The Forgotten Locket (39 page)

Dante looked at me, a little awed. “Thank you, Abby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for setting my brother free.”

Chapter 32

The backyard was filled with the noise of joy. I closed my eyes and let the sounds wash over me: the wind through the trees, birds singing. A car driving past, the stereo thumping out the familiar bass notes of a Darwin Glass song. The high giggle of kids, followed by the rhythmic running of footsteps along the sidewalk. A sprinkler clicking on in the neighbor’s yard and water hissing into the air.

I opened my eyes and slowly turned in a circle, taking in a sight that I had feared I would never see again. My family, together again, together forever.

Dad stood by the grill, tending to a row of hamburgers and a trio of hot dogs with a pair of silver tongs in one hand and a bottle of cream soda in the other. He was wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron that made appearances only for backyard barbecues.

Mom and Cindy Kimball were relaxing together on a picnic bench, talking while a swarm of children—mostly from the Kimball clan—played a spirited game of hide-and-seek. Hannah and her friends Cori and McKenna were sitting back-to-back-to-back under a tree, swapping books and arguing about who was the best Brontë sister: Charlotte, Emily, or Anne.

Jason had brought Natalie to the party, but he seemed reluctant to leave her side for very long or even let go of her hand. She beamed under his constant attention, and it made me smile to see them so comfortable together. Valerie had gathered a lapful of flowers and was teaching Jason’s younger sister, Bethany, how to make a daisy chain to wear in her hair.

Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t quite believe it. After all this time, I was back home. Back where I belonged.

The summer light felt so good on my face. I couldn’t stop smiling.

“You look happy,” Dante commented, coming up behind me and sliding his hands around my waist.

“I am happy,” I said. “We started the party without you, though; you’re late.”

He pressed a kiss behind my ear. “Sorry.”

I turned in Dante’s arms and looked up into his face. His gray eyes were clear and bright. A smile tugged at his lips. He wore a pair of jeans and a crisp, new T-shirt with the word
CREW
written across the front. He looked surprisingly comfortable and casual. He looked like he belonged to this time and place now. Like he belonged with me.

“Fancy shirt. Where’d you get it?”

“This?” He looked down at his chest. “Oh, the community theater is staging
Hamlet
at the end of the summer and I signed up to help build the sets.” He shrugged. “I do have some experience with building things.”

“And with live theater,” I reminded him. “Do they need any backstage help?”

“Maybe. I saw Valerie had signed up to audition for the role of Ophelia. Do you think she can handle it?”

“Probably better than anyone else I know,” I said.

Dante surveyed the crowd with a smile. “Looks like everyone is here.”

I looked around at the happy chaos. “They don’t remember,” I said softly. “It’s been almost a whole week since we got back and no one knows that anything strange happened.”

He traced a gentle finger across the thin scar that marked my cheek—a remnant of our final confrontation with Zo. “Of course not. Why would they? As far as anyone here knows, the river has always been flowing straight and true. Which is exactly how it should be.”

I leaned into his embrace. “How can I ever thank you, Dante?”

He grinned and tightened his hold on me. “You can start by joining me for lunch. I’m starving.”

• • •

That night I dreamed of the bank. It wasn’t a traveling sort of dream; it was more like a memory, or maybe even a wish. In my dream, I stood in the center of a wide open plain. I could almost feel the sand beneath my bare feet. The sky still felt unnaturally close but less oppressive than usual. I felt oddly protected instead of threatened.

The light no longer carried the weird shade of all-time and no-time. Now it reminded me of the moment just before the night decided to transform into dawn. I could almost feel the possibility of a sunrise on the horizon.

Almost. Almost.

I could hear the sound of the river roaring and crashing and hurling forward on its unstoppable journey. It sounded like the ocean, like blood, like breath.

It sounded like music.

A shadow rose in the corner of my eye. Turning, I saw a black door, freestanding in its frame, appear on the bank. It was the only spot of color for miles around. It looked like a hole cut into the world. Though I knew the door was closed, the blackness seemed to open wide, a yawning mouth of endless night waiting in this strange place of endless time to swallow the unwary traveler.

But whatever fear I had once had for the hourglass door was swept away in a rising tide of peace. Without its counterpart, the door was just a door. It no longer had the power to hurt me or the ones I loved. It would no longer rule my life.

An impossible breeze began blowing behind me, a push of warm air that tossed my hair over my shoulders, across my cheeks, into my eyes. The sand beneath me swirled up in golden spirals, miniature tornados that raced across the bank toward the door.

The river hummed and thrummed.

The bank hissed in the breeze.

The sand built up against the front of the door, mounding higher and higher like desert dunes.

The breeze turned into a gust into a wind into a storm.

The door trembled and shook.

An enormous clap of sound rang through the emptiness—a shot, a shout. Or a door slamming closed.

A crack bisected the door vertically, a clean slice that traveled straight through the hourglass carved on the front.

The two halves seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and then, with a rumbling sigh, the door dissolved into uncountable grains of sand.

And then the river washed them all away.

Epilogue

The Cathedral of the Angels was built during the fifteenth century and has remained a classic example of Italian Renaissance architecture to this day.” Our tour guide gestured for the group of fifteen students wearing matching coats with the Emery College name and logo stitched across the breast to follow him deeper into the cathedral.

