by Tyra Lynn
“For proof.” I whispered.
“What?”
I put my camera away. “I like to take photographs, and I use them to do drawings and paintings. People are my favorite subjects.” Since that was perfectly true, it made perfect sense, and was a perfect explanation.
“Oh, I see. I doubt that one will make a nice piece of art.”
“Unless you are willing to pose for me, it will have to do.” I swung the strap over my shoulder, tilted my head, and smiled.
“Perhaps another time, when I’m dressed more—appropriately.” He looked at his attire in a self-depreciating manner. I personally thought it was just fine. Very fine.
“I’ll hold you to it.” I turned in the direction of my house and started walking slowly. He took a few quick steps and caught up. “You don’t have to walk me; it’s just a couple of blocks. I’m fine now.”
“I see that, but I have an issue.”
“An issue? What kind of issue?” I looked sideways at him as we continued to walk.
“I am extremely thirsty, and my house is quite a distance from here.” I nodded acknowledgement. “I could go to the store, which is the opposite direction of my house, or continue with you in the general direction of my house.”
“True,” I said, “but isn’t your house a pretty good distance away? You could get something to drink before you made the long jog home.”
“Or,” he began, “I could trust in your hospitality, and hope you would offer a cold glass of water before I continued my journey.” He smiled an all-but-irresistible smile.
“If you don’t mind waiting on the porch, I think I could manage a glass of water.” I was watching my feet shuffle along the concrete sidewalk.
“That is a reasonable and sensible request. I accept your terms.”
CHAPTER XIII
All that really belongs to us is time; even he who has nothing else has that.
—Baltasar Gracian
We walked side by side. His arms swung easily, even at our slow pace. My arms felt like tentacles, and I didn’t know what to do with them, so I hooked my left thumb in my pocket, and my right hand held the camera case against my hip. I imagined I looked like a gunslinger, ready to draw.
The silence was comfortable, and our pace was relaxed, but even so, there was still that discernable electricity. The feel of it reminded me of something. I saw one of those plasma lamps once. It was in the shape of a crystal ball, with multi-colored currents, and when you put your fingers on the glass, the light would follow where you touched. You could even feel your fingertips tingle. He was like that ball, and I was like the fingers, touching the glass.
My house was in sight now, so I picked up my pace a little. He did the same, and stayed right in step. Instead of going through the front gate and to the door, like most people would, I turned down the driveway, toward the side door and the kitchen. I unlocked the door.
“You can go back there and wait on the swing if you want. You have two choices: lemonade or ice water.”
“Lemonade sounds delicious, if it’s no trouble.” He replied.
“No problem. Make yourself at home and I’ll be right back.”
I hurried through the door, got out two of our best glasses, and filled them with lemonade. I rubbed my face with my fingers, around my nose, chin, and across my cheeks, hoping my face didn’t look too shiny. I washed my hands in the sink, picked up the two glasses, and took them out the door. I was trying not to think too much.
He was sitting on the porch swing. It was shady and breezy on the back porch. The roof provided solid shade, but the backyard also had several huge trees that kept it very cool. The sunlight danced through the leaves, creating designs on the lush grass. It was picturesque.
I extended a glass of lemonade, which he took gratefully. He moved to one end of the swing, making room for me to sit. He took a long drink from his glass as soon as I sat down. “Delicious.” He complemented.
I took a drink of mine, looking out into the backyard shadows over the rim of the glass. It was delicious. Of course, I was very thirsty, so that could have something to do with it. I was glad I picked large glasses.
“So, do you like antiques, or do you just work there because your dad owns the store?” He asked.
“I love them! I love everything old. I love the music, the furniture, the houses, and the history.”
He smiled a huge smile. “It seems we have a lot in common then, miss Jessie.”
“Jessie.” I corrected.
“Jessie.” He repeated, in that same breathy voice he had used earlier saying his own name. It sent shivers down my neck, but not bad ones. “So, Jessie, what is your real name?” He asked. “Your given name—I’m willing to bet it’s not Jessie.”
“You would be correct, and I’d rather not say.” I took another drink of lemonade.
“I can find out. Either you can tell me now, or I will ask someone who will tell me. I’d rather you tell me, though.”
“Only if you won’t laugh.” I didn’t want to tell him.
“I won’t, I promise.”
“It’s Jessamine.” I said the name with obvious distaste. “My mom had a thing about old things, too. Including names.”
“Jessamine—it’s a lovely name.” It was, the way he said it. “I suppose I’m never allowed to call you that, though.”
“Not unless you want a smack up-side the head.” I grinned.
“I’ll stick with Jessie, then.” He was reaching into the pocket of his shorts. He pulled out a black cloth and un-wrapped a spherical metal object on a chain. “Since you like old things, I have something to show you.”
He held it up. It reminded me of a pomander, but it wasn’t. I had no idea what it could be, and had never seen anything like it. It was only about two inches in diameter, and I could hear it making a ticking sound, so I had to assume it was a watch. It appeared to be gold-plated, with intricate engravings all around. The top had cutout portions, and the bottom had three feet so that it would not roll.
