“I do,” I say, without glancing in his direction, the physical distance between us feeling larger than ever.
“Good,” Janine says, standing up. “I’ve got a Glee marathon lined up on my laptop, and I want to catch some of it before I go to bed. Lovely to meet you, and I hope we see you again soon.”
“Thanks for everything,” I say as she retreats to another room.
Griffon sits on the chair next to me and drinks from his own coffee mug. “Do you need to go soon?”
I glance up at the old clock over the fireplace. “Soonish,” I say, not really wanting to leave. Despite the gaping chasm that is the space between us, I still hold out hope that I’m not completely wrong—that there was meaning in his gesture last night as I felt us coming together, that I’m not completely delusional. Mom and Dad haven’t called yet, but they’ll start checking up on me soon. “My parents are still pretty strict about pretty much everything. I wish they could be cooler. More like Janine.”
Griffon glances toward the open door. “She is pretty cool,” he says. “I got lucky this time—I’ve never had an Akhet in the family before now. Makes things a lot easier.”
“She doesn’t even seem that much older than we are.”
He nods. “I’ve been Akhet a lot longer than she has, even though she’s physically older in this life. Evens things out some.” Griffon stands up and grabs two leather jackets from hooks by the door. “As long as you don’t have to be home right away, how about we go for a ride before I take you back to the station?”
I can’t hide my smile. Somewhere deep inside of me, hope stirs and stretches. “Sounds good.”
Eleven
We wind our way through Berkeley, no longer as congested now that rush hour is over. After passing the University campus, we begin to climb the dark streets higher and higher until we’re in parts of Berkeley that I’ve never seen before. The wind is weak but cold, and I hide as much of myself behind Griffon as I can, sinking into his jacket and letting his shoulders block the breeze. Leaving the houses behind, we enter Tilden Park, driving slowly along the winding roads as the moon throws shadows from the tall trees surrounding us on either side. I don’t care where we’re going, as long as I can sit quietly behind him, feeling his muscles shift and tense as he eases the bike in and out of turns.
At the top of a ridge, he pulls over into a dirt turnout flanked by giant boulders. Coasting to a stop, he holds the bike steady so I can slide off the back. As he turns the engine off, the silence surrounds us, punctuated only by the chirping of unseen frogs and the occasional hoot of an owl.
“Have you ever been up here?” he asks, pulling his helmet off.
“I think we used to come up here to ride the train,” I say, looking around. “But it’s been a long time.”
“The steam train is just down there,” he says, pointing away from the ridge. “There’s a carousel and a little farm too.”
“And pony rides.” I suddenly remember crying and being taken off a small white pony when I was little. Luckily, this memory is only a few years old, not a few hundred.
I can see his smile in the darkness. “I used to go there too,” he says. “I think every kid in the Bay Area had to have their sixth birthday at the Little Farm. I loved those ponies, even though all they did was go around and around in a circle.”
“It’s amazing how many of the same places we’ve both been over the years. We might have passed each other a million times at the park or on the street,” I say, watching a set of car headlights round the bend below us. “But we didn’t meet until we were both in London.”
Griffon walks to the edge and looks out at the lights that dot the city below us, then across the dark span of water to San Francisco. For once, the fog has retreated back under the Golden Gate Bridge, and it seems like you can see forever. “Maybe we did meet before,” he says. “But the timing wasn’t right. Your essence sometimes crosses paths with others through many lifetimes.”
I walk a few steps toward the edge and feel my heart start to pound.
Griffon turns to look back at me. “Come here and check out all the lights.”
Looking past him to where the solid ground drops out of sight, I know that this is as far as I can go. “I can’t.”
“Afraid of heights?”
I nod. “Totally.” I swallow hard to keep the rising panic down.
“You know I won’t let you fall, right?” he says, walking a few steps back to me.
“I know,” I say. “It’s almost like I don’t trust myself. Like I might lose control and jump. I’ve always been this way.” I stand on my tiptoes to look over the edge. “I can see fine from here.”
Griffon laughs and moves back beside me. “You’re right,” he says, looking around. “It’s fine from here.”
We stand looking at the view from the safety of our spot. “So,” I begin, wanting to get back to our other conversation, “do you think we’ve had a relationship before?”
“No,” he says quickly. “I’ve searched my memories, but I haven’t found anything.” He looks at the smile on my face. “What?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Oh, now you have to tell me.”
“It’s just that I don’t think I’ll be able to get over it if we were like mother and son another time. Or worse.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. We’ve never had a relationship before. The fact that you’re starting to get some of your memories is probably the reason that we know each other now. Like I said, Akhet are often drawn to other Akhet, even if they don’t know the reasons why. Figuring it out is all part of the fun.”
I zip the jacket up tighter and set my backpack down at my feet. It’s even colder up here on the ridge, but I’m not ready to go back home. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to go back home.
“Have you ever seen so many lights?” Griffon says, scanning the scene below.
“It makes me think of all of the people who are down there,” I say. “Hundreds of thousands of them.” I shiver involuntarily. “Makes me feel small. Unimportant.”
