The Day Before Forever (26 page)

“Are you okay with that?” I asked Henley.

“I'm fine. It's not my first flight anymore, and as I learned from the last one, I'll be sleeping through most of it anyway.”

I giggled.

“Now we can book the hotel . . .” I pulled up the website of the resort we had already settled on and got out the phone. There was a contact number at the bottom of the page.

“Why don't I make the call?” Henley pushed the iced coffee toward me. “And you can drink this before it melts in this heat.”

I passed him the phone, taking a long sip of the sweet drink. Whatever Henley had chosen tasted more like sugar than coffee.

“How many nights am I asking for?”

“Um . . . two weeks,” I said. “Actually, why don't we make it longer? Four weeks. Money isn't an issue anymore.”

Henley dialed the number on the screen.

“Hello? Yes, I'd like to make a reservation.”

Something told me that we wouldn't have trouble finding a room last minute at the Creekside Pointe Resort. The Florida Keys didn't look like a place you'd take the time and expense to travel to only to stay at the cheapest place. Also, Islamorada wasn't exactly the hottest spot on the Keys.

“Yes, four weeks, please. Two adults. Starting tomorrow night. Yes, that would be fine,” Henley said. “Under the name Beauford. B-E-A-U-F-O-R-D. Yes, that's ‘B' as in ‘baby.'”

While Henley was on the phone, I used the laptop to order a few gallons of water to the house. We needed something to drink and clean up with—not to mention also flush the toilet with. I remembered to add a few candles as well—it was a bit of a hindrance not having electricity. I drank half the coffee waiting for Henley to finish the call.

“Yes, thank you. Thank you very much.” He hung up and tossed the phone back into the backpack. “Portable phones are so useful.”

“So is express same-day shipping.” I grinned, sliding him back the remainder of the coffee.

He took a sip. “My God, that's sweet.”

But that didn't stop him from continuing to drink it.

“I know you probably don't want to talk about it,” I started. “But are you all right? With all that happened earlier at your house, I mean.”

There was a pause.

“I suppose I'm not. I-it took me off guard . . . It was a house but not a home . . .” Henley fiddled with the straw in the drink. “I can't
expect
myself to be all right. I just need time. I'll be all right soon.”

That was an answer I could take.

Henley finished up the coffee, and we collected the laptop and charger before heading back to Miss Hatfield's.

This time we weren't in a rush, and Henley had time to walk through the house.

“Who are all these people?” Henley pointed to the black-and-white photographs that dotted one of the walls of the hallway.

I shrugged. “I imagine some of these women must be the previous Miss Hatfields—or at least that's what I've told myself. And I guess the other people are former family and friends.”

Henley moved past the kitchen wall, which still had the faded mark where the clock had once hung. It had probably been there for years. The sunlight from the kitchen windows had imprinted a ring around its former position.

Henley moved back down the hallway, examining everything from the uneven hardwood floors to the dust covers hung over the banister of the staircase.

He came to the parlor and finally sat down on the pea-green-colored couch.

“Shouldn't we be preparing for Florida somehow?” he said.

“We bought the tickets and made the hotel reservation. What more is there to do other than wait?”

“Then we should prepare for our life afterward.”

Henley sounded very sure that there would be an “afterward.” For me, my brain couldn't process the thought of a time after this trip to Florida and after the killer was gone. In my head, there was no afterward.

“You know, we'll get through this,” Henley said, hearing my silence.

I couldn't tell him that I thought he was wrong. “What do you propose we do?”

“Well, after we're both immortal, we'll need to keep traveling in time, right? To retain our sanity and survive?” He spoke about it so lightly. “And you said Miss—my mother—kept many things that would come in handy around the house. So surely she has period clothing you might be able to take?”

“She does.” I remembered the first outfit she had dressed me in to pass for Mr. Beauford's niece in 1904. “But even if I take a dress, if I go too far backward in time, the dress wouldn't exist.”

“So what exactly is the problem?” Henley spread his arms out on the back of the couch. “Just get a really old dress. The oldest you can find. Chances are it won't disappear on you if it's old enough. Then you'll have something to wear right away, instead of ‘borrowing' clothing in each time period.”

Henley had a point. It
would
be nice to not have to appear naked in each time period I traveled to because the clothing I wore didn't exist yet.

I started up the stairs.

“Are you coming?” I asked.

“To watch you play dress-up? I think I'm fine.” Henley talked over his shoulder at me from his spot on the couch in the parlor. “Just pick an old dress and pack it into the backpack. Make sure it's something that'll fit in.”

“So nothing too poufy?” I said, hoping to make him laugh.

“Nothing too poufy . . . I just want to take some time to myself.”

