I came up empty.
***
That night he stayed with me, but it wasn’t easy with the house alarm. I had to be very sneaky and felt badly about it. I told my mom I was running out to the store and Wes came in before I reset the alarm upon my return.
I felt horribly deceptive. Even though he’d been in my room many times, it seemed natural. Easy. This felt very awful, and he was the first to admit it.
“I don’t want to sneak in here anymore. It’s too . . . “
“I know,” I admitted, all the while snuggling up to him on my bed.
“So what do we do about it?” he asked seriously.
Even though it was dark in my room, I could tell he was happy or at least content with the moment. It made my emotions swell.
“You marry me,” I stated with assurance.
He pulled me warmly against his chest. “I thought we’d already established that.”
I nestled my face into his neck feeling the natural intoxication set in. I loved him so much it hurt and felt good at the same time. “I want to marry you.”
He rolled on top of me unexpectedly. Most of his upper body was held up by his elbows but his lower half pressed against me full force. I don’t think it was on purpose. It’s just the way it was and I didn’t mind in the least.
His face was close, too—our noses practically touching. “Say it again,” he whispered, his breath cool on my cheek, giving me the opposite effect of warmth.
“I want to marry you now,” I said, pulling him all the way down. I couldn’t see him, but felt his cheek turn up into a smile against mine.
“Okay,” he said.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“Well,” he said, kissing my neck. “We will,” he kissed it again, different spot, “have to,” kissed the other side, “ask your mom.”
My eyes snapped open and I shoved him off. He sat up sounding surprised.
“What did I say?”
“My mom? You want me to ask my mom?” Totally not sounding very romantic.
“Look, Sophie. I want to marry you as of ninety-six years ago, and I’m not exaggerating. But I don’t want to unless we do it right.”
I looked confused. “You mean we’re not doing it in Vegas?”
He laughed, “Only if your mom comes.”
I growled, “What’s with you and my mom?”
He plopped down, silent.
“Well?” I pressed.
“I just don’t want her to be upset with me. It’s important that I know she likes me.”
I started to question him, but then realized there was more to it than that. He wanted my mom to accept him because Lenny’s parents hadn’t.
He’d lived a life walking around on eggshells and sneaking around with me to avoid land mines equivalent to Lenny’s father’s rage. I instantly remembered how he’d forbidden her to see Wes in 1963. On the night her father threw her out because of it, Lenny crashed her car and died.
Her mother never completely forgave Wes because Lenny had been fighting with her dad over him. It was a horrible guilt to carry around.
Wes had tried to comfort Lenny’s mother afterwards but she wasn’t interested. She was angry and Wes even resorted to telling her I’d return one day, but she didn’t believe him.
Thinking back on it now, I was glad that I’d visited her, showing that Lenny
did
return. I instantly understood why Wes needed
my
mother to like him now.
“I understand,” I said, choosing not to talk about it further. After about an hour of drifting contentedly in and out of a light sleep, I finally said what I don’t think either of us had considered up until that point.
“Wes?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he murmured softly, like I’d woken him up.
I sat up so he could see my face. “I think I’m going to have to tell my mom the truth about us.”
B
y telling my mom the truth, I meant all of it and he didn’t disagree, but he didn’t agree, either. If my mom was going to understand my spending so much time with Wes
and
us getting married now, then she was going to have to know the whole truth. It sounded insane, but necessary.
The following morning Wes was still with me. Usually he snuck out just before dawn, but with the alarm set through the night, he needed to wait until my mom left for work. Once she was gone, I offered to make him breakfast, so he stayed even longer.
Again, I wasn’t a great cook, but I wanted to start trying. I parked Wes at the kitchen table with a glass of orange juice while I made scrambled eggs, frozen Belgian waffles cooked in the oven, and fresh strawberries. It was quick and easy, but the presentation looked fancy when I brought it to him.
His eyes widened, “Um . . . thanks.”
I sat next to him with my own plate, watching as he stared at his.
