by Calia Read
“Your brother is showin’ me how to use his laptop in greater depth.” Étienne takes in my attire. “Are you goin’ somewhere?”
“I’m going shopping,” I lie.
“Oh?” His eyes widen.
I nod. “I’m going back to the mall I took you to.”
The interest instantly dies in Étienne’s eyes. “Oh.”
I knew that would do the trick.
Do I feel guilty for lying? To be honest, I don’t. Before I tell Étienne what I discovered last night, I want to gather more information. I don’t want to worry him any more than he has to. Compared to yesterday afternoon, he looks so … content, and I want him to stay this relaxed.Étienne stares at me for a second before he smiles and leans in. He knows me well enough to see the signs of when I’m lying, but I think he’s distracted by Ian coming over to notice right now.
My heart begins to race. I may not feel guilty for lying, but that doesn’t mean I’m not tempted to tell Étienne. He’s my best friend. I want to tell him everything.
“All right. I have to go. See you later.”
Before Étienne can reply, I snatch my car keys from the counter. I don’t know why I’m so worried about Étienne questioning my whereabouts. As I walk toward the front door, I hear him say to my brother, “Now what buttons do I press to conquer this Oregon Trail?”
Stopping in the middle of the doorway, I strain to hear the rest of their conversation.
“Dude. I can’t believe you’ve never played this game.”
“Yes. Well, I lived a very rudimentary life,” Étienne replies.
At that, I smile and head toward the elevator.
The past few days have been chilly, but today, it’s nice enough outside to wear a long-sleeved shirt and jeans.
I expel a shaky breath as I exit the lobby and head toward my car. Before I pull out onto the road, I scroll through the past addresses on my Garmin and find the one for the antique store. Before I press enter on the touch screen, my gaze flicks toward the condo. For a second, my mind resists, telling me to go back inside and ask Étienne if he wants to come with me, but I press enter before I can talk myself out of it. It’s best if I go alone. Last time, he basically got us kicked out.
“You’re only working yourself up,” I say out loud.
I researched online for Old Serene for a second time and got results. Will the same thing happen at the antique store?
I’m almost afraid to discover the answer.
I’m lucky enough to find a parking spot directly in front of the antique store.
My heart pounds erratically, but I can’t tell if it’s from the lie I told Étienne or the prospect of receiving additional answers at the store. It’s a new day, and there’s a small chance they’ll have new items in the store. I remember how things worked for Liz and me. Somedays, we would search online for items or go to flea markets and estate sales, and there would be nothing. Other times, it seemed as though we hit the jackpot.
As I slam my car door, sunlight bounces off the hood of my car, causing me to squint. After I slide my sunglasses on, I walk around the front of the car toward the sidewalk. My body begins to break out in a cold sweat, and my steps slow as my heart seizes in my chest. It almost feels as though someone, or something, has their fingers wrapped around it, and they’re squeezing as hard as possible.
Gasping, I place my hand on the hood of my car. Something’s not right. My eyes lock on the antique shop in time to watch the front door fly open. The bells hooked around the handle bang against the glass while leaves on the sidewalk and hugging the gutters fly into the air. The sudden windstorm fazes no one walking down the sidewalk as everyone continues on their day. It’s almost as if we’re in two worlds, but I can see everything through a three-way mirror. Papers shoot out of the store and become mixed with the leaves fluttering around me.
You have to get out of here! my mind chants.
As badly as I want to seek answers for Étienne and me, I know what’s happening. I’m all too familiar with this feeling, and I want no part of it.
I don’t trust my own balance; I feel too weak. I keep my hands on my car and find the strength to take one step back and then another when every part of me wants to collapse. Tears leak out of the corner of my eyes. Even with my hand on the car, my body sways once, then twice. I don’t bother crying out for help because no one will hear me.
The temptation to close my eyes and give in to the darkness is intoxicating, but I know what will happen if I do. As I stare at the open doorway of the store, I watch the papers continue to fly out of the open doorway.
Whatever you do, don’t stop moving. Over and over, I repeat those six words in my head as I continue to slowly back away. Pain slices through my head as though a knife has been jammed through the back of my skull.
In spite of the pain, I round the car. Blindly, my hand makes contact with the side-view mirror.
At this point, I’m panting because I know it’s a matter of seconds before I give in to the pain and collapse. I look down, and my hand grasps the door handle tightly. The entire time, my body is shaking. It’s almost as though there’s a suction around the front door of the antique store, and it’s getting stronger with each passing second, trying its best to pull me in. Once I open the door, I all but fall into my car and toss my purse into the passenger seat. As chaos ensues around me, people carry on with their day.
I know with certainty I’ve found myself stuck between the past and the present.
But why?
Later on, I can think about that question in greater depth. Right now, I need to get away from here. The echoes of time are trying to drag me back to the past.
PART II
“The strongest of all warriors are these two — Time and Patience.”
― Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace
The entire drive home, my thoughts are a chaotic mess. Coupled with my pounding heart, I felt as though I was either going to pass out or have a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe. What just happened? One second, it feels like an ocean inside my head. Waves crashing against my temple. The pressure is so incredibly painful; it feels as though my skull will crack in two. Thankfully, the minute I drove away, the suffering subsided.
