Echoes of Time

by Calia Read

Asa smiles before he dips his head, strands of his dark hair becoming a light golden brown in the light. As he stands to his full height, his gaze meets mine. All the hard work I’ve put in to create my façade and Asa destroys it with one look.

  Congratulations. You won.

  I wait until he’s gone to hang my head, and a shaky breath escapes from my lips. I can’t very well spend the entire day in the sitting room. I’ll have to face Rainey and Livingston. Until then, I need a few minutes to gather myself. I walk past Scarlett’s letter, reminding myself to write her back, and sit on the edge of the couch. My elbows dig into my upper thighs as my face falls into my hands. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose.

  Replaying my conversation with Asa, I take solace in knowing he saw Étienne and Serene together. I just hope they’re not in danger.

  “Oh, what are you two doin’?” I whisper at the floor.

  In the stillness of the night, I stare at the ceiling. There’s too much noise at this time. What could people be doing at this hour, and how can Serene possibly sleep through it all? I glance down at her sleeping form. Her head rests against my bare chest, and her arm is firmly wrapped around my stomach. She’s holding me just as tightly as I’m gripping her. Feeling her next to me calms me down and soothes my running thoughts. Idly, my fingers comb the ends of her hair. The strands feel like silk between my fingertips.

  I have vivid memories of when Serene first arrived in my time in 1912. There was a tense quality about her as we tried to unravel the reason for her time travel. I tried to soothe her the best way I knew how, but I was useless. The woman I was falling in love with was shot to pieces, and rightfully so, as she’d been ripped from the time she called her own. Ripped away from her family and friends. I’ve been in the present for eight days and understand her plight all too well.

  Although for me, being afforded the opportunity to watch Serene in her own time was incredibly gratifying. I discovered if she had nowhere to go, she preferred what she called sweatpants and sweatshirts. When she watched some television show called Dateline, she would yell who she thought the murderer was. For me, the interesting part was that her guesses were usually accurate. She didn’t particularly care for scary movies but could watch TV shows about people hunting for ghosts. It made no sense. Nonetheless, I found it fascinating. I found her fascinating. And she loved shows about people arguing about nonsensical subjects. She called it “reality TV.” I called it “a proverbial headache.”

  If I uncovered this much about Serene in just eight days, how much could I learn in thirty or sixty?

  Do my siblings realize I’m gone? Surely, they do. By now, I’m familiar with the process and know time moves at a lightning-quick speed in my era than it does in the present. God only knows what month it is in my time.

  How is Nathalie faring in Savannah? Is Oliver treating her well? I can’t forget Livingston. Of course, I can’t. I’m a grown man, but he’s my twin. We spoke nearly every day, and while most of our conversations had me rubbing my temples and questioning how we had the same blood relatives, it was unusual not to hear his wisecracks. I was certain he’d supervise the shipping company in my absence. Livingston appeared to be nothing but a skirt chaser; however, he was very smart.

  Asa would handle the day-to-day of EAL Corporation, but for how long? Numbers were his forte, not running a company.

  I think of every person in a high-level position in each company, and none of them strikes me as men who would easily walk away at the first sign of a buyout. None of them even seem capable of suggesting a buyout.

  Tucking my free hand behind my head, I mentally cross their names off the list and contemplate the next decision I need to make. Taking risks in life is thrilling to me. It compels me to make fast and effective decisions most people would never make. But I’ve never been more terrified in my life. It’s no longer myself and Serene. There’s our child to think about, and every step I take affects them.

  If I can uncover the person responsible for selling my companies, and Serene can find out why Old Serene is back without disrupting time, then everything will be all right.

  But the entire time, we need to keep one thing in mind: time waits for no one …

  “Étienne? Étienne! We need to go!”

  Moments later, he comes walking down the hall with a scowl on his face. “My God, woman, you crow louder than a rooster on an early Sunday mornin’.”

  “Comparing me to a rooster?” I bat my lashes. “And who says romance is dead?”

