Time After Time (2 page)

“It’s okay. Hold on.” I lean in through the open window to turn down the volume.

“How’s the packing going?” She glances from the hood of the car to the back cargo area, now filled to the brim with camping gear and colorful ropes. The soft top is already off and secured in place.

“Fine. I think I have everything.”

“Good…that’s good.” She stands there, nodding and smiling, like she’s gathering the nerve to say something else. She distributes her weight onto both feet and roots herself in place.

“What?” The tone of my voice makes it pretty clear that I don’t really want to know.

“Is there any chance I can get you to change your mind about this camping trip?” She folds her arms across her chest. “It’s just that…Brooke is going back to Boulder this weekend and then you’ll be starting your senior year, and these are the last few days we have together as a family.”

I want to tell her that we’ve had a whole summer and we haven’t done anything “together as a family” with a single second of it. I’m not sure what makes her think this is the week to start, other than the fact that I’m leaving town and she doesn’t want me to.

“It’ll be fine, Mom. I want to go climbing with my friends,” I say, smashing my sleeping bag deep into the back of the Jeep so it won’t blow away when I start driving. “It’s only for a few days. I’ll be back by Friday.” That part’s true, so I turn around when I say it.

“You won’t have
any
cell phone coverage?”

“Probably not. You know how it is out there. You can try, but it’s really spotty.” Yeah. Mainly because my cell phone will be in the glove compartment of the Jeep, locked in a clown-car-sized garage I found on Craigslist yesterday.

“Bennett?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not traveling, are you?” she asks, her forehead creased.

I freeze, then force my expression to look relaxed. “You told me
not
to travel.”

“Yes. I did.”

I shrug and look straight into her eyes. “And that’s why I’m packing up my car to go camping.” Is that a lie? Technically it’s not, but I’m pretty sure Mom wouldn’t see it the same way. She stares at me and I wait. I don’t know if I just said the right thing or the wrong thing, or something so in between the two that she can’t quite figure out what to do with it.

She looks worried and, God, I wish she wouldn’t be. If only she’d relax and trust that I have this whole thing under control, I could tell her
everything
—about Maggie and Anna and the Greenes. And then she’d know exactly where I’m going and when I’ll be back and what’s inside the box on the passenger seat that she keeps eyeing but hasn’t asked about.

“Be careful, okay?”

“I always am.” I kiss her on the cheek. “You worry too much, Mom.” I want to say more, but I don’t.

I can tell from the look on her face that she has a lot more to say too, but instead, she just gives me a somber-looking smile and says, “You make it pretty hard not to, sweetie,” and leaves it at that.

When I push the door open, the little cluster of bells bangs against the glass and a guy standing over at the New in Paperback table turns around and gives me a quick glance. I step inside and look around. I’ve never seen the bookstore so crowded.

I walk down the main aisle, looking for Anna between the bookshelves. I’m halfway through the store when I see her behind the counter. She’s ringing up a customer, so I keep a bit of a distance and wait, and try to ignore my heart smacking against my rib cage.

Her hair is longer than I remember it, and it occurs to me that every time I saw her in La Paz over the summer she was wearing it up in a clip or a ponytail. It’s even curlier now, and I feel the familiar urge to pull on one of those strands so I can watch it spring back into place. What’s different about her? She looks tanned and happy and…somehow even more beautiful than before.

She’s making small talk with the customer, fingers flying as she punches numbers into the register, and then she takes his credit card and runs it through some loud contraption and hands his card back to him. And that’s when she sees me.

I just smile. I watch as her expression changes, morphing into this perfect mix of surprise and relief.

Anna looks back at the customer and pushes the overstuffed bag in his direction. “Here you go,” she says with giddiness that the moment doesn’t call for. Her eyes keep darting in my direction.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Any time. Have a good quarter.”

Instead of reaching for the bag, he rests one hip against the counter and watches her, like he’s expecting her to say something else. I wonder if he thinks that smile is for him. He is standing right in front of her, after all. But I can tell from this vantage point that she’s not looking
at
him, she’s looking
past
him. Anna has lots of different smiles, but the one she’s wearing right now is one she reserves for me.

“Bye,” she says, pushing the bag across the counter again, this time with more force, and he must get the message because he grabs it with both hands and heads for the front door.

She starts heading in my direction. “Shoot,” the guy says, “I almost forgot.” He turns around and struts back to the counter, and Anna returns to her spot behind the register, looking official again.

I watch her, picturing that surprised look she wore on her face just a moment ago. I think about how nice it would be to see it one more time.

No one’s ever in the Travel section, so I take a chance. Ducking back behind the shelves, I hide from her view and close my eyes. I picture the row on the opposite side of the store, and when I open them, I’m standing in it. I take my backpack off and set it down by my feet.

I can still hear her voice at the counter but now I’m too far away to make out what she’s saying. I stare down at the shelf marked with the word
MEXICO
, remembering the night I came in here last April.