“What?” I asked feeling self-conscious.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you looking like that?”
Snapping out of his unreadable expression, his half smile resurfaced. “It looks really good, but I’m not sure I can eat it all.”
I looked down at his plate. Four eggs scrambled and four Belgian waffles.
Hmm . . .
I opened my mouth to say something, but all that came out was a chuckle. I shrugged off the overboard spread and Wes started digging into the pile of waffles, holding back his own laughter.
He cut through the mountain with precision and I couldn’t stop giggling.
“Sorry,” I finally managed to say. “I just wanted you to be full.”
“Oh, I will be. You don’t have to worry about that.”
He stuffed his mouth far more than needed just to highlight the fact that he had too much.
I punched his arm. “Stop it, before you choke to death. You don’t have to finish it.”
“Oh, thank you,” he mumbled with a mouth full of food. “I appreciate that.”
I rolled my eyes and started digging into my own waffle.
I thought I’d cut short his making fun of me by turning the conversation to a serious topic. He never really did finish telling me about what happened to him, so I took the opportunity to ask.
Surprisingly, he started recounting what happened like he was telling me about his day at school. Other than when he got to the part about Dr. Lyon almost not making it in time, he didn’t seem fazed by the experience.
I tried to search his eyes for any post-trauma signs, but didn’t see any. I did however see something I’d learned to spot easily. It was a look of reflection and avoidance like he was keeping something else from me. I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t afraid to tell me. He was just getting his thoughts together.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked, wrapping my feet around one of his ankles, trying to pull him to me both physically and emotionally.
“Nothing, really.” He reached over and rubbed the back of my hand.
“Wes, I know that look. Come on, no secrets. We agreed, remember?”
“I know. I just don’t know what it means, so I’d like to think about it some more.”
“At least tell me what it’s about. Maybe I can help.”
“Well,” he started pushing his plate away, leaving two of the waffles untouched. “I’m pretty sure I saw someone I know.”
I raised my brow.
“And?” I replied.
“I think I saw someone very important there.”
I waited. Not sure how to respond.
“Someone
very
important,” he clarified.
“Okay . . . well, who?”
He took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Wes!” I pushed his arm. “Stop stringing me along. How can you say that? After all the things I already believe?”
He started running his hand through his hair and then rubbed his temples like he had a headache. I scooted my chair closer, trapping one of his knees between my own.
“Come
on
. Tell me. It’s obviously important to you. I want to know. Who?”
He took a final circular rub of his temples and turned his gaze toward me. I recognized his expression. It was the same as on the night he’d told me about his transformation. “Please,” I squeezed his knee with my legs.
“Sophie,” he said leaning closer. Before he continued, he freed his knee and reversed the hold, positioning both of my legs between his knees. Like I was going to go somewhere when he told me. It was starting to make me anxious, but he finally continued. “I think, no, I don’t think. I’m actually very sure I saw Dr. Thomas.”
Say what?
“Huh?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“I saw Dr. Thomas.”
“Like what Dr. Thomas?”
He pressed his knees together, trapping me more. “Like
the
Dr. Thomas.
My
Dr. Thomas.
Your
Dr. Thomas.”
“What are you talking about?” Had he gone insane while he was in there? Perhaps seeing things?
“Sophie. I’m telling you, I saw Dr. Thomas.”
“Where, when. Who?”
“At the hospital . . . nearly the entire time I was there . . . Dr. Carter is . . . Dr. Oliver Thomas.”
“What? Wait, Wes . . . “ He had already told me how he probably wouldn’t have made it out of there if it weren’t for the doctor. “He helped you,” I explained, “I’m sure he would remind you of Dr. Thomas.”
He shook his head quickly. “Sophie, listen to me when I tell you. It was him. I’d know.”
I sat quietly, thinking. “I mean it has been a long time since I’d seen him young. Most of my memories of him are from when he was old, but I’m one hundred percent certain it was him.”
