timeaftertime

by Cynthia Luhrs

  “I thought you could drive the convertible. It doesn’t hold much, so we’ll put the food and perishables from the refrigerator and freezer in there. I’ll take the canned goods and our overnight bags. Wayne and Kevin can take the rest.”

  Yes, there was definitely a man involved in this story. The girl was as pale as the moon, her eyes huge as she carried bags out to the red roadster. When she came back up the wooden stairs, Mildred reached out and awkwardly patted her shoulder.

  “Why don’t you go on over and put the food away so it doesn’t spoil?” She handed Karen the keys to the car and the house. Of course they were on a key ring with a giant, sparkly pair of sunglasses. Pittypat loved the bling.

  The look of relief on Karen’s face told Mildred it was the right call. She almost hugged the girl, but stopped, unsure of the reception she’d get, and instead nodded at the door.

  “Go on now. I don’t want the milk to spoil.”

  “I’ll get everything put away.” Karen scurried out the door, and five minutes later, Mildred’s help pulled in the driveway.

  It had been a tiring day, but they’d accomplished a great deal. Mildred and Karen sat outside on the porch enjoying the late afternoon sun. It was supposed to turn cold next week, so Mildred was grateful for the warmth, wanted to enjoy every moment. They’d worked straight through lunch, so she ordered pizza for an early dinner.

  They’d put away all the food and made the beds in the rooms. The faint scent of new paint lingered, mixing in with the smell of the ocean. She was glad she’d repainted the house both inside and out; it helped Pittypat’s house not feel like some kind of morbid mausoleum. This way, Mildred made it her own, though she had kept a few of her sister’s favorite paintings, pieces of driftwood, and shells she’d collected on her daily walks.

  The outside of the house had been repainted from a bright yellow to a pale blue with white trim. The walls inside were all a soft soothing blue. And the furniture…

  “I wondered if you’d have the new furniture covered in plastic.” Karen spoke through a mouthful of pizza.

  “The store acted like it was an odd request. They didn’t want to do it, but I told them to charge me a custom upholstery fee and that did the trick. I might be frugal, but when necessary, money talks. Always remember that.”

  “Spoken like someone who has money,” Karen said without rancor.

  “True. I worked hard for my money, saved every bit so I could enjoy this time in my life. I never counted on a man to take care of me.”

  Karen stared out at the ocean, the end of her dark ponytail lifting in the breeze. The waves crashed against the shoreline as a gull flew by, his cry melancholy.

  “I wish I’d been more careful with my choices.”

  Before Mildred could respond, she picked up the dishes, taking them into the house. She heard Karen washing up but stayed where she was, giving the girl space. She knew all about needing time and space.

  There were boxes scattered across the kitchen and living room floor. After they ate, they’d finish unpacking and putting everything away. Mildred had donated all of the bedding and towels she and her sister owned, as they’d seen better days. The local animal shelter was grateful for the old towels, and she knew the bedding would find a new home. She’d bought new. Quality. Big, fluffy towels in bright colors. Both cotton and flannel sheets. Nothing like warm flannel sheets in the wintertime.

  The sofas were upholstered in a sand dollar print, the chairs with starfish. All pale blues, tans, and grays. It was soothing like a spa. A big change from the harvest gold and avocado she’d had for so many years.

  Pittypat always loved china. They’d eaten the pizza on china. With ten sets, she and the girl could eat on a different set of china every day of the week and then some, which was why Mildred had gotten rid of both of their everyday dishes. It would be china at every meal from now on. Thank goodness it all fit in the roomy kitchen.

  “I’ll put the leftover pizza in the fridge. I love cold pizza for breakfast.”

  Mildred made a face. “That’s disgusting. But good for you. Eat what you like. I’ll stick to my breakfast of oatmeal with cinnamon, raisins, and honey, thank you very much.”

  Karen refilled the glasses and put the pitcher back in the fridge. Ready to get back to work, Mildred pushed away from the table.