I went upstairs to the room where Miss Hatfield kept all the chests filled with clothing. They were all women's clothing and I couldn't find anything for Henley, but I did find a dress that looked old enough to be from Tudor times. It wasn't as flamboyant as the dresses I had worn in 1527. It was rather plain, made of a linen-like material, with no jewels encrusted on it. Though it seemed the dress had once been a whitish color, the fabric had yellowed with age. It looked like the oldest dress in the chests I had opened. It would have to do.

The dress had been packed with a matching slip and undergarments that looked like petticoats and garter-like pieces. I knew it wouldn't all fit into the backpack, since we had other things to carry, so I only took the dress and the slip.

It was strange to be in Miss Hatfield's house without her, but it was nice to have Henley there to share the lonely house. In a way, it was like we were going back to our roots before one last great adventure.

SEVENTEEN

THE NEXT MORNING,
we rose early to catch a taxi to the airport. Henley was getting used to checking in and going through airport security.

“Where'd you go?” I was already standing in line at the gate with the backpack on the floor between my legs when Henley joined me. He had left more than half an hour ago, to look through the shops in the terminal.

He held up a brown paper bag. “I bought sandwiches.” He looked proud of himself, as he took out his sandwich and handed me the bag. “Since we're not sitting next to each other,” he said.

Our group started to board.

“Remember not to hog the armrests,” I said, as a flight attendant scanned our boarding passes. We both had middle seats on this flight.

“I'll see you when we land in Miami,” Henley said as we boarded.

It didn't take long to get from New York to Miami. I was impressed with the amount of Spanish spoken on the plane. Though it was a domestic flight, every instruction from the flight crew was given first in English, then in Spanish.

We had a short connection in Miami—a little under an hour. Luckily, we didn't have to rush to another terminal. Our second flight was only one gate over.

“This one's such a small plane,” Henley said as we boarded our second flight of the day.

He was right. It was one of those planes with a propeller in the front. I thought Henley would be nervous about the much smaller size of the plane, but he didn't seem to mind. He only pointed it out from curiosity.

“At least we got seats together,” I said. I passed over the part about the seats being in the back next to the bathroom.

Neither Henley nor I could sleep on the short flight. I suspected Henley had slept almost the entire way on the previous flight. I couldn't sleep because my anticipation and anxiety kept me up.

We were going to be in Islamorada in only a few hours. What then? Find the Fountain of Youth—Henley would only have to take one sip. With Henley immortal, we could confront the killer, and then it was the end. We wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore. It would be me and Henley, and the rest of time together.

We caught a taxi when we landed.

“The Creekside Pointe Resort in Islamorada,” I said, and we settled down for a forty-five-minute journey.

The bellboy greeted us as we arrived, but he backed away
when he saw we didn't have luggage with us, save for the overstuffed backpack I was carrying.

Henley was wearing his new shorts and looked suitably ready to spend time at the beach.

“Are you here to check in?” a man asked as we approached the desk.

“Yes we are. The name is Beauford,” Henley said.

“For four weeks?”

“Yes.”

The man didn't look surprised at our lack of luggage. He must have thought the bellboy had already taken it.

I took out the credit card and handed it to the man.

The man typed the credit card number into the computer and printed a few forms before giving us back the card.

“Please sign in the indicated spots. Your card will not be charged until you check out.”

Henley signed for both of us.

The man handed us two copies of the room key. “Room 212,” he said.

“Second floor?” I asked.

“Yes. You'll find the elevator and the stairs on your left. And if you need anything else, my name is Albert. Call me Al. I'll be happy to assist you with anything.”

We took the stairs up to the second floor and walked down the hallway till we came to 212.

Each room had a doormat outside and a potted miniature palm tree.

“So many palm trees . . . ,” Henley muttered as he unlocked the door.

Our room was slightly bigger than the hostel room in which we had stayed in London, but only by a minuscule margin. But the sheets were fresh and the bathroom looked clean. That was all we really needed.

“The window's so small,” Henley said.

I stood next to him to peer out of it. “At least it overlooks the pool.”

“And that's a good thing? We're in earshot of screaming children.”

“I think I'm going to go downstairs and ask Al what he knows about the lakes on Islamorada,” I said.

“Business already?” Henley said, but he knew we weren't here to enjoy ourselves. “I'll go with you.”

He walked to the door, leaving the backpack in the middle of the bed.

“I don't like leaving that here,” I said, collecting it. “There are too many important things we depend on in it.”

We walked down to the lobby.

“Al,” I said, settling my elbows on the cold wooden surface of the front desk. “We're looking to . . . hike a bit. What do you know about lakes in the area?”