Thoughts continued to rush through my mind until, like an explosion, I could no longer remain seated. I popped up, causing Wes to release my knees. “Holy crap! What does this mean?” I started pacing the floor. He followed me to stop my escalating freak-mode.
“I don’t know. But stop. It’s not a big deal right now. Just—”
“Not a big deal? Are you kidding? You’re telling me Dr. Thomas is Dr. Carter, and not only that, he’s working with your enemy? What the heck does that mean? Why? Why would he come back, like me? I thought I came back because we didn’t get to finish something. I keep coming back to
help
you. To make sure you set things right. Why would he come back to hurt you?” I was nearly flipping by then.
I thought he was going to shake my shoulders, but he opted for something more soothing, grabbing hold of my face with his cool palms. Just like on the night he had told me about his transformation, the cool chill that went down my spine calmed me inexplicably.
“Listen to me . . . he helped me remember? I don’t think he understands what he’s doing there. He has no idea. Think about it. You wouldn’t have had any idea that you had been Amelia if I hadn’t told you. It’s the same for him. He has no idea. All he knows is that the medical field is his calling. He’s gotten so close to what he does best without even knowing.”
“So what does any of this mean?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’ve been thinking about. I’ve got no idea, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to be in some trouble for helping me if they suspect for one second.” He paused. “I just don’t know.”
“You can’t trust him, Wes.” I have no idea where that came from, but it flowed out of my mouth like butter. “He abducted you.”
Finally letting go of my face, he spun me around and pulled my back against his chest, putting his arms around me. “He really didn’t. I don’t think he had any idea that they took me like they did. You didn’t see him, Sophie. He was mortified at the thought of harming someone to get the information they wanted. He wouldn’t harm a fly. I could see it. He’s the same man, he’s just confused.”
“How can he not know? And if you recognized him, maybe someone else did, too?!”
Rocking me back and forth, he calmly answered, “No. Who else? No one would ever even think it, and there aren’t any public pictures of him when he was thirty. There is one in the medical encyclopedia when he was in his forties, with glasses, but it’s a black and white picture and he isn’t smiling. In all the other pictures, he’s over sixty.
“Dr. Carter doesn’t wear glasses. He’s probably had LASIK, and his hair has a military cut. He’s also got a scar above his right eyebrow and his nose looks like it’s been broken. It’s barely crooked, but it’s enough to change his look slightly.
“People would not only have to be looking for Dr. Thomas’ clone, but see past those details.”
I couldn’t believe it. Wes had told me he’d never seen anyone else as some sort of reincarnation, and we’d believed I was the only one, because by some amazing power, I was needed to finish a purpose. And by goodness, I was one hundred percent sure that if Wes believed that about me, then he had to believe it about Dr. Thomas.
He wasn’t going to let that drop, and the only question that followed was what he was willing to risk to find out what was going on.
W
es promised he wouldn’t make any decisions without me, so I didn’t feel too anxious about Dr. Carter. But I did feel like life was getting more difficult and complicated.
I worked on Thursday and Chase’s burial was Friday. Wes and I actually got into a small argument over going. He, of course, didn’t want me going. To him, the whole thing was dangerous and it didn’t matter if Chase was in a six-foot box or not.
I found it ridiculously overprotective. He was dead, for Pete’s sake, and not only that, Wes might not even be back if it hadn’t been for Chase. I owed it to him to pay my respects, and so did Wes.
Once I put it that way, he was okay with it. He wasn’t thrilled, by any means, but he understood.
“You’re right,” he admitted.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I should be thankful to him for finally doing the right thing, but I can’t get the image of him putting his hands on you out of my mind. I really can’t.”
I’d almost forgotten the altercation. Chase had tried to provoke Wes at a party a couple of weeks ago by yanking me by the hair. It turned out to be a mistake as Wes nearly choked Chase to death. And despite the fact that Chase purposely tried to annoy me while plotting with Tim behind my back, we couldn’t deny that he’d helped save Wes’ life and maybe even mine by coming clean. Tim was behind bars because of him, so I went to his funeral and Wes came along supportively.