  “He left me there. Said he’d be back for me.” Karen’s voice was quiet, and Mildred had to strain to hear her over the waves and the wind.

  “But he didn’t come back. I waited a whole week. And when I finally got a hold of him…he laughed. Said I was stupid. That he never loved me.” She blew her nose, tears sparkling on her cheeks as the light hit them.

  “Better to know now.” Her voice came out gruff as Mildred patted Karen’s hand. “These boxes won’t unpack themselves.”

  Karen nodded. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

  Mildred turned in the doorway. “You’ll stay as long as you need.”

  She fled to the hall bath and turned on the tap, tears running. Red eyes looked back at Mildred in the mirror as she splashed water on her face. There was going to be more upheaval in her life. Mildred hadn’t missed the way the girl’s hand kept going to her stomach. Did she know, or hadn’t she yet realized?

  At least Karen had closure, even if it was harsh. It would hurt and then she’d get over it. At least, that was what Mildred had told herself. Though he hadn’t even had the decency to give her that much. Damn the wretched man.

  FIVE

  “Water,” Drake croaked. He peered through bleary eyes at the unfamiliar room. Was this place hell?

  A man in a long white coat spoke to him as his mind struggled to make sense of the words.

  “Where am I? What year is it?”

  “2017.”

  Drake had lost forty years. No, that wasna right. The man in the white coat turned to speak to another. A powerful man, though this was no noble or knight. That man had taken him in, given him a life, and in return, Drake had given him his oath. But where was she?

  “What is he saying?” The heavily built man frowned at him. “That’s not English.”

  The white coat shook his head. “My wife teaches history, and if I’m not mistaken, it sounded like Norman French.”

  “No. This isn’t good. When I first found him, he was muttering in the same language, and then he switched to English. What’s wrong with him?”

  But Drake did not hear the rest, as the darkness pulled him under again.

  When he next woke, the man—DiSilvio was his name—stood there scowling down at him.

  Drake struggled but found the words. “Did you catch them?”

  It was barely a nod. “We did when their tire blew out. The diamonds were recovered and safely stowed in the vault without the prince any wiser to the attempted theft.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Drake—”

  “How long?”

  DiSilvio knew what he meant. “Three days. The doc said you’ve suffered trauma to that thick skull of yours. A week of rest and you’ll be right as rain.”

  How was it possible? Drake nodded, not listening to DiSilvio as he talked about the casino. The past mixed with the present, the words jumbling, falling over each other as if going over a waterfall. Silver eyes. Her. He sat up, pulling at the tubes in his arm.

  “I needs go to her. She’ll be worried.”

  The mist cleared. He was from 1335 England. The horses, the blood, and battles all made sense. The desert and the woman with hair of sunlight and eyes like moonlight. Millie. The woman he loved body and soul…but he’d left her and never returned.

  Drake groaned, the memories tumbling end over end, filling his head. He’d been in the desert alone when the sky spat him out in a strange, unfamiliar place. He’d tried to go back for a se’nnight but to no avail. Then he’d met her, fallen in love, and beseeched the fates not to take him back to his time or homeland but to let him stay. With her.

  So much time lost. What happened to her? D
id she think him dead? Find another and make a life? The thought sent pain coursing through his body, and his soul cried out.

  His employer pushed him back against the bed.

  “Easy. Caroline knows. She’s been by to check on you. I texted her you’re awake. She’ll be by later after she takes care of a few things at the casino.”

  But it wasn’t Caroline he had to see. ’Twas Millie. Mildred Merriweather. A snort escaped. Or should he say Mildred Gregory? Nay, she’d refused to take his name—’twas the custom of her family to keep the Merriweather name. Saints be, where was his wife?

  It had been a week since Mildred had brought Karen home. They’d settled into a routine, each needing space throughout the day and both liking it quiet in the morning. The nights had grown cold, dipping into the low forties at night and in the fifties during the day, though the air off the ocean made it seem colder.

