The Day Before Forever (16 page)

Henley looked at me. “You want to go first?” It was the first time he had spoken to me since our earlier argument.

“No, it's fine. Why don't you choose?” In truth, I was waiting for my last prediction to be proved correct. I knew Henley better than anyone.

Henley looked like he didn't want to argue over something so little. He stepped up. “Strawberry for me.”

Right again.

“And then Nutella and strawberries for the second scoop.”

I tilted my head without thinking. I couldn't decide whether the second scoop was characteristic of Henley or not.

“Miss, are you ready to order?”

The man was looking at me. Henley already had his cone of gelato.

“The Nutella and strawberries for me as well.”

“Two scoops of that?”

“Yes, please.”

When we had all gotten our gelato, Alanna made to walk up to the counter by Henley to pay.

“Oh no, you don't.” Henley playfully shooed her away. “You got dinner last time. This is our chance to make up for it and save face.”

We both knew we still had to save up money, but this was Henley trying to seem inconspicuous and fit in with Alanna and Peter.

“You sure?” she said.

“Of course!”

“Well, only so you can look good in front of Rebecca.” She winked at him, making her way to sit at the tables up front.

Peter and I followed. He sat down next to Alanna, putting his feet up on a spare chair and draping his arm around her shoulder. She looked so small sitting there with her shoulder enveloped by his arm.

Henley joined us as soon as he was done. I watched to see
what chair he would take—the one next to me or the one across from me. He took the one across from me.

“Thanks for the treat, Henley,” Alanna said.

“How's your roasted banana?” he asked her.

“It's really good. You want a bite?”

Henley shook his head. “I'm sticking to my strawberry combination.”

“Is the strawberry flavor good?” I asked.

Henley hesitated, and I knew it was because I was speaking to him. “Yes, it is. Would you like to try it?”

I declined.

“It tastes like real, freshly picked strawberries,” he said.

“That does sound good,” Alanna said.

“Henley's always had this thing for strawberry ice cream,” I told her.

“Just like how Peter here loves his vanilla.” Alanna poked Peter. “I always tell him that's boring and he needs to branch out, but—”

“But I like it,” Peter finished off for her.

“You need to be more adventurous!”

“I'm adventurous with other things, but there are certain things I stick to because I like them: vanilla ice cream and you.”

Peter leaned in for a kiss, but Alanna jokingly slapped him away. It was clear she loved the attention, though.

Did Henley and I look like that sometimes? Did we have moments where we were wonderfully absorbed in each other and everything else didn't exist . . . or rather didn't matter? Yes. Yes, we did.

They looked effortless.

“How did you two meet?” Henley asked. He was grinning at Alanna and Peter. “That's a surely entertaining story neither of you have told us yet.”

Alanna giggled. “This one here”—she pointed to Peter—“this one was actually interning for my father one summer in the office.”

“What did your father do?” Henley asked before I could fill him in.

“Plastic surgeon with a God complex,” Alanna answered without batting an eyelash.

It was clear Henley didn't know how to respond to that. “Ah . . .”

“Anyway, for some reason, this doofus thought he might want to work under a plastic surgeon.”

Peter spoke up. “In my defense, this was
many
years ago and I was an impressionable young man.”

Alanna waved him quiet. “As I was saying . . . Oh yeah, so I was home from university that summer. My father had forgotten something at home and texted me to ask me to drop it off—Peter, what was it?”

“His lunch, I think.”

“That's right! Mother had just started him on the Paleo diet, so he couldn't just eat with everyone else at the nearby café. He had his lunch packed, but he forgot it that day. And Peter just happened to be working the front desk, isn't that right?”

Peter nodded. “This beauty walked in among all those women in the waiting room with bandages across their noses and all those men waiting for a pec implant consultation—”

“And you know what he said to me?” Alanna cut in. “His
first words were—”

“Dear God, I hope you're not getting a nose job. That little nose is perfect on its own. Don't you dare touch it,” Peter finished off for her.

Henley's lips twitched up in a smile as he watched them laugh in unison.

“And then I told him that he was bad for business since he should be encouraging people to get procedures done, rather than discouraging them.”

“I had no idea Alanna was the boss's daughter. They look absolutely nothing alike,” Peter said.

“I'll take that as a compliment. That's saying I look nothing like a balding, post-middle-age man.” Alanna looked pleased.

“That's why I love you.”

The rest of our time in the gelato shop went similarly—Alanna and Peter did most of the talking, while Henley and I sat silently. It was as if Alanna and Peter spoke the words that needed to be said between Henley and me. They were so effortless together. Alanna and Peter's banter reminded me of the way Henley and I sometimes were, but we didn't have the easiness that they did. Henley and I needed so many heavy conversations just to stay on the right page, in synch with each other. I was willing to bet that Alanna and Peter never had to discuss living eternally together versus having a meaningful life. That would put a wrench in most relationships. It certainly had in ours.

EIGHT

IT HAD BEEN
a relatively . . . taciturn week. My last long conversation with Henley—the argument, if you could call it that—was hanging between us. I wasn't sure if we had really made up.