“I know what you mean,” Griffon says a little sadly. “You try to do big things, you know? Things that might change the world. But then you come up here and realize that you’re just one tiny person in the middle of it all.” He turns to look at me. “You’re cold. We should go.”
“No, not just yet.” I glance up at him, feeling the sharp wind but not wanting this night to end. “I want to stay for just a little while longer. It’s beautiful.”
“Come here,” he says, pulling me closer. “I’ll keep you warm.”
I stand in front of him, leaning my head back almost imperceptibly until it rests on his chest. Even through our jackets, I can feel the hum of his vibrations, and I inhale, trying to keep his scent so that I can remember it when I’m at home alone. I don’t care what he can do—if he can name every date on the calendar or have a one-man show at the biggest art gallery in the city. I just know that I want to be with him more than anything I’ve ever wanted in the world.
After a few moments, Griffon relaxes and slowly puts one arm around me. I can feel his warm breath on the back of my neck as he bends his head down toward mine, and the sensation causes me to visibly tense. Despite the shivers traveling up my spine, I try to stay still, not knowing if he’s just trying to warm me up, but not wanting to break the energy that’s forming between us.
I try to keep my focus on the tiny lights of the cars as they cross the bridge, but Griffon’s fingertips pull my hair aside and his lips brush the back of my neck so gently it seems like I’m imagining it. Barely breathing, I close my eyes as his lips trace my neck and then plant small kisses just below my ear. Unable to stand still any longer, I turn to face him, threading my hands under his jacket until I can feel the warm cotton of the back of his shirt.
Griffon pulls back and looks at me. Even in the darkness I can see the indecision on his face, and I will it to be just a few seconds earlier when his lips wer
e still on my skin.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, and reaches behind his back to unclasp my hands. He steps back toward the bike, and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. The moment was perfect, and now it’s gone.
“It’s okay. You can tell me if you’ve got a girlfriend.”
“It’s not that,” he says loudly. Griffon rakes his fingers through his hair. “I only wish it were that easy.” He paces in the dirt for a few seconds, kicking up little puffs of dust that disappear over the ridge. “I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you,” he finally says, standing several feet away from me. He starts pacing again. “I really shouldn’t be doing this—”
I hold my hands up, afraid of what he might say next. “It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t want to do anything to come between you and anyone else—”
“There is no one else,” he says quickly. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Not like you mean it. I haven’t had one in this lifetime. Intentionally.”
I stand still, waiting for more of an explanation. I find it hard to believe that he’s telling the truth, but the look on his face is almost painful.
Griffon sighs and moves closer to me. “Remember when you asked me if I was hundreds of years old? In the park that day?”
I nod. “But you said that you’re only seventeen.”
“I wasn’t lying, I am only seventeen,” he says. “But I have memories of being twenty and thirty-five. More than once. Damn, Cole—I’ve been married before. Been a parent before.” It looks like the memories cause him pain. “When I do get involved with someone, I wait until I’m older, until I can meet people whose life experiences match mine.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying not to picture him with an older woman. “I don’t care how old you are.”
“It does matter,” he insists. “It’s like a creepy older guy going out with a hot young teenager.”
I look down at the ground as he speaks, trying hard to keep the smile off my lips at those last words. “Have you ever told anyone your secret like this?” I ask. He shakes his head quickly. “It’s only unfair if you keep the truth hidden. I’m not some poor innocent girl who doesn’t know anything about you. I know about your past. All of them. Besides, you said it yourself—I’m becoming one of you. Soon enough, things will be equal.”
I watch him consider this, happy that for once I can tell him something that he didn’t already realize. Just as my resolve begins to waver, he walks toward me, his footsteps no longer kicking up dust, but decisive and strong. I say nothing as he bends down and presses his lips against mine in a kiss that feels like it’s hundreds of years overdue.
Twelve
“A whole week.” I flop onto Rayne’s bed and grab a pillow, hugging it to my chest like I need something to fill the space that feels so empty. I’ve been trying so hard not to cry, but every time I think back to last Sunday night, hot tears prick the backs of my eyelids. Everything was perfect. Griffon was there, really there, with me that night, and now he’s gone. “It’s been a whole week, and nothing from him.”
Rayne flops down beside me and strokes my hair. From anyone else, I’d resent the gesture, would hate feeling like a pathetic baby. But from her, it’s okay. “Not true,” she says. “He texted you on Monday.”
I roll over and look up at her. “Okay. Five days. Like that’s any better.”
“Maybe they had to go somewhere in an emergency,” she says. “Maybe his dad is getting knighted by the queen and they had to fly all the way to England to see it.”
“Phones work in England,” I say into the pillow. “Face it, he’s not into me.”
“How can someone kiss you for the first time looking over the whole city and not really like you?”
“I don’t know.” I can hear my voice straining at the thought and take a deep breath to try to calm down. I’ve played the whole night over in my head a hundred times. What had I said wrong? Had I done anything stupid? Stupider than usual? “He says all this stuff, kisses me up on the hill, and then it’s like he just dropped off the face of the earth.”
