“Butt out,” Thistle spat, bobbing her head back and forth. She’d obviously taken to dying it over the intervening years. It was a bright pink color today. “You’re not a friend of the family, no matter what you say, and this conversation is none of your business.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have it in front of me,” Landon suggested.
“I like him,” younger Bay announced. “I want to keep him.”
“Oh, this is a lot creepier than last time,” Landon said, carefully grabbing younger Bay’s hand as she pressed it against his chest. “Now I really do feel like a pervert.”
“I told you.”
“Yes, you know all and see all,” Landon said, releasing Bay’s hand and grabbing my shoulders so he could shove my body in front of his. “Rein in her hormones right now. I don’t like this.”
“What kind of pervert doesn’t like attention from a teenage girl?” Aunt Tillie asked, appearing at the edge of the clearing. “I think you’re reading your pervert manual wrong.”
Thistle snickered. “Pervert manual.”
“Is that a real thing?” Clove asked, her eyes widening.
“There’s a reason you’re not allowed to leave the house without me,” Thistle said, cuffing Clove again for good measure.
“Knock that off,” Landon ordered. “She’s not doing anything.”
“Mind your own business, pervert!”
“I’m not a pervert!” Landon’s patience was quickly fraying.
“He’s right, Thistle,” Aunt Tillie said, taking everyone by surprise. “Not about the pervert thing, mind you. He looks like he has wandering hands. Speaking of wandering hands, you should learn to keep yours to yourself. Clove didn’t deserve that.”
“Thank you, Aunt Tillie,” Clove sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“You’re still a kvetch,” Aunt Tillie said.
“Whatever,” Clove muttered. “I’m going back to the house. The construction workers are supposed to arrive soon, and I’m hoping they take their shirts off again.”
“Ooh, that sounds fun,” Thistle said, her earlier argument with Clove forgotten. “It’s supposed to be really hot this summer. I hope they take their shirts off a lot.”
“I’m casting a spell to make sure all of those men think they’re gay whenever they look at you,” Aunt Tillie warned, wagging her finger. “You can parade around in your bikinis … and bring them lemonade … and do all of that other panting stuff you do whenever they’re around. It won’t work.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re not nice to look at,” Clove pointed out.
Aunt Tillie’s mouth tipped up. “Look away. That’s why we hired them.”
“Cool,” Clove said, turning on her heel and jogging away. Thistle followed. I could hear them arguing as they went. “Do you really think that guy is a pervert?”
“He has long hair,” Thistle answered. “You know what that means.”
“Hippie freak,” Clove said.
Landon scowled at Aunt Tillie. “Why do you tell them things like that? I’m not a pervert and I’m not a hippie freak.”
“There’s no other reason to have long hair,” Aunt Tillie replied. “Bay, stop staring at him. You’re drooling.”
“I’m not drooling,” I said, my cheeks coloring when I realized which Bay she referred to. “Oh.”
Younger Bay ignored Aunt Tillie’s admonishment and offered Landon a pretty smile. “I’m eighteen,” she said.
“That’s great,” Landon said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“You’re not eighteen,” Aunt Tillie said. “You won’t be eighteen for months. Get your scrawny behind to the house and stare at the construction workers with your cousins. This guy is out of your league … for now, at least.”
Younger Bay jutted out her lower lip. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?”
“You can have fun staring at the other guys,” Aunt Tillie argued. “That’s your problem. Hormones. You can’t control them.”
“That’s what you always say,” younger Bay said. “I don’t think hormones are as powerful as you pretend.”
“And I don’t think you should be hanging around a hippie freak when you don’t even know who he is,” Aunt Tillie countered.
“I know who he is,” younger Bay said, locking gazes with me. “I know exactly who he is.”
Could that be true? “Do you know who I am?” I asked.
“I do,” younger Bay said, nodding.
“She doesn’t know,” Aunt Tillie scoffed. “She’s messing with you. Her head is in the clouds … and the hippie freak’s pants, quite frankly … and she doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going these days. It’s almost too much for one soul to take.”
“I do know,” younger Bay snapped. “She’s me.”
My heart rolled at her declaration. It was odd to hear her say it. “How do you know that?”
“You look like me,” younger Bay answered, unruffled. “You have the same hair. You have the exact same eyes. Your hips make me want to exercise more frequently, but other than that you held up pretty well for an old lady.”
Landon barked out a hoarse laugh, tickled by younger Bay’s fortitude. “There you are.”
I elbowed him in the stomach. “That’s not funny. I don’t have wide hips.”
“I love your hips,” Landon said.
“Ignore her,” Aunt Tillie said. “Everyone over the age of eighteen has wide hips to a teenager. Go and bother your cousins. I need to talk to these two, and I don’t have a lot of time.”
“I want to keep him, though,” younger Bay whined. “Look how cute he is.”
“I told you before, you can’t keep him yet,” Aunt Tillie shot back.
“When can I keep him?” younger Bay made an exaggerated face.
“When you’re older.”
“Well … I’m older now,” my teen self said, hopping for emphasis. “And I’m even older now.”