“We're looking to do a bit of swimming too,” Henley added.

“We have the most beautiful beaches—”

“We're looking for lakes,” I said.

Henley jumped in. “She's not one for salt water . . . sensitive skin.”

“I see, well, we have the pool on the property, which isn't a salt water pool. As for lakes, you'll find them farther south in the Keys, but not on Islamorada.”

“Not on Islamorada?”
He couldn't possibly be right.

“We're a small island. All of them dried up a long time ago. If you're looking for a lake, you're a few hundred years too late.” Al chuckled.

All dried up? A few hundred years? Not a single lake?

I blinked, trying to clear my mind enough to think carefully. “Well . . . could we have a map of Islamorada then?”

“Sure thing.” Al got out a folded map with the resort's name scrawled on the top. “Here you go. Keep it. You'll definitely use it during your stay here. This map even has the good hiking trails marked in red.”

We thanked him and moved away from the desk.

There was an armchair set up in the corner of the lobby right next to a lamp. We moved toward that.

“Why don't you sit down?” I said, handing Henley the backpack. I opened up the map fully.

“No, I'd rather you take the seat,” Henley said.

That was his old-fashioned nature talking. I doubted Henley would ever leave that behind.

I was too tired to insist on him taking the seat, so I took it myself and spread the map out on my lap. My heart thudded. We were in Florida. We were so close to the Fountain of Youth. We were so close to turning Henley immortal.

Ads of beachside boutiques and historical sites to visit framed the map. Creekside Pointe Resort was clearly marked with a red star reading You Are Here. I scanned the map for any bodies of water. I could hear my heartbeat.

Al was right. There were none. It was such a small island, and the only blue was the ocean around it. No lakes at all.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth. I had to get my heart to slow down.

“What if there's a lake that few people know about, in the middle of the forest or something?” Even as I spoke, I knew it was a long shot.

“We're really going to go tromping through the forest looking for a body of water that might not be there? We don't know where to start.”

Henley was right.

Tears prickled in my eyes. “So that's it.”

Henley looked down at me. “What?”

“That's it. We've come all the way here for nothing,” I said. “There is no lake. There is no Fountain of Youth. It doesn't exist anymore.”

“Yes it does,” Henley said. “The man at the front desk was right. We're just a few hundred years too late. We could fix that so we're in the right time period.”

“You mean time travel?” I squinted at him through the tears that had welled up in my eyes.

“Precisely.”

I left out another deep breath. “But you wouldn't be able to come, since you're not fully immortal yet. I'd have to leave you behind.”

“It'll only be for a short while. You'll go, and you'll come back,” Henley said. “You managed without me before. You can do this.”

The way he said it made it sound so reasonable. As if there was no way his plan wouldn't work.

“Okay . . .” I couldn't believe I was agreeing. “Where do we start?”

We walked to the closest historic location listed on the map. It was called Sandy Cove. It really was quite close—just around the corner from the resort.

When we got there, I saw that Sandy Cove was nothing more than a large cliff jutting out over the beach. Despite the advertising, the supposed tourist stop was completely devoid of tourists.

“Look at this.” Henley walked up to a wooden sign staked into the sandy dirt.

O
N
J
ULY 25, 1532, THE THIRD
S
PANISH EXPEDITION TO
F
LORIDA SET UP CAMP HERE.

The sign was why we had chosen this location. The historical event had been mentioned on the map. It gave us an exact date I could travel to.

“Are you positive you want to do this?” It was Henley who spoke, not me.

“Of course I am. I'm doing this for my sake as much as for yours,” I said.

I took out the old linen dress Henley had smartly told me to pack. It would come in handy earlier than we guessed.

I pulled the dress on over my jeans and the T-shirt I was wearing. I looked silly now, but soon enough the jeans and T-shirt wouldn't be there.

I gave him my copy of the room key. “Hide this under the potted plant next to our door.” Hiding it under the doormat was
a little too obvious.

Henley handed me the clock but didn't let go. “Don't stay too long.”

“I'll try.”

“When you've settled in and have your cover story ready, come let me know.”

“I will.”

“And be careful. Remember, someone's after you. There won't be too many people, so it won't take the killer long to find you there.”

I gave him a kiss as my answer.

Henley finally let go of the clock.

I held it with both hands and crossed the road we had come on. On the other side of the road was the start of a thick tropical forest. I stood by the first line of trees, where I could see Henley.

Against the backdrop of big sky, Henley looked small and alone. I probably looked the same to him, against the trees.

Henley held up a hand. He might have meant it as a wave good-bye, but it looked as if he raised it to touch me from far away.

I raised my hand too. Then turned the hands on the clock.