  “What is the meanin’ for all the hollerin’?”

  I finish my lunch and put the plate in the sink. “I have an appointment.”

  “An appointment,” he repeats.

  “Yes.”

  “For what, precisely?”

  “The baby. The baby you’re the father of,” I reply smartly.

  His eyes widen. “Is that truly today?”

  “Yep,” I say as I walk toward the front door and slip on my shoes. Étienne follows me.

  “I forgot,” he replies.

  I don’t know how he could. On top of trying to seek answers about Étienne’s company, Old Serene, and the other multitude of questions I have, this pregnancy has been at the forefront of my mind.

  How big is the baby? Is the baby okay? Is the baby a boy or a girl? A few times, I’ve put a pin in my research and looked through pregnancy websites. There were weekly updates and trimester updates. Looking at Google, I found an assortment of ultrasounds and moms to be proudly displaying their bumps.

  And I would think to myself, That will be me. If I don’t mess this up …

  With the exception of Étienne, I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted something more in this life than this baby, and the knowledge that it could be ripped away from me is terrifying.

  This appointment is standard for most moms to be. For me, it’s a salve for a wound and aloe for a burn. The information I receive today can give me potential relief until Étienne and I have all the answers we need and remain safely together.

  I grab my car keys from the key hook and sling my purse over my shoulder before I offer my hand to Étienne. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes.” Étienne slips on his shoes by the front door and barely gives his attire a second thought. He’s achieved the medium level of comfort in the clothes we bought during our shopping spree. Something tells me it won’t take him long to reach max comfort.

  “Please tell me what this appointment entails again?” Étienne asks as we head toward the lobby.

  “It’s my first OB/GYN appointment,” I explain.

  It’s been three weeks since I found out I was pregnant. As the doctor was booked solid, this was the earliest they could get me in. I kept myself busy watching Étienne slowly immerse himself in this time and all the amenities it has to offer, but I’m dying to see the baby.

  Wait, will I see the baby? I don’t know. The only time I’ve gone to this doctor was for a gynecologist appointment.

  Slamming the car door, I buckle up and start the car.

  Étienne doesn’t waste time asking more questions. “What’s your midwife’s name?”

  “She’s not a midwife. Her name is Dr. Jennifer Greenmorrow, and she’s an OB/GYN,” I reply as I pull onto the road. “And that stands for obstetrics and gynecology.”

  “Have you seen her before?”

  “She’s my gynecologist.”

  “What’s a gynecologist?”

  I brake at a stop sign and look at Étienne from the corner of my eye. I feel as if we’re playing a never-ending game of twenty questions. “A gynecologist deals with lady parts.”

  His cheeks turn red, and he abruptly looks out the window. “I’m sorry I asked.”

  The drive to the doctor’s office is filled with more questions from Étienne on the terms of this appointment. He seems genuinely baffled we would see a doctor this early on. Understandable. I researched how women in the 19th century realized they were “with child,” and it went far beyond
a missed “menses.”

  “In 0.22 miles make a left on University Avenue.” Grateful for the interruption, I focus on the Garmin and the road. The doctor’s office is located close to the hospital. Will I deliver in a hospital, or will our baby be delivered by a midwife in Belgrave? It’s a jarring realization for me. If I go back to his time, I won’t have this luxury. If something happens to our baby, I won’t have modern medicine on my side. My brows furrow. I don’t want that to happen.

  For the remainder of the drive, Étienne and I are both quiet. I can feel Étienne’s gaze on me, but he’s wise enough not to say anything. Too much keeps running through my head to continue the small talk.

  When I reach the clinic, I pull into the parking lot and take the first open spot.

  The waiting room of the doctor’s office is standard. Étienne looks around with his eyes open wide with interest, and I nearly tug him to the front desk. As I sign in and take the paperwork from the receptionist, Étienne all but leans over the counter to get a better look at the woman’s computer.