When Emery College announced that its winter study-abroad session would be held in none other than Florence, Italy, I was the first person to sign up—after Dante. An entire month of touring the finest museums, eating at the finest restaurants, and studying the classics? And doing it all with a gorgeous Italian man by my side? Sounded like a dream come true to me.

“Abby, Dante,” my classmate Katie whispered. “Are you guys coming or what?” She motioned us closer, but Dante slowed his steps, lingering in front of the painted mural on the wall.

“We’ll catch up,” I said, waving her to go ahead and rejoin the group. We wore the same coats as the rest of our classmates, but Dante and I were the only two students who had been to the cathedral once before, though no one but us knew that. The cathedral was still as breathtakingly beautiful as the first time I’d seen it, but the building certainly showed its age. In my memory, the stones were perfectly cut and polished, not crumbling along the edges. I remembered the gold leaf gleaming, not flaking off and looking tarnished.

While Dante studied the mural, I wandered back to the alcoves where a row of statues stood. I was curious to see if what I remembered had remained.

The angel was still there.

His wings were still curved, but the tip of one had been broken off completely. Tears covered his cheeks, but now he also wept from a crack that cut across his eyes.

He had been through a lot and had suffered considerable damage at Zo’s hands, but I was glad to see that he hadn’t been broken beyond saving.

Dante came up behind me and read the small plaque that had been posted on the wall next to the angel. “St. Raphael. Patron saint of—among other things—apothecaries, blind people, happy meetings, travelers, and young people.”

“Sounds like my kind of angel,” I said. I bumped Dante’s shoulder. “I think he looks a little like you.”

He leaned close. “Then you should know that he is also the patron saint of lovers.”

I turned and tilted my face up to meet his. “Is he, now? So, would he approve of us kissing in a church, do you think?”

“Absolutely.” Dante cupped my head in his hands and kissed me with an intensity and a focus that he usually reserved for when he was working with time.

“Abby,” he said, when he finally released my lips. “I have something for you. A present, a secret, and a promise.”

My eyes fluttered open. “A present? What’s the occasion?”

“The one-year anniversary of our first kiss.”

I smiled. “Um, I hate to break it to you, but in that case, you’re two weeks late.”

“Would you believe me if I said that I had lost track of time?” Dante held me loosely around the waist and arched an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” I granted. “It depends on the present.”

He reached into the pocket of his Emery College coat and withdrew a small golden box, which he carefully placed in my palm.

I looked at him, then down at the box. I lifted the lid and gasped.

Nestled into the soft interior was a beautiful, golden oval locket. Like my long-lost, heart-shaped silver locket, this one had been carved and marked on the outside. But the markings on this locket clearly displayed the initials
D
and
A
, intertwined until it was impossible to see where one letter started and the other letter ended.

“Do you like it?” Dante asked quietly. “I made it especially for you. I’ve been working on it for a long time; it took me longer to finish than I thought. I’m not as good working with metal as I am with wood, but—”

“I love it,” I interrupted, unable to take my eyes off the locket.

“Good,” Dante said. “And now, the secret. I have been meaning to tell you this for some time.” He hesitated, then said carefully, “I’m no longer a Master of Time.”

“What?” I looked up from the locket in surprise.

“I gave up being a Master of Time,” he said again.

“What are you talking about? When?”

“The day you set Orlando free. I told you then that destroying the door would mean that no one would be able to travel through time again.”

“I didn’t think that included you,” I said. “Otherwise—”

“Otherwise, what? You wouldn’t have burned the door? You would have stayed a prisoner to the bank? You and Valerie and Orlando?”

I didn’t answer; I didn’t have to. I brushed my fingers over the initials on the locket. My thoughts whirled in confusion. How had I not known? I thought back over the last few months, searching for a clue or a hint that Dante had been changed. But there was nothing unusual. Dante was in all my memories, right by my side. And in all that time, I didn’t remember him ever traveling to the bank or along the river. It hadn’t seemed suspicious; I’d assumed he hadn’t traveled through time because he didn’t have to anymore. I hadn’t suspected it was because he
couldn’t
anymore.

Dante brushed his hand across my cheek. “Abby, it was my
choice.
Your wish may have set you free, but the power of it touched me as well. And the same way Valerie and Orlando had the choice to remember or to forget, I was given the choice whether or not to stay a Master of Time. It was a simple choice. Leo has seen five hundred years pass by, but we both know the toll it took. I didn’t want that to be my future. I didn’t want to live alone—
forever.
So when I had the chance, I took it. I chose to let it go.”

I couldn’t speak. Dante’s sacrifice was too monumental; I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

“Why didn’t you tell me when it happened? Why did you wait until now?”

“Because I wanted it to be here.”

“In Italy?”

Dante shook his head. “Here, at the beginning of this new part of your life.” He covered my hands with his. His gray eyes shone silver, endless and bright. “Because the truth is I chose
life
—with all its unpredictability and impossibilities and messiness, and with all its joy and beauty and love. I chose
you,
Abby. I want to be where you are. I want to be by your side as your life unfolds. Not as a Master of Time who will never age, never die. But as me—as Dante di Alessandro Casella.” His voice dropped and his hands shook ever so slightly. “If you’ll have me.”

It wasn’t even a question. It wasn’t even a choice.

“Yes,” I said, and when the word passed my lips, I felt like I was standing on the summer sun.

We both looked down at the locket in my hands. “Dante and Abby. Always and forever,” he promised.

“Always and forever,” I repeated.