As I looked closer, I could see through the cutout portions of the lid. There was a clock-face below. Gabriel released the latch and opened it for me to see. Where the edges had worn, I would guess the metal to be copper, though the inside looked silver-plated. The face was simple, and there was only an hour hand. It looked incredibly old.
“May I touch it?” I asked.
“Of course.” He started to hand it to me.
“You hold it; I just want to touch it.” I was not about to take any chances causing damage. If I were guessing, I would guess it was irreplaceable.
“I trust you with it.” He said.
“Maybe so, but I don’t.”
He cupped the watch in the palm of his hand and held it out. I scooted closer and carefully reached out to touch it. The person I saw looked like I would imagine Robin Hood would have—especially the hat. The clothing was odd, and I could hear someone speaking in the background. It sounded—German?
It was one of the clearest glimpses I ever had. I could even smell sweat, and there was a musty odor. All the sounds were odd, and I could hear clocks. Many clocks. I removed my hand; to sit there any longer would have looked strange.
“How old is that watch?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“About five hundred years.” He waited to see my response.
“Five hundred?” I looked at him, incredulous. “It can’t possibly be that old.” But for some reason, I thought he might be telling the truth.
“I can assure you, it is. It has been in my family from the time of its creation.” He spoke with certainty, and I believed him.
“Is it German?” I asked.
“I’m impressed. According to my family, it was produced by Peter Henlein himself.” He announced it proudly, but I didn’t know who that was. It sounded a little familiar, though.
“Henlein?” The name felt strange on my tongue.
“The inventor of the pocket-watch, although there seems to be some hist
orical discrepancies, according to some. My family insisted he was the inventor, and this,” he held the watch up, “is one of his first.”
“That explains the clock noises.” Had I said that aloud? “Five hundred years. That would be the sixteenth century. The fifteen hundreds. Wow.”
“Wow indeed, and it still functions. It’s not the most accurate thing, but that’s no longer the point, is it? It’s a rare and unique piece.”
“Indeed.” I repeated.
He carefully rewrapped it in the cloth and placed it back in his pocket. “You’ll have to visit my house one day. My Father has other objects you might enjoy as much as this one. None quite so old—no, that’s not entirely true. He has a few things, but they are not easily accessible. They could be, if you’re interested.” He had a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.
“Not if I, or you, could get in trouble.” I shook my head.
“I see. No adventure in you. That’s a pity.” He put his head down with an exaggerated look of sorrow.
I pushed his shoulder and my hand tingled, “Oh please! Just because I don’t want to do something that might make somebody’s dad mad, or be considered illegal, doesn’t mean I don’t like adventure!”
“If you say so.” He laughed. I pushed his shoulder again, which only made him laugh harder. “Okay, Miss Adventure, let’s say you were allowed to travel in time, one hundred years exactly, but only forward, or back—which would you choose?”
“That’s easy, I’d go back.” I didn’t even have to think about that answer.
“That doesn’t sound adventurous; you already know what has happened. Wouldn’t you want to see what the future holds?” He had a somewhat serious expression.
“No. I don’t want to know.” I didn’t, not at all.
“Why not?”
“There are a million reasons not to know. For instance, there could be another world war that destroyed everything. I wouldn’t want to know that. It would change everything I ever thought of doing. Knowing that was coming, I would never get married and have children. And why would I care about antiques, or art, or books—it wouldn’t matter anymore, none of it.” I shivered at the thought.
“Why do you assume the future would be bad? There could be a cure for cancer, there might be inventions you never dreamed of, instead of world war, and there could be world peace.” He argued.
“Sure, Miss America—world peace. Do you watch the news or read the headlines? Half the countries on the globe want to blow us off it. Countries I wouldn’t trust with a pointed stick have nuclear weapons. And Mexico! Mexico is the murder and kidnapping capitol of the world, and it’s only a few States away!” I was very animated, and I tried to calm down. I probably looked irrational.
“So you keep up with current events, then?” He asked.
“Of course! Today’s events are tomorrow’s history, you know.” Ha! That was a smart thing to say.
“Of course.” He repeated. “Let me try this again. We somehow got off track from my original line of thinking. I would like you to visit my house. My Father has several things I would like to show you, and doing so would require nothing illegal or immoral.” He left the statement hanging.
“Sure, if I can ask you a question about your dad.” I replied.
“Please, ask away.”
“Well, the other day I was having lunch with my friends, and your dad was in the café. He stared at me, and it was kind of uncomfortable. Even my friends noticed. I know that’s not a question, but…” I wanted to ask if his dad was weird, but how do you ask that without being rude?
He laughed. “My Father is not some lecher, if that’s what you are wondering. He’s an ‘observer,’ he watches.” He frowned a little, as if he said something he shouldn’t have. “What I mean is he likes to watch people, observe their behaviors, how they interact. I know it seems odd, but he’s very good at reading people, and I think that is why. He has never learned to be subtle about it.”
“An ‘observer,’ huh? You said it like an official title. That’s funny.”
“It is, isn’t it?” He smiled, but it wasn’t as bright as it had been before. He still had a cloud of concern in his eyes, and I wondered what caused it. He patted my knee. “You’ll like my father. He’s a very interesting man. You’ll never meet anyone who knows more about history, that I can promise. He could take you through your little trip back in time, and you’ll never have to leave the present.” This time the real smile was back.