  Subtly, I kick the side of Étienne’s foot to get his attention. Immediately, he pulls back and glares at me. I smile at the receptionist and take one of the pens to fill out the paperwork.

  “Could you be more obvious?” I say out of the corner of my mouth as I find a place to sit.

  “My apologies. I found the electronic device fascinatin’.”

  “I know but find a way to stare in a less apparent way.”

  While I fill out the paperwork, Étienne sits beside me and picks up one of the Cosmopolitan magazines to his left. His eyes widen when he sees the cover model.

  I tap my pen against the bandage dress wrapped around her like a second skin. “Never say I’m indecently dressed, bucko.”

  Étienne snorts and continues observing the waiting room. I finish the paperwork and am nervously tapping my fingers against the clipboard when a nurse calls my name.

  “Ms. Hambleton?”

  In unison, Étienne and I lift our heads in her direction. I stand, grabbing my purse. Étienne looks unsure whether he should stand too. The nurse explains they only need me for one moment, and then I’ll be right back. I leave my purse with Étienne and follow the nurse.

  When I come back to the waiting room, Étienne’s in the same spot I left him. It’s a bit comical to see such a large man folded up in one of the waiting room chairs. But Étienne manages to bend his surroundings to his needs, not the other way around. He looks down at his laced fingers as if they hold the key to all his answers.

  Even though he’s dressed in present-day clothes and blends in perfectly, people still give him a wide berth like they do in his era.

  His head shoots up

  “What did you do?”

  “Peed in a cup.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “It’s just to check for diabetes, dehydration, and preeclampsia. Stuff like that.” I shrug as if everybody should know this information. In reality, I read up on this online.

  “And that’s all from urine?”

  His formal way of speaking still brings a smile to my face. “Yes, Étienne. It’s all from urine.”

  Étienne’s face lights up with interest. I’ve seen that expression before. He’s curious to know more. Luckily, a nurse opens the door leading to the exam rooms and says my last name, saving me from any more questions centering around bodily fluid.

  I stand, and this time, I hold my hand out for Étienne to take. He follows my lead and laces his fingers through mine. We face the nurse as though we’re facing a firing squad.

  She smiles at us, pressing her weight against the door so it’s wide open, and gestures for us to go before her. The door closes behind her as she takes the lead, walking down a narrow hall with many closed doors on both sides. We stop in front of one that’s open. “You can go in this room.”

  Étienne and I step inside, and my nerves increase. I turn in a circle, avoiding the exam table. I know I’ll more than likely be sitting there but not yet, though. I stand close to Étienne as the nurse closes the door behind her and gives me a warm smile.

  “If you will, disrobe from the waist down, and use this blanket to cover up. The doctor will be in shortly. Do you have any questions?”

  I shake my head. She smiles before she drags the curtain around the door to give me privacy. The door softly closes behind her.

  I look at Étienne and the thin sheet she gave me.

  “Why must you disrobe?” Étienne asks.

  I shrug. “Probably so she can check me, I’m assuming.” I take my shoes off and unbutton my pants. “I’ve never had an OB appointment before.”

  I blurt, “You know, I was looking up signs women used to find out if they were pregnant in the 19th century.”

  Étienne arches a brow and waits for me to continue.

  “Obviously, they didn’t have pregnancy tests back then, so an indicator of pregnancy could be enlarged nipples in a darkened shade.”

  “We can test that theory now.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Étienne sits back in his chair and links his hand behind his head. “What else did you read?”

  “They’ll have an increase of appetite, and eat and drink specific types of food.”

  “Do you have that?”

  I shrug and begin to say not really, but then I remember how I gorged on Taco Bell two nights ago and only stopped because the pile of bean burrito wrappers made me feel like a sumo wrestler. “It’s a possibility,” I reply. “Then one suggestion was if a woman developed hysteria that could be a sign of pregnancy. Which is ridiculous because I’m a bitch every time I’m on my period, so how would I know the difference, you know?” I take a deep breath before I continue my rambling. “And then I read—”

  “Serene?” Étienne cuts in.