“And yet you’re still not old enough to handle him,” Aunt Tillie said, jerking a thumb in Landon’s direction. “She’s barely old enough to handle him.” She gestured toward me. “I’m guessing it took her months of having him to figure out what to do with him. Am I right?”
“No!” I was pretty sure that was an insult. I glanced at Landon for support. “Tell her I knew what to do with you from the start.”
Landon pursed his lips. “Two weeks tops.”
“Fine,” younger Bay said, blowing out a dramatic sigh. “I’ll be waiting for you. Don’t forget me.”
“I could never forget you,” Landon said. “Aunt Tillie is right, though, I like my women a little more … seasoned.”
“And legal,” I added.
“You really need to check the fine print on that pervert manual,” Aunt Tillie said, shaking her head. “Go, Bay. I’m running out of time.”
I didn’t like the way Aunt Tillie phrased that. I watched younger Bay bolt toward the house, making sure she was out of earshot before turning on Aunt Tillie. “What does that mean? How are you running out of time?”
“You’re leaving soon,” Aunt Tillie said. “You still have things to see before it’s time.”
“Time for what? You’re not staying here,” I snapped. “I don’t care if you’re my Aunt Tillie or her Aunt Tillie, but I know all of the Aunt Tillies can hear me, and I’m going to be extremely blunt: Don’t even think about staying here. I will hunt you down and drag you back if I have to.”
“You always were cute when you feigned being in charge,” Aunt Tillie said, chuckling as she patted my hand. “Things are going to get … rougher … for a little bit.”
“Oh, don’t tell me that,” Landon muttered, grabbing my hand. “Why can’t you just go home with us now? We don’t need rougher. We’ve seen enough for ten lifetimes today. It was great. It was illuminating. We want to go home, though.”
“Soon,” Aunt Tillie said. “Your journey isn’t complete.”
&n
bsp; “I don’t know what that means,” I said, tugging on my limited patience. “Why is this suddenly more about me than you? This is supposed to be your journey.”
“I’m on my own journey,” Aunt Tillie said. “Get ready, kids. I think you’re in for a bumpy ride.”
“And landing, no doubt,” Landon said as he pressed his eyes shut.
The blurring and swirling colors caused my stomach to tilt as I clutched his hand. “This isn’t over, Aunt Tillie,” I called out. “We’re not leaving without you.”
“We shall see.”
They’re trying to put a strip club in that building by the railroad tracks. Now, I’m not looking to argue the merits of stripping as a profession, but I am interested in making money. I think I’d be good at it. One of you needs to loan me your bra.
– Aunt Tillie relating town gossip to her nieces
Fourteen
The next landing was softer, but only because the touchdown was in a pile of hay.
“What the … ?” Landon rolled to his side and studied the cart, frowning. “What is this?”
“It’s the hay ride,” I said, groaning as I rubbed my hip. “I can’t take much more of this. I feel … old.”
“You can’t be old, sweetie, you’re still young,” Landon said, grinning. “And apparently whatever age you are, you absolutely love me beyond reason.”
“That’s easier to say when a teenager isn’t feeling you up, isn’t it?”
Landon growled low in his throat. “That’s not funny. Don’t laugh. I see you smiling. It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny,” I said. “Teenage Bay didn’t care how old you were. She would’ve taken you for … well … a hayride, if she could.”
“Is that what this is for?” Landon asked, picking a few straws out of my hair. “Is this so the frisky people of Hemlock Cove can roll in the hay in public?”
“Cute,” I said, scratching my wrist. Hayrides may seem romantic in theory, but the truth is they’re itchy. I’m much happier with the moon, a bottle of wine and a blanket. “The town has hayrides every fall. I thought you knew that.”
“If I’d have known that, I would’ve paid for a private ride.”
“That sounds borderline illegal.”
Landon shrugged. “I’m an FBI agent. I decide what’s legal.”
“I don’t think that’s the way it works, but you seem happy with the scenario so I’ll let it go,” I said. Hemlock Cove bustled with activity, and it took me a moment to read all the signs and put the pieces of our latest puzzle together. “This is the relaunch of the town.”
“I don’t understand what that means,” Landon said, reclining against the hay. “This is pretty comfortable.” He patted his lap. “Climb on.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said, laughing. “We don’t have time for that.”
“From what I can tell, we have time for whatever we want,” Landon said, refusing to wait for me to give in to his demand and instead wrapping his arm around my waist and hauling me onto his lap. “Let’s roll in the hay.”
“We can’t do that,” I hissed. “Someone might see us.”
“So what?” Landon wasn’t perturbed with the possibility of discovery. “This isn’t real, but it could still be fun.”
“How about I promise to go on a hayride with you in the fall?” I suggested.
“I’ll take it, because that means you believe I’ll still be here in the fall, and that’s progress,” Landon said. “I still want to roll around in the hay.” He tickled my ribs and flipped my body so he could rest on top of me. “This is fun.”
“It’s itchy,” I said.
“I’ll scratch your itch,” Landon offered, kissing the tip of my nose. He was too strong to fight off, and he appeared content to rest on top of me. “This whole thing is so messed up that I don’t even know what to think.”
“Me either,” I said, tracing his jaw with my finger. “At first it was all about Aunt Tillie. Now it seems to be all about us.”