“Sounds intriguing.” It did.
My phone rang, and I was startled. I didn’t jump, but it caught me off guard. I freed it from its case and saw that it was Steve.
“Oh no! What time is it?” I exclaimed, looking at my watch. It was fifteen after eleven! “I have to take this, excuse me.” I walked around the corner of the porch and answered. “Hey!”
“Hey, Jessie! What are you up to?”
“I was sitting on the porch swing when you called. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to give you a quick call and let you know I have to skip lunch. Your dad is bringing something here for me to eat, and then he’s heading out of town for several hours. He forgot he was supposed to go do appraisals for an estate sale.”
“He told you that just now?”
“Yeah, sucks, huh? You could come to the store if you want to, but I won’t be upset if you don’t. I won’t be able to leave.” I heard the door open in the background. “Hold on just a sec’, Jessie.” He covered the phone, spoke to the customer, and then said, “You know what, don’t worry about it. It’s been busy today, and I’ll call you when I get off. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Julie couldn’t come and I was gonna have to walk there anyway. It’s cool. Call me after work.” I wasn’t upset at all.
“I will, promise. I’ll talk to you then. Bye.” He hung up hastily, and I knew it was because of the customer.
Now what? I knew Julie wouldn’t be back by two, even though she said she would. Dad was out of town, Steve was stuck at work, and I was starting to get hungry. I couldn’t invite Gabriel in the house to eat, but I didn’t want him to leave either. I went back around the corner to the swing.
“Everything okay?” Gabriel asked.
“Yeah, just my lunch date had to cancel.” I shrugged.
“That was Steve, then?”
“Yeah, we had a deal to meet for lunch every day this week, since I start school on Monday. Me, Steve and Julie go to Vivienne's and have lunch.” I stopped for a second. “That’s where I saw your dad.” He nodded, so I continued. “Julie cancelled this morning, and now Steve is stuck at work. My dad has to do an appraisal of a bunch of stuff out of town.” I explained.
“So, that leaves you free for lunch?”
“I guess, maybe. Why?” I should have said no. In spite of our day of talking, he was still a stranger, I reminded myself.
“I’m a good cook; I could show off my culinary skills. It would have to be in my own kitchen, though.” He raised both eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
“Hmm. Let me think about it.” I needed help with this one. What the heck was wrong with me? “I’ll be right back; I need to step inside just a minute. Too much lemonade.” I didn’t wait for a reply before darting around the corner and inside.
We didn’t use the downstairs bathroom often, but it was still functional and accessible. It was far enough away from the back porch I didn’t have to be too quiet. I dialed Julie’s number and whispered, “Please pick up, please pick up.”
After two rings, Julie said, “Hello!”
“Julie, just listen a second and don’t say anything until I stop talking, okay?”
“Is everything okay? What?” She sounded alarmed.
“Nothing bad, just need advice, now shhh!” I explained everything I could—running into Gabriel at the park, coming to my house, Steve canceling, and Gabriel offering lunch. “What do I say? Do I go? Do I say no? If I say no, what’s my reason? Am I crazy for even considering i
t?”
“Do you want to go?” She asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.
“I think so.”
“Either you do or you don’t.” She insisted.
“Okay, then I do. I just don’t know if I should!”
“I don’t know either, Jessie. There’s that weird stuff to think about. Does he seem weird, or creepy?” She asked.
“No. Not at all. He’s very nice, polite, and kind of funny. We have a lot in common. Am I bad? Oh god, he is so gorgeous! I’m bad. What about Steve?” I felt on the verge of hysterics. I had never lost control of my emotions. I could reduce anything to black and white, cut out the grays completely, and make a choice. Why not now? “Julie, HELP!”
“Breathe, Jessie.” I took a deep breath and she continued, “If you feel comfortable around him, and you want to go, then why not?”
“Am I bad for wanting to go?” I tried to continue to breathe deeply.
“No, jay-jay.” She rarely called me that anymore. “Steve isn’t your boyfriend. He wouldn’t like it though. I’d maybe make it clear it’s not something to talk about at the store. Or to your dad.”
“But that makes me sneaky, which means I’m hiding something, which means I’m doing something I shouldn’t!” The hysterics were coming back.
“No it doesn’t, not really. Consider it secret research. Think of it that way.”
Slow, deep breathes again. “Okay, maybe I can do that.”
“But tell him you called me, or call me in front of him, that way he knows someone knows where you are.”
“Okay, I can do that too. I’ll call you back, or send a message, or something. Thanks, Ju!” I hung up and looked at my watch. I was embarrassed about the amount of time I was gone, so I brushed my hair quickly, and checked my face. Something to use as an excuse for why it took so long. I rushed back out, slowing around the corner of the porch.
“Sorry. I still had grass in my hair and couldn’t get it all out.” I smiled, but it felt a little strained. I hoped it didn’t show.
“So, as I was saying before, I am an excellent cook, my house has an exquisite kitchen, and I am offering to cook you lunch, if you would like. Did you take time to think about it?”