It wasn't as if he was giving me the childish silent treatment. Henley was talking to me—he even talked to me in the gelato shop after we had argued—but things weren't normal yet.

I looked at Henley across the room from my spot by the window. He had parked himself on the farthest corner of the bed from me and was staring at the ceiling. I knew we couldn't go on like this.

“Henley.”

He didn't move.

“So what are we going to do?” I said.

He knew I was talking about us. I didn't have to say it.

“Do you want me with you?” Henley spoke to the ceiling.

“You know I do—”

“Then I don't understand why there's a decision to be made.”

I hesitated. “Because I feel selfish making that choice merely to keep you with me forever.”

With those words, Henley turned to look at me. “I
want
to be with you. How is that selfish?”

“Because you don't know what that entails. You're giving up a lot more than you realize.”

I waited for Henley to argue with me. But he simply said, “I know.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do, Rebecca.” Henley got off the bed and walked to my side. “I haven't experienced it before, but that doesn't mean I haven't seen how you've dealt with it. You're strong. Sometimes I wonder if I can be as strong as you. But I do know that whatever the case, I can't stand losing you again.”

I braced myself against the window. “We need to make a decision soon, don't we?” I already knew the answer to that question.

“We need to figure out what our next steps will be.”

“And you're still willing to make your life meaningless and to give up one of the things that makes you human?”

“To keep you? In a heartbeat. Besides, how human can I be, being half-immortal already?”

I tried to even out my breathing. It was as if I kept forgetting to inhale.

“Rebecca, I love you, but you know this isn't your choice to make.”

“I know,” I said.

Henley's eyes bored into mine, trying to read me.

I slowly nodded. “If you're set on this, then we'll turn you immortal.”

Henley cupped my cheek with his hand. “Are you sure you're okay with this?”

“Yes.”

He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “We can be happy.”

“We can have
a shot
at happiness,” I corrected. “We still have this murderer. We're not in control.” Our happiness wasn't up to us.

Henley stepped away from me, his face turning dark. “So what do we do about this murderer?”

“What do you mean?”

“We can't just sit and wait for him to find you.”

I was tired of the waiting game too. “But what else can we do?”

“We have to end this,” he said.

“It's only going to end when one of us is dead.”

Henley looked at me. His eyes were wild. “Then we have to make sure it isn't you.”

“Kill this person, you mean?”

“He's after you. We can't just wait.”

I massaged my temples. “I know we need to do something, but how do we kill someone we know nothing about? We don't even know for certain that it's a
he
and not a
she.
”

“We need to find him,” Henley said.

He couldn't be serious. “That's much easier said than done. How in the world are we supposed to do that?”

“Simple. He's looking for you. You're our bait,” Henley said.

I sat down on the bed. “So wait till he kills me?” Of all possible ideas, this one by far had to be the worst.

“No. Prepare ourselves so we're ready to strike first when he makes his move.”

“That sounds impossible.”

“Well, it's the best we have.”

There was a knock on the door, and I leaped up from the bed.

I frowned at Henley, but he was already going over to the door to get it. I hoped whoever was out there hadn't heard our conversation. There was no peephole to look through to see who it was.

Henley opened the door. It was Aaron.

“Oh good! You two are in,” he said. “There was a phone call for you that came in, and I wasn't sure whether I should wait until you two were in the lobby again or if I should just come up—”

“A phone call, you said?” I joined Henley at the door.

“Why yes. Let's see . . . it was from a place called Carter House.” Aaron leaned against the doorway. He stared into our faces, looking for recognition.

“And?” Henley prompted him.

“And they asked you to call back.”

I didn't know if this was good news or not.

“How long ago did they call?”

“Oh, about twenty minutes ago, I'd say.”

“Thank you,” Henley said. “We'll be right down to use the phone.”

“Of course.”

Henley started closing the door while Aaron was still there. Aaron took a step back, so as not to get caught.

“So they're getting back to us?” Henley whispered. I wondered if he was talking quietly because he was worried that Aaron was still on the other side of the door, eavesdropping.

“It has to be good news, right?”

“I can't imagine anything going wrong . . .”

We both knew that wasn't true.

“It's not as if we're trying to sell them knockoffs.”

I guess Carter House could refuse to buy directly from us because it wasn't “standard protocol.” Henley was probably thinking the same thing, but we didn't dare voice it. We didn't want to jinx it.

“I suppose the only way to find out is for me to call them back,” Henley said. He grabbed the piece of paper with the phone number off the bedside table.

I followed Henley out of the door and to the lobby. Surprisingly Aaron wasn't there, though he
must
have been curious about our relations with Carter House.

Henley smoothed out the piece of paper before starting to punch in the phone number. I could hear it first dialing and then ringing as Henley held it up to his ear.

“Carter House Auction Specialists. Hilary speaking.”

“Hilary, this is Henley Beauford.”

“Why hello, Mr. Beauford. Calling about the Tudor jewelry set?” Hilary was as chirpy as usual.

“Yes, I am.”

“Let me patch you in to Tabitha. Please wait on the line.”