My left hand shakes as I reach out and press the power window switch. The cool air filters into the car, touching my clammy skin, and I sigh in relief. My shoulders sag a bit. I can’t remember the last time I was this emotionally exhausted. Maybe when I first time traveled to 1912? Somehow, I adapted to my new normal. But what just happened back at the antique shop—being pulled into some strange vortex only to resist—has never occurred. The burning question that continues to run through my mind is why did I almost time travel, and why was I able to resist? That’s never been a possibility before. The fallback is always too powerful, and the pain too mind-numbing to fight off.
There are three probabilities that could revamp how I view time travel. And it comes in the form of Old Serene, Étienne, and the baby growing inside me. We broke barriers when I became pregnant. And another when Étienne arrived in the present day. Knowing Old Serene is very much alive in the past makes everything all the more complicated.
I don’t even know where to begin.
Of one thing I’m certain—something or someone in the store is connected to me or Étienne. At the thought, a shaky breath escapes me. I’m not going back there. Not by myself.
Narrowly, I avoided traveling back to a time without Étienne. I can’t think about it. I just can’t. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I drive by the cornfields. Tufts of overgrown grass and weed cling to the fence posts and the utility poles.
What is Étienne’s reaction going to be when I tell him what just happened? This only adds another layer of confusion. And that’s the last thing I need.
A faint yet persistent noise pulls me out of my thoughts. Pressing the window switch, the window rolls up. The tapping sound becomes condensed. It’s outside, but it’s definitely my car.
/> Its ta-ta-ta-ta-ta sound has me thinking an object is hitting my car. I spot something white near the right side of my windshield. When I focus on the item, I realize it’s a piece of paper caught beneath the windshield wiper. Squinting, I lean forward and try to get a better look. I’m going too fast to read what’s on the paper, so I slow down and I get off at the next exit. Ignoring my Garmin, I turn on a quiet country road and pull off to the side. My heart beats like a drum as I get out. I’ve traded one mystery for another. For all I know, this could be one of those car-jacking schemes my mom used to warn me about. But I’m positive I didn’t see the paper on my windshield when I pulled up to the store or drove away.
Walking around the front of the car, I head to the passenger’s side. The wind causes my hair to whip across my face. Tucking the strands behind my ears, I reach out and lift the wiper away from the windshield to grab the paper.
“Dear,” I say out loud.
My voice fades as I press my face closer to the letter. It’s impossible to tell the name. Either the ink has faded with time or the writer’s penmanship is unintelligible. I continue.
November 1915
These bricks will soon become chains around my ankles. My hope will dwindle as fast alternatives. I will make this …
After much thought, I have decided …
The upkeep is too great, and there is simply far too much at stake. Numbers have been … of affairs agrees with my decision.
I greatly anticipate your response.
Sincerely,
Numerous sections of the letter are illegible as though the author of the letter was either in a rush, undecided, or maybe both. Perhaps, the most frustrating is that the bottom of the letter is ripped. Directly where the name of the writer should be.
Poof.
Their name is gone. I’m merely left with pieces of their words and the date. That’s it.
In the middle of nowhere, I lower the letter. The thin paper brushes against my thigh as I blindly stare in front me at the empty farmlands.
What does this letter mean? I read the note several more times in hopes I can piece together the cursive handwriting, but it’s nearly impossible for me to make out.
1915 is the year EAL Corporation merged with Clearwater Real Estate. That cannot be a coincidence, but I’m not one hundred percent sold. Too much is missing from the letter.
For the millionth time, I wonder how I’m going to explain all of this to Étienne?
For a moment, I envision keeping my mouth shut. For a moment, I envision what it’d be like to get married in the present day. For a moment, I envision the life Étienne and I would live here. Instinctively, my hand goes to my stomach. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. We would be happy and content with our child. Already Étienne is slowly adapting to this time.
But I can’t not say anything to Étienne. He’s in this just as much as I am and deserves to know what I discovered last night and experienced today. Before I get into my car, I glance toward the highway in the direction of the antique store. The long stretch of the road resembles a silver ribbon, and in the far distance, I swear I see the quaint town of Long Grove. My heart races as my imagination takes over. The blue sky bleeds into a sepia tone, and the clouds reconstruct into a large circle. Roman numerals began to appear in the circle, and then slowly, a 3-D effect takes shape. The clock becomes a spiral clock. The only thing missing is the hour and minute hand. Time is before me. If I run fast enough, I can reach through time and grab the answers I seek. But then I blink, and the image is gone.
My thoughts are so scattered the rest of the drive to Champaign goes by relatively fast. When I pull up in front of the condo, I barely have the car in park before I open the car door. Turning off the car, I grab my purse, hustle through the lobby, and endure the long trek up the elevator.
A part of me almost expects Étienne to be waiting for me. Almost as if the event at the antique shop had some minuscule effect on him, but there’s no one waiting. I pause in the doorway and hear the deep timbre of Étienne’s voice carrying down the hallway.
