by L. E. DeLano
He looks concerned. “She’s traveling without me? We agreed she wasn’t going to do that.”
“It’s not her fault. I didn’t agree.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to travel if she didn’t want to as well. It seems she was looking for an adventure, just as you were, love.”
I don’t know why it makes me warm inside when he says that word, but it does. I’m getting way too comfortable with this Jessa’s memories. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing black leather pants and a black shirt that clings to his arms and chest in a really distracting way. I tear my eyes away from him.
“Okay, then,” I say. “Let’s get her back so you can yell at her—or whatever.”
“You’re speaking differently as well, you know,” he says. “Are you not living in New Devonshire, where you are?”
“No. I’m in a town called Ardenville. It’s in New York State. Off the Hudson River.” I glance down. “And we don’t dress like this.”
“How do you dress?” he asks, cocking his head to one side.
“Pants. T-shirts. It’s a lot easier than all this stuff.” I gesture down at my skirt, corset, and bustle.
“A woman in trousers.” He gives me a speculative look. “Interesting. And I’m not from Greenore, I take it?”
“Is that in Ireland?” I ask, scrunching up my nose.
“Yes.” A smile pulls at his lips. “So where am I from, then?”
I stare at him, thinking. “You know … I don’t really know. You’ve been so annoying, I never got a straight answer.”
He laughs lightly, chucking me under the chin. “You’ve got some backbone, love. I quite like it.”
“Please don’t tell me I’m some wilting hothouse flower over here.”
He shakes his head. “Nothing of the sort. My Jessa has strength in her—it’s just not so close to the surface as yours.” He steps in closer again, invading my personal space to the point where I can feel his breath fan my lips.
“But I do love a woman with gumption,” he adds.
I put my hand on his chest again. “Finn.”
He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Are you sure you need to go?”
I nod, trying really hard not to let him see how rattled he’s got me. “You need your girl back,” I remind him.
“You are my girl, or haven’t you learned that yet?” he asks. “Wherever you go, you are who you are.”
“Let’s just say I don’t have all the same experiences,” I tell him, trying hard not to blush. I fail miserably, and he makes no effort to hide his answering grin.
“Really?”
My back stiffens. “I’m not sure I like that it surprises you.”
He chuckles again. “I’m not casting aspersions, love. I just gave myself more credit in your reality.”
“You only just showed up in my reality.”
His eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Interesting.”
“Anyway…” I look around. “You’re a sailor?”
“I’m the captain,” he says, sounding slightly offended.
“Sorry. That’s right. Wasn’t thinking.” I feel really awkward now. “I’m new at this,” I say.
“You’ll figure it all out,” he promises with a wink, and I’m staring at him—way too long.
“I’d better get back.” I look toward the stairs, but he motions me farther down the corridor.
“Come along, then,” he says.
He turns and walks to the end of the corridor and opens a door. It’s the captain’s cabin, and inside is a sleek four-poster bed that dominates the room. I try not to stare at it, and I wish I didn’t remember it so well. I glance over at Finn, and I’m embarrassed to see that he’s caught me doing so. He raises a brow, and his knowing grin makes it clear that he’s figured out just what I’m remembering. I clear my throat, stepping around him.
“There you are, love.” He points toward the mirror on the wall. “Bon voyage.” He makes a grand, flowery gesture with his hand that almost makes me laugh out loud.
“Good meeting you, Finn. Again.”
“You won’t easily be forgotten, Jessa.” He reaches for my hand, bringing it to his lips. I stare at him a moment, trying hard not to like him so much. He’s entirely too charming, this Finn. And he knows it, too.
I shake my head to break his spell, and then I pull my hand from his and put it to the mirror, staring hard at the other Jessa. As my fingers push through, my mind can’t help but say it:
Lucky girl.
16
On the Bridge
I sink back into the rocking chair with a long, exaggerated sigh. Holy crap.
