“I miss my car.”
“That dilapidated, old piece of scrap?”
“Snob.”
He chuckled and crossed his long legs at the ankles. “It’s odd, but I miss grading papers.”
“You never graded papers. I graded papers.”
“Then I miss you grading papers.”
She laughed and shook her head. “What else do you miss?”
“My books. And an electric shaver.”
Her hand stayed to caress his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment, and the smile he’d been fighting curled his lips.
“You’re doing pretty well without it,” she said, gently running her fingers along his jaw line. “But you won’t have to fight with the safety razor much longer,” she said, hoping the hint of sadness she felt didn’t show through. “Only four more days, and if the watch works we’ll be right back where we started, like none of this ever happened.”
Left unspoken was the question—what if the watch didn’t work? A momentary flush of anxiety coursed through her, but it soon passed. The watch would work. It would.
It was hard to believe that it was almost time to go home. The idea should have been comforting. They could get away from King, get back to their lives. But what exactly did that mean? His life before didn’t include her, not in the way it did now. Maybe things really would go back to the way they were.
As if sensing her thoughts, he leaned closer and held her hand tightly. “As improbable as it is,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the edges with wonder, “it has happened.”
The way he looked at her, awed and loving, made her heart race. He wasn’t talking about going back in time, or working in a speakeasy. He was talking about her, about how he felt about her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He reached out and cupped her cheek. “And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
Slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, he leaned in and kissed her. Just feeling his lips on hers, made her feel like he was touching all of her, lifting her up, pulling her into him. After a breathless moment she pulled away. He continued to stroke her cheek, but she shook her head and got to her feet.
“Come on,” she said, holding out her hand to help him up. “Let’s go home.”
* * *
They made love slowly, stretching out each moment, each touch, then drifting into the next. Hazy afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains. Dust motes caught on a warm breeze danced in the air.
Simon trailed his fingers along Elizabeth’s back. Her lithe muscles tensed as she arched into him and buried her head in the crook of his neck. Her skin was like silk, smooth and sensual to his touch. No matter how long he held her, it could never be enough. Everything about her made him want her all the more. The soft, breathy sighs urging him closer. The feel of her hand in his. The way her eyes grew impossibly dark as she whispered his name. Everything conspired to wipe away the fears he’d held close for so long, until all he could see, all he could feel, was her.
She sighed, her warm breath a feather’s touch along his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body into a secure embrace that could barely echo the need he felt for her.
Simon closed his eyes and remembered the way her face had looked moments before, flushed with passion. The tendrils of hair cascading across her cheek, her lips swollen from his kisses, and he could see her pulse beating beneath the skin. Every detail, from the pale freckles on her shoulders to the supple curve of her calves seared into his memory. If he were an artist, he was sure he could recreate her in the dark. His hands knew every facet of her body. The remarkable softness of the skin below her belly. The sound of her breathing. The seductive way she always seemed to smell like a forest after the rain, clean and new.
He maneuvered his head around and kissed her brow. “All right, love?”
“Mmmm,” she purred and nuzzled into his neck, kissing the edge of his jaw. “More than.”
He held her a bit more firmly and wondered if he should have told her what he saw at the park. There was no reason to worry her, and doubtless she’d caught on and was trying to spare him the worry.
He hadn’t gotten a good look at the man, or men. There seemed to be more than one, although he couldn’t be sure. Ever since her revelation that King had been having them followed, he’d had the sense they were never alone. Today at the park was the first time he’d actually seen their shadow. Always keeping a discrete distance, but ever-present, the thick man in the black fedora had trailed them through the park. He should have noticed him sooner. Not that there was a bloody thing he could do about it. Four more days, he told himself. Four more days.
Elizabeth pushed herself up and re-settled on top of him, folding her arms over his chest and resting her chin atop her laced hands. “What’s wrong? And don’t nothing me. You were grinding your teeth.”
He thought about putting her off, but she had that look in her eyes. It would be more trouble than it was worth. “We were followed today.”
“I know. Black hat. Built like a fire hydrant.”
Damn her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why didn’t you?”
Her Socratic method of arguing was frustrating to say the least. Especially when she had a point. He sighed and pushed his head further into the pillows. “I don’t know.”
“I’ve been thinking...” she said. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and she smirked. “Very funny. I think we should tell Charlie we’re leaving soon. We can’t just disappear one day without so much as a by your leave.”
“By your leave?” he asked with a chuckle.
“I was daydreaming about Belvedere castle. Forsooth, pray tell and all that.”
“Someday I’ll show you a real castle. Leeds perhaps.” His smile faded. “But I don’t think it’s wise to tell Charlie our plans.”
“Might not be wise, but it’s right. He’s been a good friend, Simon. We need to warn him. Who knows what King might do.”
“It’s still a risk.”
Smiling, she scooted down his body and kissed his chest. “Just a tiny one,” she murmured between kisses. “An itty bitty one.”
She slowly eased her way down his chest to his stomach. “Let’s live dangerously,” she whispered against his waist, before brushing her soft lips against the sensitive skin.