  “Yes?”

  “You will be all right,” he gently says.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I exhale and give him a shaky smile.

  There’s a sharp rap on the door. Étienne and I look in that direction. The privacy curtain pulls back, and a blond woman smiles at us. She places her laptop and files on the counter and shakes my hand.

  “Hello. You must be Serene.”

  “Hello.”

  The doctor holds her hand out to Étienne. “Hello, I’m Dr. Greenmorrow.”

  “Ma’am. It’s a pleasure.”

  Étienne’s formal speaking causes Dr. Greenmorrow to momentarily appear shocked. People’s reaction to him will never get old. I bite down on my lower lip to stop myself from smiling.

  “Well, it says here you’re pregnant,” she says good-naturedly.

  “That or those pregnancy tests I took were faulty,” I reply without missing a beat.

  The doctor laughs and opens her laptop to type. “Well, the urine test you took for us confirms you’re pregnant, in case you needed a final confirmation.”

  I smile. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “On the paperwork you filled out, you didn’t list your last known period.”

  Étienne and I share a look. Clearing my throat, I shift on the exam table. “Yes, w-well, I wasn’t exactly keeping track of my periods as I regularly do. I-it was a stressful time,” I lie.

  I feel like an idiot for stuttering my way through my excuse, but it’s far easier giving her this lie than telling her the truth.

  “That’s understandable. Stress happens to all of us.” Her fingers clack away on her keyboard before she abruptly stops. “First things first, we need to perform a pelvic exam and then an ultrasound to see how far along you are and give you a due date.”

  I nod rapidly as Dr. Greenmorrow gestures for me to lie back on the table while she sits down on the stool next to a machine with a medium size screen. I think it’s the ultrasound machine.

  As I make myself comfortable on the exam table, the paper crinkles beneath me. I stare up at the fluorescent lights while Étienne sits beside me, and place my legs in the stirrups. I count down the seconds
until the doctor finishes with the Pap smear. The whole time, Étienne looks forward as though he can’t believe this is happening. Finally, it’s over, and she says I can relax. I smooth the stiff sheet across my legs and eye the long probe attached to the ultrasound machine with suspicion.

  Please, Lord, don’t let the doctor use that thing on me.

  Thankfully, she asks me to pull my shirt up and has me lower the sheet until my hip bones are exposed.

  “Now the gel might feel cool on your stomach,” Dr. Greenmorrow warns.

  There’s a small squirt, then the liquid lands on my stomach. I continue to stare at the ceiling because this is awkward. I don’t know what to do with myself. What is she going to find? I’m not even showing.

  She places the wand on my stomach, and a large static sound unexpectedly echoes through the speakers as she moves the wand around, spreading the gel on my stomach. The sound is like a hand tapping a mic.

  I jolt slightly at the sound and turn my attention to the screen. White ripples surround black circles that continue to move in and out with every glide of the wand. I want to tell her to slow down. What the hell am I looking at? She’s moving too fast for me to even tell!

  Concentrating, Dr. Greenmorrow drifts lower until she’s pressing the wand hard above my pelvic bone. Her movements slow, and the black circles become a black mass, and inside the black mass is a small white speck.

  The doctor stops and begins to measure the white speck she insists is the baby. I’m still wrapping my head around that tidbit.

  “Your baby measures 2.75 centimeters, so that makes you about nine weeks and six days gestation. With your expected due date as November fourth.”

  Étienne and I solemnly nod at her, but we’re both doing the math in our heads. We’re trying to figure out if we time travel will the due date remain the same. At least, I am.

  I know the moment the lightbulb goes off in Étienne’s head by the way his hazel eyes slightly widen.

  Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it, I plead with my eyes.

  “November fourth is on a Wednesday,” he says.

  “Oh God,” I mutter under my breath. What are the chances November fourth is also on a Wednesday in the present day, too? Dr. Greenmorrow frowns and pulls up the calendar on her laptop. “My calendar says November fourth is on Sunday.”