I take a deep breath in, grateful that I can do so without restriction. How in the world can women still be in corsets in a modern age? No wonder I was ready to run off. I still have a vague memory of my fiancé, with his pasty skin and receding hairline. He’s nice enough, in a bland sort of way, but he’s in his midthirties and nowhere near as exciting as Finn, who is my age.
Finn is very young for a ship’s captain—he inherited the ship after his father’s death, but he’s already making a name for himself. He operates as a privateer, serving Her Majesty’s interests and bearing a letter of marque and reprisal that allows him to board unregistered vessels, or those deemed to be carrying contraband cargo. His ship is one of the fastest solar schooners on the water.
In short, he’s a pirate. A legal pirate, but a pirate all the same.
I can’t help but laugh at myself, getting all fluttery over Pirate Finn. Good God.
I glance down at the papers on my lap and see that I’ve apparently gone shopping while I was away. There’s a pink paper bag with raffia handles sitting on my lap from Baubles Ladies’ Boutique on Main Street. I never shop there. I pretty much buy everything at the mall, but Baubles is only a few minutes’ walk from here. It figures she’d go shopping.
My jaw drops as the memories rush in, and I reach into the bag.
Inside is the scantiest, laciest bra and underwear set I’ve ever seen, in a light shade of pink with darker pink ribbons. There’s also a matching garter belt and pale-pink silk stockings.
The other Jessa had decided to do some exploring, reveling in the corset-less freedom of blue jeans and a comfy T-shirt. She’d stopped at the drugstore first, eager to try chewing gum, before she moved on to Baubles, fascinated by all the varieties of pants and short skirts. She’d discovered the scandalous lingerie section in the back, and once she’d overcome her initial shock, she brazenly thought she was doing me a favor. My mind floods again with some very specific memories of her Finn.
I hear the historical society lady in the other room on the phone and push everything back down in the bag, embarrassed to be seen with it. The receipt flutters to the floor, and I pick it up to put it in with the rest, but my jaw drops again.
“Eighty-four dollars!” I say in outrage. “You spent eighty-four dollars? On this?”
She’d even used the Visa gift card my dad gave me for my birthday! I had been saving that to use for Christmas!
Great. Now I’ll have to stop there on the way home and return this crap. I wad the bag up, shove it down into my backpack, and pull out my notebook again.
I guess it was too much to hope she’d be sitting here taking notes while I was kissing her boyfriend. I wonder if she’s mad at me. And I’m getting warm again remembering it all.
“Focus, Jessa.” I shake my head at myself and reach down for the stack of papers that are now on the floor. I eventually find a story about a young girl who haunts the creek behind the public library, where she supposedly drowned herself over a hundred years ago after discovering she was going to have the mayor’s illegitimate child.
My eyes slide back to the mirror.
I probably have enough information to write the article. I need to get out of here and away from this stupid mirror and its memories. I stand up, carefully placing the newspapers back on the shelf in a neat pile. Maybe I should head over to the library. I might be
able to find more on this story, especially since a former mayor was involved. Then I can take some pictures of the creek behind it to add to the article. Danny normally volunteers on Saturday, but today is the library’s birthday party, and he should be finishing up soon. I can walk him home.
I peek my head in the doorway to the adjoining room and thank the woman who helped me, assuring her that I have found what I need. She tells me to be sure and come back for the ghost tour, and I promise to spread the word about it.
It’s a short walk over to the library, and I decide to get my pictures first before I go in. Knowing me, I’ll get sucked into researching and forget that it’s going to be dark in an hour.
I make my way out of the library, following the slope of the back lawn, and then I walk along the creek until it hits its deepest point, right around the old stone bridge. It was once used to connect Main Street to Greaver Avenue, but it was deemed unsound for regular vehicle traffic sometime in the seventies, because it floods when the creek gets high. You can walk on it, though, and people still fish off it from time to time.
I snap a few shots of the bridge before I walk up onto it, positioning myself at the center so I can get a couple of pictures of the creek’s length. I’ve just stretched my phone out to set up the shot when I hear my name from up in the treetops.