The sound gives me momentary comfort. For a moment, I almost thought I was going to leave, but I didn’t. I’m still here. We’re still together. Before I walk toward the back of the house, I place a hand over my racing heart. I think it might be a while before I’ve fully calmed down.
Kicking my shoes off, I walk down the hall. Instinctively, my hand pats my back pocket where I placed the letter. Still there.
Upon entering the dining area, I see my brother and Étienne are still in the same place where I left them. By the time Ian’s done with my fiancé, Étienne will know more about computers than me. They’re so engrossed by whatever is on the screen that neither one looks in my direction.
“Hi,” I say.
Étienne and Ian give me distracted waves. “First, I died from cholera. Then the broken arm and now typhoid.”
“Yeah. But I’m telling ya, it’s the dysentery you gotta watch out for,” Ian says.
Shaking his head, Étienne mutters under his breath, staring at the screen. I can see his brain running a mile a minute, plotting his next attack. He won’t stop until he wins. Never mind the fact this is a child’s game.
Impatiently, I clear my throat and try to get Étienne’s attention.
Ian flings a hand in the air and looks at me. “Do you want a red carpet rolled out? Hello.”
“I don’t want talk to you, dumbass,” I say, jabbing a finger at Étienne. “I wanna talk to you. The computer can wait.”
“Is it me or have the hormones completely taken over her?” Ian quips as he leans in toward Étienne.
Leaning forward, I flick the edge of Ian’s ear. “Zip it.” While he shrugs me off, I make eye contact with Étienne. “Can I talk to you privately? Now?”
The jovial smile on Étienne’s face is wiped clean as he looks into my eyes. He stands, giving my brother a pat on the back. “Give me a minute, Ian. I must speak with my fiancée.”
“Please do,” my brother mutters.
Once Étienne and I are in the hallway, I grab his arm and jerk him close. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh,” I whisper in rapid succession. “You will not believe what just happened!”
Étienne’s hulking frame swallows the hallway light as he looms over me. His hands land on my waist as he dips his head and looks at me with concern. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“No. But we need to talk in the other room. Now.”
With those words, I grab Étienne’s hand and lead him down the hallway. My heart beats at an uneven rhythm. With ease, Étienne keeps up.
Once we’re inside the bedroom, I take a deep breath.
“What is wrong?” Étienne asks. “Your behavior is concernin’ me.”
My shoulders slump against the door, and I take another deep breath before I begin. “I went back to the antique shop.”
Étienne’s brows knit together. “Why?”
Best place to start is at the beginning. “Because last night I couldn’t sleep, so I went online, and I did a little research. I decided to look up Old Serene, and I got a hit,” I rush out.
His eyes narrow. Just as I expected. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was nervous and I wanted to gather as much information as I could before I came to you with this!”
“Did you find anything at the antique store?”
“Yes … no. I don’t know!” I drag my hands through my hair and begin to pace. Étienne stops in my path and places his hands on my shoulders.
“Serene. Look at me.”
Lowering my hands, I stare into his green eyes. “Tell me what happened,” he says in his calm, steady voice.
I exhale a shaky breath. “I almost time traveled.”
His hands fall from my shoulders and land at his side like dead weights. All the color drains from his face. “What? How is that possible?”
“I got out of the car and walked toward the antique shop when I had a blinding headache. The
doors to the shop banged open, and the wind picked up.” My hands curl around Étienne’s forearms as I look at him. I let my anxiety shine in my eyes. “I know what was happening. I know it.”
After that, the words continue to flow out of me. Étienne watches me with rapt attention. His eyes never leave mine for a second.
“When I was driving down the highway, I noticed this paper on the windshield, so I parked and found this.” Reaching into my back pocket, I pull the letter out and thrust it toward him.
Slowly, Étienne takes it and unfolds it. The longer his eyes remain on the letter, the deeper his frown becomes. He doesn’t immediately lift his head when he’s finished and ask questions. No, he reads over it again, and again, and again.
When there’s a knock on the door, the two of us whip our heads in that direction. God only knows what the expression is on our faces because the minute Ian opens the door, he stares back and forth between me and Étienne. “Uhh … is everything okay?”
Smoothly, Étienne tucks the letter into his back pocket and crosses his arms over his strong chest in a matter of seconds before Ian notices.
I smile at my brother. “Everything is good. I was just telling Étienne about this antebellum plantation I want to visit really bad.”
I swear Ian’s eyes nearly glaze over the longer I give him my false explanation. Good. That means his guard will be down, and he won’t catch me in a lie. “Don’t tell me you’re still obsessed with that Charleston shit?”
“Ian—” I begin, ready to tell him not to start when Étienne speaks. “What do you mean by Charleston shit?”
Ian holds a hand up. “No offense. I know that’s where you’re from and all, and it makes sense that Serene took a trip there last December, considering she was seeing you. She should’ve said that instead of saying she was visiting some home.”
Before I can say anything, Étienne subtly elbows me in the side. He continues to look at my brother. “Which home?”
