A Whisper in Time (13 page)

Now my mother was gone. Naturally, if I considered my current life, she’d been gone for many years. I’d accepted this with my mind, but it had flowed no further.

I wanted to be with my sister and brothers and share in their grief, as we had when my father had drowned. Would Whisper Falls let me return to my home?

What was I thinking? These were the thoughts of a girl gone mad. The waterfall might let me cross, but on what day? The one immediately following my escape? An undetermined day twenty years hence?

No, indeed, Whisper Falls had always transported me and Mark to the same date we left. If the waterfall permitted my passage today, it would also be September fifteenth on the other side. But what of the year? Would it deliver me to the year I requested? I thought, and hoped, that was true.

And what if I were to arrive at the right time for the funeral? Nothing changed that fact that I was a runaway. A common criminal. The mourners would be honor-bound to throw me in jail.

Much as I might long to be with my family in our grief, my mother’s funeral was a risk I could never take.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

N
ATIONAL
N
EWS

I drove to Neuse Academy Thursday morning, fighting the distraction of Susanna’s new obsession and another problem, too. My sister.

Marissa wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but she needed to dump the arrogant prick who was living with her. While Fletcher was off partying with his MBA classmates, she was working her ass off to support them both. I wanted her to cut her losses and come home, but she claimed (whenever she wasn’t crying her guts out over him) that he was always so sweetly sincere with his apologies.

Yeah, well, he continued to do whatever it was he had to apologize for. Didn’t sound very sincere to me.

Why couldn’t the women in my life all be happy at the same time?

School was a relief. I threw myself into paying attention. The harder I focused, the less time I had to worry about personal stuff.

After the final bell rang, I took a detour by Mr. Rainey’s office, and then made my way to the senior lot. It was nearly empty by the time I reached my truck, but I wasn’t the only one there. Gabrielle leaned against the bumper with her ever-present bodyguard a few feet away. She straightened as I arrived.

“Hey,” I said, puzzled to see her here without Jesse and Benita in tow. “Congratulations on making Homecoming Court.”

“Thanks. They only elected me because it’ll bring a lot of publicity…”

No use in denying it. She was right.

“…which leads me to a huge favor I want to ask. As a friend.” She flashed me one of her killer smiles. “Korry can’t be here, of course. He’s busy.”

“Okay.”

“I need an escort, and it can’t be my boyfriend. So…will you be my escort on the Homecoming Court?”

Had not seen that coming. I unlocked the truck door and tossed my backpack onto the passenger seat. It gave me a moment to wonder what I would say. “That’s quite an honor.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Is that how you begin a
no
?”

“I’m not saying
no
, it’s just…there’s Susanna. I’m not sure how she’d feel about it.”

“You can still sit with her for part of the game.”

“Susanna won’t be coming to the game.”

“Why not?” Her voice was light and curious.

A chill rippled through me. I didn’t want to talk about Susanna, and I was surprised that Gabrielle was pressing the issue. “Susanna doesn’t like sports or crowds.”

“If she’s not coming anyway, would she mind if you escorted me?”

“I don’t know.” Gabrielle really wanted me to do this. It was unexpected and flattering.

“We won’t be on an official date. You’ll be free after the halftime show.” Her voice intensified. “Korry thinks that this is the perfect solution. If he can’t be here, he wants me to find someone who is also taken. That way, he won’t have to worry about my escort getting the wrong idea.”

It sounded logical enough. Why did I feel guilty for even considering it? “I’m not sure—”

“Don’t answer now, Mark. Give it some thought. Ask your girlfriend.” She smiled again. “I’ll wait.”

* * *

When I got home from school, I checked out the apartment, but the door was closed. So I headed instead to my room, put on my gear, and went biking in Umstead Park. Normally, this would be the kind of training I could do in my sleep, but there had been a light afternoon rain. The trails were slippery and fun.

Dinner was still an hour away when I finished the ride and my shower. I needed to study.

I wanted Susanna.

Maybe I could have both. Like a date—but not. I got stuff ready in the family room and went looking for her. The door to her apartment stood wide open now. When I reached the landing and looked in, I found her sitting at her kitchenette table, laptop closed and eyes closed, with Toby napping against her feet.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

When her eyes opened, she met my gaze calmly. “I am.”

Something was wrong. It wasn’t her expression. She always looked that calm, and her voice sounded unemotional, which was typical too.

I wasn’t going to ask. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. “I’m studying in the family room. Want to join me?”

“I should love to.”

She had the most gorgeous smile ever made. I wished I could figure out how to make it appear more often.

She picked up a thick paperback book from a bookshelf and preceded me down the stairs.

“I have your favorite tea ready.”

She stared into the family room, her lips rounded into a surprised
oh
. “What a lovely thing to do.” She turned to me, stood on her tiptoes, and then hesitated, blushing.

“Come on, Susanna,” I said, leaning down. “My parents aren’t around. Kiss me already.”

She did. Not as enthusiastically as I would’ve liked, but we could work on it. Her instincts were improving.

We settled on the couch, Susanna curled up in the corner. I lay with my head in her lap.

There was a thick book in her hand, but she didn’t open it. Just kept staring into space.

Her not-doing-anything was distracting. “What did you bring down?”

“A study guide for the GED.” Susanna spoke in a sleepy tone, like she wasn’t entirely there. “Your mother asked me to call her by her Christian name today.”

That was a shock, but a good one. “She’s getting used to you.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“Yeah.” Their wariness around each other had been uncomfortable, but maybe it was thawing out.