“Jessa!”
I look up and to the left, and there, sitting in a tree, is Finn—and Danny is right next to him.
“What the—?” I shade my eyes with my hand so I can see them better in the late afternoon sun. “What are you two doing in a tree?” I yell.
“Ballooning!” Danny shouts back, full of glee. He’s pointing up into the branches. A dozen feet above them is a Mylar balloon, stuck in the tree.
“I was on my way to Mugsy’s and saw him out here chasing this thing down,” Finn calls out.
“It’s from the birthday party,” Danny reminds me. “I lost my balloon.”
Are they crazy? Danny can’t be climbing trees!
“Get him out of there!” I shout back. “He’s not good at climbing!”
Finn glances over at Danny, who grins back at him and shakes his head.
“I need to get the balloon.” Danny is emphatic. “It’s littering.”
“We can’t leave it there,” Finn calls with a shrug.
“You get it, then!” I insist. “Danny, you stay put. Let Finn get the balloon, okay?”
“It’s littering!” Danny repeats.
“Let Finn get it!” I throw my hands up in the air. “Finn!”
“I’m on it,” he shouts good-naturedly. He starts to climb and his foot slips a little, making me yell, “Watch out! You need to—”
Before I can finish my sentence, two things happen simultaneously. First, I hear Finn scream, “No!” and second, I hear the unmistakable roar of a car engine as a blue sedan comes flying across the bridge. I have nowhere to go.
It only takes a split second, and I leap over the side, falling for what seems like an eternity before I hit the shallow but icy water below, slamming hard into the boulders and rocks just beneath the surface. I feel pain, and then I feel numb.
Then I feel nothing.
17
Saved
I am really, really cold.
I shake all over with it, and it only makes me ache more. I can feel hands roll me to the side and I cough several times, tasting the brackish water of the creek as it comes out. The hands are chafing my face, moving down to my arms, and then the pain becomes excruciating. I try to scream, but all that comes out is a watery cough and a long moan.
“Jessa? Jessa! Talk to me, please. Are you hurt?” Finn’s voice reaches me through the fog of pain.
I manage to nod, but the shivers have turned into full-on convulsions now. I feel him wrapping his jacket around me, jostling my arm once more, and this time, I make plenty of sound.
“Sorry!” He moves more gently, tucking his jacket more tightly around me. “I think you might have broken your arm,” he says.
“Jessa! Jessa!” Danny sounds frantic. “That car was killing you!”
I open my eyes finally and start to put out a hand to reassure him. The movement sends shafts of pain through my left arm, and I close my eyes again, feeling like I’m going to be sick.
“She’s okay, Danny,” Finn reassures him. “She’s not going to die. She just hurt her arm a little. Let’s call your mom, okay?”
I groan again as I realize I dropped my phone when I jumped. My mom is going to kill me, because my phone is probably at the bottom of the creek somewhere.
Danny pulls out his phone, but he’s too upset to remember how to open the contacts and find our mom’s number. Finn takes it from him and makes the call. I can hear my mother’s voice on the other end. She’s at work right now, but it’s just a few minutes away from here. I won’t have long to wait.
Finn pulls me up against him as gently as he can, trying to settle me into his warmth. I’m still shivering, and every shake of my body is agony. His legs are wet with creek water, so I burrow into his chest as best I can.
“You cut your head,” he says, looking down at me with concern. “Did you hit it hard?”
“I d-don’t th-think so,” I stammer. “J-just m-my arm.”
“Don’t be hurt, Jessa,” Danny says to me. “That car shouldn’t have killed you.”
I laugh, in spite of my pain. “I kn-know, Danny. I’ll b-be okay.”
“He’s right,” Finn says, glancing around. “What the hell was that all about?”
“S-some idiot,” I manage to say.
“You really could have been killed.”