“Elizabeth,” he started softly, but the rest of his sentence was lost in the feeling of her silky hair brushing against his hip. He tried to remember what he was going to say, but all coherent thought was gone. Charlie was suddenly the last thing on his mind.
* * *
Closing time was Elizabeth’s favorite, and not only because it meant the long work day was over. But there in the quiet of the club, the chores almost finished, when it was just the four of them, she felt a sense of belonging. The stillness of a place usually so bursting with life was all the more remarkable and cherished. A few nights a week, she, Simon, Charlie and Dix would linger at the club, share a drink and the consolation of shared experience. For the most part, she and Simon were no more than a willing audience for Charlie. He’d regale them with stories of the night when he was a boy and saw the last of the great bare knuckle fights. Gentleman Jim Corbett had beaten his idol, John L. Sullivan, in the brawl to end all brawls. He told them where he was when he heard President McKinley had been assassinated. And blushed when he recounted his ill-fated, one-time only, theatrical debut in Jilly Stein’s Traveling Burlesque Show.
Of all the things she was leaving behind, she was going to miss Charlie the most. When she finally told him they were leaving, he hadn’t protested, hadn’t asked them where they were going. They warned him that King might try something and to be careful, but Charlie just heaved a big sigh, nodded and asked if they needed any traveling money.
Elizabeth felt a lump form in her throat. Last night she and Simon had nearly wrecked the place. Their salaries over the next two weeks wouldn’t pay for the damage they’d caused, and here Charli
e was offering them more.
“No, please,” she said, and reached out to stop him from digging into his pockets.
“If you’re worried about payin’ me back, you can send it when ya get settled,” he offered.
“No, you’ve given us too much already,” she said and looked over to Dix, who was busying herself with the last of the night’s chores. “Both of you.”
Dixie looked up from the pile of dishes and forced a weak smile to her face.
The big barkeep pulled a ragged handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “Wasn’t nothin’,” he said, trying to hide his sniffles. “You just drop Ol’ Charlie a line now and then, all right?”
Elizabeth’s heart dropped. In four days, if everything went as planned, she’d be home in the future and Charlie Blue would be long since passed. “Sure,” she said, hesitating, before stepping forward and pulling him into a hug.
He returned it fiercely before pulling away and nodding firmly. “You take care, ya hear?” he said and then stuck out his meaty hand to Simon. “You watch over her.”
Simon solemnly shook it. “I will, and thank you.”
Charlie snuffled again and cleared his throat. “Aw, nuts,” he grumbled and turned to rearrange some perfectly well arranged bottles. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”
“Charlie,” Elizabeth said, casting a quick glance at Simon. “You don’t have any money in the stock market by any chance, do ya?”
Simon hissed her name in warning under his breath, but she couldn’t let Charlie loose everything after all he’d done for them.
“Naw,” he said. “S’all tied up in the club. Why?”
Thank God. “Just curious.”
“We should be going,” Simon said pointedly.
“See you tomorrow,” Elizabeth said, as Simon hurried her to the door.
Once they were outside Simon glared down at her. “Really, Elizabeth. What would you have done if he’d said yes?”
“I know, but I couldn’t leave thinking I could have helped him. This is Charlie we’re talking about. It’s not like I took an ad out in the Times.”
Simon didn’t seem moved. “It was wrong,” she continued. “Very wrong. I’m a bad Elizabeth. Forgive me?”
He sighed and shook his head. “You are incorrigible.” It had been a big risk. There was no telling the ripple effect of one simple change in the timeline. She’d been rash in trying to help Charlie, but she didn’t regret it.
Simon put his arm around her. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
The understanding look in his eyes said more than words could. They walked down the street in thoughtful silence, neither noticing the two-toned sedan as it pulled into the alley behind Charlie Blue’s.
Chapter Twenty Six
Father Cavanaugh stared up at the placid, marble face of the statue of Saint Patrick. He’d always found the countenance soothing and had taken solace from it many times over the years. He would sit in the closest pew and gently run the heavy wood under his palm. It reminded him of the smooth beads of his rosary. He’d rubbed the same spot so often that even the wood oil used to polish the benches couldn’t help. He liked to think of them as a testament to the struggle. Worn, but still strong.
In his thirty years in the priesthood, he’d striven to find the same sort of peace he’d seen in the face of the saint. Not that he counted himself worthy of such things, but even priests had dreams. And nightmares.
“Are you all right, Father?”
Father Cavanaugh startled at the voice of his assistant pastor, Father Peter Fitzpatrick. The lad tried so hard, too hard sometimes, to be all that he thought a priest was. He was earnest enough, and his heart was truly given to God, but he was so young. It was hard to see past the pale, freckled face of the choir boy he’d known those years ago and see the man who stood before him now. Especially today, he thought, as he absently massaged his arthritic fingers. Normally, the signs of age served to remind him how far he’d come, but today they seemed to harken how little time there might be left.
He had heard many late night confessions, but Dixie’s knock on his door in the early hours this morning and the conversation that followed had left him with a difficult decision. Knowledge can be a burden.