  “What do you think?” Karen turned around in the mirror in the dressing room at Belk. She frowned at her reflection. “I’ve gained weight. Looks like I’ve eaten nonstop since I got here. Look at my stomach. I need to go on a diet or I’ll get fat.”

  Ignoring the last part of what she said, Mildred pursed her lips. Did the girl truly not know? Maybe Mildred was wrong. Then again, time would tell.

  “You look nice. The green looks good with your hair. I always wanted dark hair like yours when I was growing up.”

  A shy smile flitted across Karen’s face. “I think your hair is beautiful. It’s not gray but silver.”

  Mildred touched a hand to the bob. “All the Merriweather women turn gray early.” She patted the big purse on her arm. She’d switched from her usual taupe to black for the winter. “I’ll meet you at the register.”

  “Wait, I’ll just give you the pair of jeans and a sweater. That’s plenty.”

  With a sigh, Mildred crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have two pairs of shorts and t-shirts and a pair of flip-flops. You need a wardrobe. We’ll take it all.”

  Karen’s eyes were huge. “You’ve been so generous already with the boots and sneakers and underthings. One outfit is plenty. I’ll never be able to pay you back.”

  Mildred tapped her foot. “One outfit and you’ll be doing laundry every day and wasting water. That won’t do. We’ll take it all.” She held up a hand. “As for paying me back, you’re doing the dishes and the laundry. That’s plenty.”

  “I could do the cleaning too.”

  “Shelly has five kids. I couldn’t let her go.” Mildred switched the bag to her other arm. “You can do the weekly shopping and keep me company. I’m getting older, and it’s nice to have someone around.”

  Karen opened her mouth but, seeing Mildred’s look, shut it with a snap.

  “Put on something warm and give me the tags. We’ll grab a bite to eat before we go home.”

  With a nod, Karen did as asked. “Thank you, Mildred.” Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

  Mildred sniffed. “Never mind all that. I’m hungry and I get cranky when I don’t eat, so quit fooling around and let’s get going.”

  The girl smiled—a tentative smile, but it was a start. “Yes, ma’am.”

  SIX

  Bloody hell. As Drake lay in the hospital bed, the past surrounded him. ’Twas the Year of Our Lord 1335. A terrible storm arose, men fled in terror, and still he fought on until a blow sent him to his knees, blood dripping from his armor as he watched each drop slowly fall to the snow-covered ground. The sky lit up, and he heard his sword scream; there were odd sounds, and then he woke, his wits addled but his head still attached to his shoulders. Only he was no longer on the field of battle anymore, but in a barren place he did not recognize.

  A small wolf—later he’d learned ’twas a coyote—watched him before trotting off into the shadows. He’d been in the desert a few weeks, living off the land, when he met her. Millie. She was full of laughter. Of life. With her long blond hair and lively silver eyes. When she asked him if he was a survivalist making a home in the desert, he could see one of her front teeth was chipped, and he was smitten.

  She’d taken him to a doctor to have his wounds tended in a hospital, where the smells tickled his nose. The man told him he had suffered a fall and had likely lost the papers saying who he was. The doctor said he had amnesia and in time would remember who he was, but Drake knew who he was: a warrior many feared, with gold and a home of his own. But no one to share it with.

  No matter how many times she asked, he did not tell her from whence he came. For during his time in the hospital, he had heard another shouting in his language. The man had been taken away before Drake could go and speak to him. The nurse told Drake the man would be locked away for his own safety. Drake could not bear the thought, so he kept quiet. He would learn to live in this strange time. To adapt.

  His Millie was a practical girl and would not believe he had somehow been sent by the fates through time to this place in the future. So he’d let her weave a tale that he was an actor at a tavern where the servants pretended to joust. Her eyes sparkled as she told the tale, and he let her believe what she wished. For as long as they were together, he did not care.

  Over the summer, they’d fallen in love. He wanted her as he’d never wanted any woman. One night he brought her back to the desert and, under the stars and the eyes of the fates, asked her to be his lady.