“I would have seen them s-sooner if I wasn’t l-looking at you c-clowns.” I take a deep breath, and it hurts. A lot. “I think I m-might b-be sick.”
“It’s okay,” Finn says. “I’ve got you. Just lie still.” His voice is troubled, and his eyes won’t stop shifting around. Danny is sitting on the ground next to us with his arms around his legs, rocking.
“D-Danny,” I mumble.
Finn glances over at him. “You okay, Danny? Jessa’s going to be fine, buddy. Really.”
“My fault,” he says loudly. “My fault. My fault. It’s my balloon. My fault.”
I try to shake my head, but that hurts, too. “No, Danny. N-not your f-fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Finn reassures him. “It’s mine.” He says it grimly, like he believes it. I look up at him in confusion.
“Your fault?” Danny asks.
“Yes. My fault. I shouldn’t have distracted Jessa.”
Danny nods. “Your fault. Jessa shouldn’t be killed by that car,” he reiterates.
I hear a car horn in the distance. My mother has pulled into the library parking lot. Finn looks down at me.
“I’m going to have to pick you up. It’s going to hurt.”
“It h-hurts anyway,” I tell him.
“Mom!” Danny is up and running, yelling out the details of our debacle as he streaks across the grass toward the parking lot. I feel Finn shift beneath me, and a few seconds later, he’s picking me up in his arms. The world tilts as pain screams through every nerve ending in my body. I twist my head to the side and I am suddenly, spectacularly sick.
Somehow, Finn doesn’t drop me, and lays me gently on the ground again.
“S-sorry,” I mumble, trying to wipe my mouth with my good arm. Even that hurts. I’m embarrassed beyond belief. My eyes fill up with tears, and they stream down my cheeks sideways, into my hair.
“Don’t cry, Jessa,” he says softly as he lifts me again. “Please don’t cry.”
He starts toward the car. My mother and Danny meet us halfway, and after a quick introduction and debriefing from Finn, she helps him settle me in the backseat of the car for the ride to the emergency room.
“Someone drove across the bridge?” my mom asks incredulously. “They’ve had that road closed off for forty years. There are signs all over the place! Who would do that?”
&nb
sp; “S-some idiot,” I say, keeping my eyes closed. The motion of the car is making me feel sick again.
“Someone in a blue sedan,” Finn adds.
Danny reaches back from the front seat and pats my head.
“That car shouldn’t have killed you, Jessa,” he says.
18
Loopy
I lie still, trying to wrap my fuzzy mind around where I am.
I’m in a hospital bed, and Finn is sitting next to me. There’s an IV in one arm, and a sling around the other. I think I’ve got a bandage on my forehead, too—I can feel it pull when I frown.
“Hey,” Finn says, reaching out to touch my IV’d arm.
I close my eyes and smack my lips at the sticky feeling in my mouth.
“Why do I feel so weird?” I murmur sleepily.
“They’ve got you pretty drugged up.” He moves his hand up to push my hair off my face, and I roll my cheek toward his hand.
“S’nice,” I say. “Your hand is warm.”
“You want to hear about the damage?”
“Sure. Lay it on me.” I smile, totally loopy.
“Well … you’ve got a dislocated shoulder. That’s why your arm hurts.”
“It’s not broken?”
“No. They reset it while you were under, but it’ll be sore for a while,” he explains. “Along with that, you’ve got assorted bumps, bruises, and scratches, and an IV pumping antibiotics into your arm because you got creek water in your lungs.”
“Awesome,” I say, closing my eyes again. “That’s just awesome. I have to write now.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “No, Jessa. You have to rest. You can write later.”
“No, I need to write it while it’s fresh in my mind.” I open my eyes and smile at him. “While you’re fresh in my mind.”
“Oh,” he says, and I can tell he’s pleased. “You’re writing about me.”
“I always do,” I confess. “Well, almost always. Even before I knew you were you, I wrote about you.”
I try to get up, but the movement makes the room spin madly and I slump back down.
“Whoa. Spinning.”