He smiled at the young father. The boy would have to be a man to face the things this parish would show him. He wondered if he’d done the right thing sheltering the boy from the darker side of things. He wanted Peter to find his footing before he revealed the truth of what it meant to be pastor in these times. Perhaps he had waited too long.
The younger man’s pale brow wrinkled in concern. “Father?”
“I’m sorry, Peter,” he said, never having broken the habit of using his given name. “Just looking for wisdom.”
That seemed to unnerve the younger man, and he tugged on his ear. It was a nervous habit that always made the older man smile. Father Cavanaugh stifled a chuckle. The poor boy couldn’t conceal his feelings if his life depended on it.
“Is there anything I can do, Father?”
Father Cavanaugh smiled kindly. “No, no. It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. But I will be rather busy this morning. Several meetings,” he said, waving casually toward the office door. “Would you be a good lad and make sure I’m not disturbed?”
“Of course, Father.”
Father Cavanaugh patted Peter’s shoulder as he passed by. Opening the door to his office, he hoped for a few minutes to plan his opening remarks, but saw there wasn’t time for that.
King Kashian flattened his gloved palms on the desk. “You’re late.”
* * *
“You’re late,” the waitress said with a grin.
Simon looked up from his menu. The diner was busier than normal and the din was at a new high. “Pardon?”
She shrugged. “You two always come in at the same time s’all. Breakfast at one in the afternoon,” she said shaking her head and snapping her gum. “You want the usuals? Oh, I asked Fred about getting that Chinese tea stuff you’re always askin’ for. He said, ‘They want chink, they can go across town.’” She looked over her shoulder at the squat, little man behind the counter and gave him a quick wink, before turning back to the table and snapping her gum. “Course, Fred’s an ass.”
Simon chuckled and put down the menu. “The usual will be fine. Thank you, Helen.”
The woman smiled dreamily, as she always did when he used her name. He’d learned quickly how far a British accent could take him with most women.
Elizabeth waited until Helen left before rolling her eyes. “You really are shameless.”
He merely arched his eyebrows in mock innocence. Elizabeth shook her head and went back to reading her section of the paper. Simon watched her for a moment. How had he been so lucky to find her? Such a marvelous woman. And wearing, he noted with an appreciative smile, his favorite dress. The green set off her hair, and set his mind wandering to rather pleasant places.
“Oh, the Marx Brothers are still playing at the Roxy,” Elizabeth said. “Wouldn’t that be great? To see an early talkie in the theater.”
Simon grunted noncommittally and scanned the front page.
“Come on, it’ll be fun. We only have two days left.”
He shook his head and put down the paper. “It’s too dangerous.” Her face fell and he sighed. “Besides, ‘The Cocoanuts’ is really one of their lesser films. You’re not missing much.”
His comment had the desired effect, and her lovely face went from frowning to astonished. “You like the Marx Brothers? What else haven’t you told me?”
He grinned and went back to his paper. “Many things. Many, many things.”
Elizabeth laughed. “No doubt. I’m gonna use the restroom. Try not to flirt too much with Helen while I’m gone.”
“I would never do any such thing,” he said, pleased she couldn’t see his amusement behind the paper.
The headlines were much the same as they were back home—murder, corruption in th
e government and an unhealthy obsession with sports. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
“Here ya go,” Helen said, as she returned and poured their first cups of coffee. “Order’s comin’ right up.”
Simon put down the paper and thanked her with a smile. She winked and moved on to her next table. The coffee was dark and thick. Definitely one thing he wouldn’t miss. He leafed through the paper, searching for the crossword puzzle. Doing it together had become something of a daily ritual, but he could never remember what section it was hidden in. Finally, he found it buried in the back with the obituaries.
He quickly scanned the puzzle, looking for cornerstone clues, when Helen returned with their breakfast plates.
“You need anything else?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
“Just give a whistle.”
He nodded, but his thoughts had strayed. Elizabeth was certainly taking her time. Shrugging it off, he took another sip of the bitter coffee.
When half the cup was gone and Elizabeth still wasn’t back, he began to worry. He tried to concentrate on the puzzle, but with every passing second he grew more anxious. The words on the page blurred under his scrutiny.
Giving in to the apprehension, he slipped out of the booth and walked toward the counter. Helen was there picking up an order. “Have you seen my wife?”
The waitress shrugged. “She went in the ladies’ last I saw.”
He was probably over-reacting, but the seed of doubt had been sown. Simon wouldn’t be able to relax until he was sure. He walked through the storeroom toward the back. The passage was dimly lit by a single exposed bulb hanging too low from the ceiling. It swung back and forth in a slow arc, casting an alternating wave of shadow and light on the door.
Simon knocked and waited for an answer. When none came, he tested the lock. It was open, and he pulled it slightly ajar. “Elizabeth?”
Again, there was no answer, and he opened the door the rest of the way. The tiny room was empty, the faucet left running. His heart tripped and stuttered, before he reined it in. She’d gone out for some air. That’s all, he told himself. “Is there a back door?” he called out to Helen who’d been lingering in the hall.
Out of Time: A Time Travel Mystery Page 26