“Did you call him?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t want to look needy.”
Rayne stares at me. “Mmm-hmm. You’re looking like a pillar of strength right now.”
I sit up and brush the stray hair off my face. “I just have to deal with it. Griffon doesn’t really like me. I’m okay single. God knows I’ve had enough practice.”
“Oh, Cole, I can tell even you don’t believe that. There has to be an explanation. I saw you two together.”
“Come on,” I say, pushing off the bed and sounding a lot more casual than I feel. All of this wondering has built up nervous energy that I have to do something about. “Are we going out or what? I didn’t come over here to talk about Griffon all day. Mom gave me money to buy some clothes, and I’m not planning on wasting it.” I also don’t want to sit around all day staring at my cell wondering if Griffon is ever going to call.
“Fine,” Rayne says. “Downtown or the Mission?”
“Downtown,” I say, suddenly in the mood for big crowds and chain stores.
Rayne slings her big suede hobo bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Even though summer is still over a month away, the cable car turnaround at Powell Street is nearly invisible through the crowds as we get off the bus.
Rayne looks back at me. “You really want to do this?” She’s more of a Haight Street shopper than a Union Square one.
“Absolutely,” I say, my fake cheerful mood starting to push the heavy weight off my chest. “Let’s go this way down Market Street. I’ve been dying for a cream puff from the guy at City Center. Be nice to me and I’ll buy you one, too.”
Rayne grumbles but follows me down the crowded sidewalk, bumping shoulders with people as they hurry past. I’ve always liked this part of Market Street—even though the contents of the buildings have changed, the outsides look the same as they have for the past hundred years.
After a quick stop in the food hall of the City Center, we push through the crowds back outside, licking the remains of the cream puffs off our fingers. “Now what?” Rayne asks, looking up and down the busy street.
As we stand surrounded by tall buildings, I start to feel a tug inside. Not as strong as the visions that I’ve been having, but a feeling that I’m close to something important. The feeling like I have to go and find something. I’ve had these feelings before, but have always shrugged them off. Maybe all along I’ve been getting clues to who I’ve been—and maybe who I’m going to be. “Feel like walking?” I ask Rayne, both excited and horrified by what we might find. At least if I pass out again, she’ll be there to help.
“Depends,” she says, watching me carefully. “Where to?”
“Not sure yet.” As an experiment, I try to shut down all of my logical thought and let my emotions guide me. I stop on the corner before turning left and heading up Mason Street. Apparently my emotions are guiding me toward Nob Hill.
Rayne rushes to catch up. “Not sure yet, but you’re in a hurry to get there?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I have to go find something,” I say, consciously slowing my pace. “Only I don’t know what it is.”
“Okay, now you’re starting to weird me out,” she says.
“Welcome to the club.” I don’t say anything more, just try to focus on the feelings I’m having and the pull that I sense as I walk. I know that if I think about it too much, I’ll wreck it. The only sound is our breathing as we make our way to the top of the steep hill. As we get to the top, I see it, almost as if it has a big neon sign on it. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I’m sure I’ve found it.
“The Fairmont Hotel?” Rayne asks, looking at the international flags flapping above the awning of the huge old hotel. “My mom’s friend stayed here once.”
“No,” I say, looking across the street to the left. “That one.”
“What is it?” We join the crowd of people
in the crosswalk as the little neon man counts down how much time we have to get across.
“No idea,” I reply. I feel calm and excited at the same time. This is definitely the place. Excitement gives way to familiarity as I stare at the steps that lead up to the big columns supporting the front of the large brown mansion.
“Fancy,” Rayne says, looking around. “You planning a wedding here or something?”
I shoot her a look. “Listen, if something weird happens, don’t freak out, okay? I’m fine … I’ll explain it later.” Before I can change my mind, I put my foot on the bottom step and slowly make my way to the top. Images of men in top hats and ladies in sweeping gowns flash through my head. And music—cello music. I remember carriages pulling up to these very steps, and well-dressed people greeting each other as they approach the mansion.
I stand at the top of the steps, nervously watching the fine ladies embrace each other as if they haven’t met in years. The men stand slightly behind the women, nodding to each other and tipping their hats, the smoke from their obscenely fat cigars circling above their heads in the late afternoon light.
Staring at the finery, I look down at my own borrowed clothing—the unfamiliar dress is itchy on my legs, and the new heels hurt my feet already. I told Signore Luisotti that these aren’t clothes for playing cello, but he insisted that it is important to look the part if we are going to impress the best of the best in San Francisco. We’ve gone over the details a hundred times.
I watch from the side as Signore Barone greets the partygoers as if this is his house, the ice cubes clinking in his drink as he gestures wildly. It seems as though his role in the troupe has expanded from just chaperone to business partner, setting up concerts and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous of whatever city we land in. Smiles flash on the guests’ faces, and once again I wish I could understand what is being said. Every now and then someone glances at me and I try to smile back, but I know that it might lead to a conversation, and I’m embarrassed that I only know enough English to order water and ask for the bathroom.
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