“She does not think I am capable of a job.”

“That’s not it.” I shook my head. “It’s just hard given your lack of ID. Plus she’s hoping that studying for your GED becomes your main job.”

“Studying is not a job. It’s a pleasure.”

“In this century, it’s a job.”

“Indeed.” She drew the word out slowly, thoughtfully. Then, with a quick shake of her head, she flipped through the book, stopped a third of the way in, and read.

I settled back against Susanna, opened a textbook on my iPad, and did my best to focus on the Articles of Confederation and the Continental Congress.

Both had happened in the 1780s, which brought up an odd thought. I tried to brush it away, but it persisted. “You were alive while they were trying to write the U.S. Constitution.”

“I was.” Her voice was warm and focused. “My father was most displeased with the Articles of Confederation. Had his life not ended abruptly, I’m sure I would’ve learned more. Neither my stepfather nor my master would tell me about the Constitution, although I do know that North Carolina would not ratify it.”

“We did eventually.”

“Truly?” Her gaze dropped to mine. “We follow our own path.” Her smile faded.

Who was she talking about? North Carolina or herself?

“Susanna, did something happen today? Something with Phoebe’s diary?”

“My mother died.”

I sat up again, this time tossing the iPad onto the coffee table, done with everything except listening to Susanna. “When? How?”

“When Phoebe was fifteen. I do not think they saw each other often. There is certainly no mention of visits in the journals.” She sighed softly. “I would never have seen my mother again, but the finality aches the same.”

We slouched side by side on the couch for a while, leaning into each other, holding hands, having abandoned the pretense of studying long ago. It was quiet. There was no need for words. She grieved for her mother, and I waited.

“I do not wish to sit in somber silence for the rest of the evening,” she said, her head against my shoulder. “Please tell me about your day.”

I tensed. Not a topic I wanted to cover. “It was busy. I have a lot of tests next week.”

She straightened, her warmth leaving me. “I believe there is something troubling you too. Something you’re hesitant to mention to me. Do not let my sad news stop you.”

Damn that sixth sense of hers—that frickin’ ability to see past what I was hiding. I wasn’t ready for this conversation, and I was going to screw it up. But she would dig until it came out. “I want to go to a special football game we have. It’s called Homecoming.”

“An interesting name. Do people come from all around to attend, as if they are coming home?”

“Exactly.” So far so good. I rolled my head until I could meet her gaze. “Will you go with me to the Homecoming game? There’s a dance afterward.”

“How many people will attend the game?”

“Thousands.”

“And the dance?”

“Hundreds.”

“Mark, I don’t—”

“A special ceremony happens in the middle of the game.” There was a sick feeling in my gut that told me she was about to refuse to attend, and I didn’t want her to. I wanted her to come with me and give me an excuse to show her off, to be a couple in front of everyone. “The students at Neuse pick girls to represent each class. Then the girls put on these big fancy ball gowns and parade around in front of everyone at halftime.”

“Why?”

“It’s a type of celebration.”

“You celebrate football by dressing girls in ball gowns?”

“Yeah. We call them homecoming princesses. They walk out into the middle of the football field, carrying flowers and waving.” I hadn’t realized how lame it sounded.

“Then what happens?”

“The crowd screams.”

She laughed. “It sounds foolish.”

I shouldn’t have let her goad me into talking about this. “Homecoming is a tradition.”

“Traditions are not always good.”

“They’re not always bad either.”

She unlinked our fingers and clasped her hands in her lap. “There must be more to the story than this. It is too trifling of a thing to upset you so.”

“The princesses pick guys to escort them.”

“Their boyfriends?”

“Usually, but not always. If they don’t have a boyfriend around, they can ask a guy friend.” This wasn’t going well, and it was about to get worse. “A princess on the homecoming court asked me to escort her.”

“What was your answer?”

“I haven’t given one yet.”

She rose smoothly from the couch and walked a few paces away, arms crossed. “You didn’t say
no
.”

“I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Why?”

“You’re my girlfriend. You might object.”

“A wise inclination.” She spun around to face me. “Your attitude gives me pause.”

“Oh, come on, Susanna.” I hated when she went all superior. “She has a boyfriend, but he can’t be here. It’s not like Gabrielle and I would be out on a date.”

“Gabrielle, the movie star?”

“Yeah.” I slid off the couch and stalked across the room to where Susanna stood. “Her boyfriend is in Africa right now. He’s fine with the idea.”

Susanna stared straight at my chest. “You want to do this thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It’s flattering. I might even make the national news.”

Her arms dropped. “Then say yes.” She turned towards the door.

What had just happened here? Had she really given me permission? “Are you saying you don’t mind?”

She hesitated in the doorway. “I do mind. You should say
yes
anyway.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

T
HE
T
WITCH
OF
A
S
KIRT

Mark’s request unsettled me in a way I could not understand, and it wasn’t because I feared there was more to the event than he described. It was his reaction, as if he had cause to be guilty. That he expected me to be angry.

My eyes popped open and sought the clock. Four AM.

I had tried long enough to sleep. In the quiet before dawn, with the house and its inhabitants still, I had my own little world that wouldn’t be disturbed. After dressing in fresh clothes, I wiggled into a position of comfort on the couch and indulged more in my sister’s story.

My head jerked back as if slapped. His first wife, my mistress, would’ve delivered her youngest child in the spring of 1797. Even had she died in childbirth, he must have married and bred again in less than two years. How could I have forgotten? Mark’s research had determined that the second wife was the indentured servant after me—a girl even younger than I.