  By then, he worked in the medieval tavern jousting and fighting with a sword to earn a living. He’d taught the others much, and as the summer faded, he’d accepted he could not go back to his own time. Now his place was here in this time with her. She was his home.

  Millie had taken him to a library with many books, and he read the history of his country. So many changes. Some good, some terrible. There were so many wonders here, from metal horses to metal birds flying people through the skies. He loved television and electricity.

  Drake had always fought with two swords, but he sold one to pay for a ring. The man let him choose a ring and gave him a stack of paper, which by then he knew was money. The ring was for Mistress Merriweather, with a wide gold band carved with the moon and stars. The stone was a yellow diamond that reminded him of her hair.

  They were married in a chapel by a man who she said looked like Elvis. Drake enjoyed the man’s singing but would never wear such garments.

  Millie loved the Strip, the noise, lights, and people. The energy in the air, she called it. He’d paid for a large room in the nicest lodging and made her his.

  But the next morning, everything changed. The fickle fates punished him. He’d gone to fetch her sustenance from a small place away from the Strip. She ate there every week; ’twas her favored place.

  Drake lurched off the bed, and his guts clenched as he retched into the trashcan by the bed just as Caroline swept in, wrinkling her nose at the stench in the air.

  “Darling, I’ve been so worried. I came as soon as I could get away.” The finger on her left hand sparkled with light.

  Half a bottle of water later, Drake wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his hospital gown.

  “Caroline, sit down. We need to talk.”

  She rested a hand on his arm. “Later, when you’re back to yourself. I’m glad he didn’t scar you. What were you thinking, not to let security handle it?”

  “I do not back down from battle,” he said through gritted teeth. Drake removed her hand from his arm. “I needs end our betrothal.”

  “You’re talking funny again.” She smoothed her hair back, the earrings catching the light. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re feeling a bit unsettled. A week at most and you’ll be the old Drake, ready to run my father’s empire.”

  The nausea from shaking his head made Drake swallow a few times, closing his eyes to stop the room whirling. Once his gut settled, he met her shrewd gaze, his voice gentle. Gentler than it had been in…well, since Millie.

  “Nay, I cannot marry you, for I am wed to another.”

/>   To her credit, Caroline did not swoon or shriek. She pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down, crossing one leg, swinging the high heel back and forth. ’Twas the only indication of her mood.

  “When did this sudden wedding take place? And why am I only now hearing about it?” The soft tone was deceptive. She was, after all, her father’s daughter.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling every year of his three score years.

  “A long time ago. I was ten and eight…I was eighteen.” His head ached. He kept thinking in Norman French and mixing in English. ’Twas like when he’d only been in the future a short while. All the thinking made his head ache.

  The narrowed eyes and rapid pace of the heel swinging back and forth had Drake eyeing the exits in the room.

  “And you just now thought to tell me about this mystery wife of yours?” The color in her face matched the formfitting red dress she wore.

  “When your father found me, I was newly wed to Mistress Merriweather. I’d been in an accident, lost my memory. It was only when the whoreson at the casino struck me and I woke here that I remembered everything.”

  She was quiet for so long that he thought she’d forgotten about him. But finally, she spoke.

  “Sounds awfully convenient.” Caroline looked up from her phone. “Who knows if she’s even still alive? I’ll call the lawyers and we’ll get the divorce taken care of quickly. There’s no reason to delay our wedding all because of some teenage crush a million years ago.”

  The matter-of-fact tone, the complete confidence was what had drawn him to her. He respected the way she ran her father’s business, and yet…he wanted to be loved.

  Her hand was cool in his as he spoke, careful not to hurt her feelings. “I care for you a great deal, but as I tried to tell you at dinner, I do not love you.”

  “Love? Who said anything about love? A silly emotion dreamed up by greeting card companies, sappy TV movies, and romance novels. Love isn’t real life.” Eyes bright, she plowed on. “We’re partners with mutual goals and companionship. Grand passion is for kids with stars in their eyes. We’re mature adults; what we have will last a lot longer. Together we’ll own this town without the entanglement of emotion getting in the way.”