“You,” Landon clarified. “It’s all about you.”
“No, a lot of this is about you,” I countered. “Aunt Tillie is leading us toward something. Can’t you feel it?”
“Maybe she wants you to see something,” Landon said. “I’m not in any of these memories.”
“Not yet.”
“That’s true,” Landon mused, kissing the tip of my nose again. “I’m sure my time will come. Where are we in your timeline?”
“This is when they launched Hemlock Cove on the world,” I explained. “That’s what the signs are for. They held a big party, even though it took them years to finally agree to change the name. It took them awhile to make Hemlock Cove what it is today.”
“It looks pretty much the same,” Landon said. “How old were you when this happened?”
“Twenty-two.”
“That makes me feel better,” Landon said. “At least this time when the other you paws at me I won’t feel quite as dirty.”
“The other me won’t be here.”
Landon knit his eyebrows together. “Why not?”
“Because the other me is in Detroit right now,” I answered, my heart rolling. “I was down state hoping to be a big-time reporter when the town officially switched over. My mom asked me to come home but … I was too busy.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “I missed out on all the fun.”
“Why didn’t you want to come home?” Landon asked. “I’m sure you visited when you lived down south.”
“I did visit a couple of times a year, but it was hard for me to come back.”
“Why?”
“Ugh.” I moved to push Landon off me, but he refused to let me up. “Do we really have to talk about this?”
“It’s a trip down memory lane,” Landon prodded. “You’re right about this being about you, so I need to know why this memory will be important. Why didn’t you like visiting? You seem happy in Hemlock Cove now. What was different then? That was only a few years ago.”
“It was hard because I wanted to come home but I didn’t want to admit that’s what I wanted,” I replied. “I told myself that things would be different when I left. I thought they would be perfect because no one would ever be able to look at me and say, ‘There’s that Winchester witch who talks to herself.’”
“I get that,” Landon said. “I initially considered moving to the city, too. What happened?”
“I had fun for a little bit, and I enjoyed the fast-paced lifestyle,” I answered. “It got old quickly, though. I missed Clove and Thistle. I missed my mom and aunts. Heck, I missed the town – well, except for Lila – and I didn’t like all the pavement, traffic and bright lights.”
“So why didn’t you come home?”
“Because I didn’t want to admit I was wrong to leave in the first place.”
“That sounds about right,” Landon said, gripping me close and rolling so he was on the bottom and I could rest my chin on his chest. He brushed my hair from my face as I looked down at him. “No one wants to admit they’re wrong at that age. You eventually came home, though.”
“But not before I made a lot of people miserable – including my mother.”
“It’s over now, Bay,” Landon said. “This is your home. Heck, I have an apartment in Traverse City, but when I think of ‘home’ now, I think of ... well … .”
“Hemlock Cove?” I teased.
“I was going to say you,” Landon said, causing my heart to warm. “I like Hemlock Cove, though. You’re my home now.”
“Good grief. You’re really romantic today.”
“I think it’s all the time jumping,” Landon said, laughing. “I got to see you born. I got to see you when you were little and loved me at first sight. I even got to see you as a teenager, although that made me a little uncomfortable.”
“I wonder why Aunt Tillie picked this memory,” I mused, lifting myself up so I could scan the area. “Look. There’s Marnie and Twila.”
Landon kept his a
rm around my waist as he struggled to a sitting position, holding me close as he watched Marnie and Twila setting up a booth at the edge of the town square. “What are they doing?”
“Well, as part of the official launch, the township officials got money from all of the local businesses and contracted with a state tourism company so that hundreds of people flocked to Hemlock Cove for the big launch week,” I explained. “They had one chance to get it right and create word-of-mouth buzz.
“Every business – and I mean every business – contributed and went out of its way to make things fun,” I continued. “It was a rousing success. The Overlook made its name on baked goods, homemade jams and Aunt Tillie’s first bout of dinner theater. Everyone still talks about her antics.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “Look at Marnie and Twila, though. They’re so nervous.”
“Can you hear what they’re saying?”
I shook my head. “Let’s get closer.”
Landon pouted. “What about my roll in the hay?”
“I’ll roll you when we get out of this,” I said. “I prefer doing it away from the hay, though. I really am itchy.”
It took us a few minutes to clean ourselves up. Instead of ambling over to The Overlook’s booth, Landon and I sat on a bench close enough to hear but not so close we risked intruding. Simply hearing Marnie and Twila’s chatter made me realize I missed them. I had no idea how much time had passed since we fell asleep in Aunt Tillie’s hospital room, but I was ready to go home.
I didn’t think that was in the cards. Not yet, at least.
“Don’t put the bread there,” Marnie instructed. “It should go on the other table.”
“Why?” Twila asked, her red hair glinting beneath the bright sunlight.
“Because that’s where I’m putting the doughnuts.”
“Is there a reason the doughnuts can’t go on the other table?” Twila challenged.
“Yes, because they go in the spot where you put the bread.”
“That’s not an explanation,” Twila grumbled, although she was already moving the bread. “I just think you like bossing me around.”
A Witch In Time Page 13