Classical music started pouring out of the phone before
Henley could respond. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. At least they had chosen good music. Sounded like Beethoven.

“Tabitha speaking.”

“Tabitha? This is Henley Beauford.”

“Mr. Beauford, a pleasure to hear from you so quickly.” Her voice sounded colder over the phone than it did in person.

Henley started pacing the floor in front of me.

“We wanted to call to let you know our experts did authenticate the jewelry set as a Tudor-era, early-1500s artifact. In addition, the Carter House management group also approved a direct sale transaction with a cash portion up front.”

Henley stopped his pacing and finally stood still. “Brilliant. Have you settled on a price?”

“We're very close to finalizing it. Merely going over some last-minute details. We would be happy to discuss the exact amount when you are available to come in to the office. We would also like to go over some additional paperwork to finalize the sale.”

“Tomorrow, then?” Henley said.

“Would tomorrow at three be suitable for you?”

“Yes, that would be fine.”

“Wonderful. I will have Hilary schedule that. Until then, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, that will be all.”

“Then thank you. We look forward to your visit tomorrow.”

There was a click, and Henley put down the phone.

“It went well?” Although I'd heard the conversation, I wanted to clarify that he felt the same way as I did.

“Well enough, I believe . . . So far, so good.”

We went back to the room. Things were so much better now that the air had cleared between Henley and me and we had what was hopefully the last meeting with the auction house set up.

Henley took over the bed as usual, so I sat on the floor by the foot of the bed.

I reached under the bed for the backpack. I wasn't looking for anything specific inside, but sometimes I just liked to hold the clock in my arms. It was strange, but the clock had been through everything with me. It was linked to Miss Hatfield. It was linked to me. I thought I wanted it by my side, but when I reached into the backpack, my hands closed around a smooth glass surface instead. I took out the vial—Richard's vial.

Rolling it around in my hand, I saw there was still liquid in it. So the time traveling hadn't made it evaporate . . . if that was what happened to liquids in the time continuum. I didn't have much experience in that area.

I brought it to eye level and sighed.

It was silly, but I couldn't bring myself to throw the vial away. I knew the liquid didn't do anything. It was plain water, as far as its abilities went. It had been created by Richard and the court's royal alchemist to make people immortal . . . Although if it had worked, it would have made turning Henley immortal a lot easier.

I couldn't part with it because it was the last thing of Richard's I had. Henley inhabited his body, but that wasn't Richard anymore. This was a part of Richard that I held now in my hands. This was a part that Henley couldn't touch.

“What's that you're holding?” Henley looked genuinely curious. He hopped off the bed and came to sit by me on the floor.

“Just a little memento of my past,” I said.

“That's from Richard, isn't it?” He said it without judgment.

I didn't know why I couldn't tell Henley outright that it was a gift of sorts from Richard. Henley had obviously been there when Richard gave it to me; without a body, Henley was forced to see everything that went on between Richard and me. It hadn't been fair, but that was how it was.

“Yeah, it is.”

“I'm sorry about him,” he said.

“Me too.” I gripped the vial tighter in my fist.

“W-when you kissed him . . . ,” Henley began. It was the first time Henley had brought this up since he had exploded right after it happened.

It had actually been Richard who had kissed me, but I knew it wouldn't help if I brought that up.

Richard had thought that we were alone, but Henley had been there, watching as he leaned in and kissed me. I hadn't
not
liked it. I hadn't pushed him away.

I had been confused, but I had known I liked Richard—I loved him, in fact. But what I felt for him was different from what I felt for Henley.

“It's over,” I said.

“Because he's dead or because you didn't love him?” Henley's voice wasn't harsh at all. He sounded sad, desperately trying to understand what had happened that day and what had happened to us.

“I loved him. I still do. I don't think that'll ever change.”

Henley recoiled but quickly recovered.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm just trying to explain this as I see it and as I feel it.” Henley already knew the stark facts of what had happened. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him.

“I appreciate you being honest with me.”

“I loved him, but I'm not
in
love with him. I never was.” I tried to better collect my thoughts. I wanted Henley to understand this side of me, however confusing it was. “He was kind, wonderful, brilliant even. He had this strong . . . almost addictive passion for everything. I loved that. He exerted this draw on me—”

“And you loved him for that too.”

“Yes, I did.”

“He burned bright, but he burned quickly,” Henley said.

“So you understand,” I said.

“In a way, I do. Eliza was my Richard.”

“Now that's someone who really burned bright.”

Henley clasped my hand. “And she burned quickly.”

I had an image of Eliza fixed in my mind as the brightest star in the night sky, and the first star to die out.

“I don't think we're meant to love just once,” Henley said. “I don't think we're built like that—to scour the earth for the one person we can be with. But I think every love we feel is different. One isn't better or more important than another. We need them all to function and live full lives. But ours is the type of love that lasts.”

“It won't just blow away?” I asked.

“No, it won't.” Henley sounded sure in his answer. “It's not that I can't live without you . . . I can and I have. But it's that
I've seen a world without you and I'm choosing to be with you. I don't want to live without you.”