not me.
I flip through pages and pages of numbers. All it takes is a matter of seconds to realize that this is the company’s subsidiary ledger. This ledger has an updated and correct balance of the company account. It details all of the money coming in and out of my company. There are gains and declines in stocks. Everything seems to be in order, but on the last page, something catches my eye. I do a double take and grab my glasses to get a better look. After a few seconds, I remove my glasses and rub my temples. I’ve been wrong the whole time.
Serene was right.
I’ve been betrayed.
FOR THE UMPTEENTH time, I glance at my watch. It’s 1:23 in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. Is it Christmas Eve for Étienne? I don’t know. Either way, I bet he’s focused on his work. I can picture him hunched over his desk, pouring through paperwork, glasses perched on his nose. At five sharp, he’d leave and go home to Belgrave.