I should have been studying, but couldn’t stop thinking about her. All day, I’d been looking for a chance to get her alone so I could tell her the second part of my secret, but I never found one. So before I could change my mind, I fed my arms into the sleeves of my jacket and walked to the bookstore.

Her face completely lit up when she saw me walk in, and all I wanted to do was kiss her. Instead, I told her I was there to pick up a book on Mexico. She led me over here to the Travel section.

At first, we talked about our assignment, but then she stopped me in midsentence and said, “I want to hear the rest of the second thing.” When I looked in her eyes, I knew she meant it. And so I told her everything. That I was born in 1995. That I’m seventeen in 2012. That I wasn’t supposed to be here. That I could visit, but I couldn’t stay.

And then, against my better judgment, I finally did what I’d wanted to do since the day I met her. I came up on my knees and I kissed her, no longer caring about my rules or where and when I was supposed to be. Just as I was about to pull away like I knew I should, I felt her hands on my back, drawing me in until we were pressed against the bookcase and there was nowhere else for us to go but closer to each other. I kissed her harder.

The bells on the door jingle, snapping me back to reality.

“Bennett?” I hear Anna call from across the room.

I duck around the corner and press my chest into the end of the shelving unit, keeping my eyes fixed on the aisle and waiting for her to walk by. I don’t see or hear her, so I stay silent as I listen for breathing and wait for her to come into view.

I’m just about to take a step forward when I feel her hands grip my sides. I jump.

“Gotcha,” she whispers in my ear. Her forehead falls against the back of my neck and her arms wrap around me. I can feel her breathing.

“That’s an understatement,” I say, bringing her hands to my face, kissing her fingers.

“I didn’t see where you went,” she says.

“Yeah.” I let out a small laugh. “Remember? I do that.”

“Just to mess with me.” I can hear the eye roll in her voice.

“Just to mess with you.”

“Maybe you should start thinking about doing more with this little talent of yours than surprising your girlfriend.”

“Say that last part again.”

She laughs. Squeezes me harder. “Surprising your
girlfriend
.”

I smile. “I like the way that sounds.” I loosen her grip on my waist and turn around. Her whole face is lit up so bright, I swear we could turn off all the lights in the bookstore and still see each other perfectly.

“Hi.” I twist a strand of her curls around my finger.

“Hi.” She reaches up and musses my hair. “You’re here,” she says, but something in her voice makes her sound unsure.

“I’m here.” I bring my hands to her cheeks. “I’ve missed you like crazy.” She presses her lips together and gives me the slightest nod, and before she can say anything I tip her head back and kiss her, softly, slowly, savoring the feeling of being here in this room with her again. I kiss her harder. And just like that first night, she kisses me back, pulling me into her, like she still wants me here and still trusts me with her heart, even though she probably knows by now that she shouldn’t.

When the clock reads 9:02, Anna walks the perimeter of the store, shutting off lights and adjusting books as she goes. I flip the sign on the door from
OPEN
to
CLOSED
, and we step outside. She presses some buttons on the keypad by the door to set the alarm, and clicks the deadbolt in place behind us.

I reach for her hand and we walk in silence toward the end of the block. The familiar sounds from the coffeehouse grow louder with each step, and I take a big whiff of the air, inhaling the scent. We’re about to pass the entrance when Anna stops. “Do you want to go in and get something? We could hang out for a bit.”

I peer through the window. It’s not nearly as busy as it is when bands play on Sunday nights, but it’s still pretty crowded. All of the couches are taken and the only option I see is a high table in the middle of the room. I’ve hardly been alone with her all summer, and I really don’t feel like sharing her with anyone else tonight. “I was hoping for something a bit quieter.”

She pivots so she’s facing me and reaches for my other hand. “In that case, you have two choices: my room or yours. Who do you want to face first, my parents or Maggie?”

I make the sound of a game-show buzzer. “I don’t like either of those. What’s my third choice?”

She laughs and shakes her head slightly at me. “There’s no third choice.”

“Sure there is.”

Anna raises her eyebrows and stares at me.

“We’ll bypass the parents and just sneak up to your bedroom. No one needs to know I’m in town yet.”

“Too late. I already told them you were coming tonight.”

I snap my fingers and laugh under my breath. “Damn.” Anna shakes her head at me again while I think about my options. “I’m not ready for Maggie yet,” I say, and Anna gives me an understanding nod and drops my other hand. We continue walking toward her house.

“So, how did they take it?” I ask.

“My parents?” She shrugs. “Pretty well, I guess. Mom was cooler about you being back than Dad was, which kind of surprised me. Actually, he wasn’t too upset until I mentioned that you came to visit me in La Paz. He wasn’t at all pleased about that.” Her head spins toward mine. “Oh, and I said you visited twice, not four times, so stick to that if he asks, okay?”

I silently hope he won’t ask. I’m also silently disappointed that she’s started lying to her parents. She didn’t do that before I showed up.

“I can’t tell what they really think,” she says. “The other night, my mom came into my room to tell me that she likes you, and that she’s glad we’ll get to spend our senior year together. She actually looked giddy when she started talking about homecoming and prom and stuff.” I feel the lump rise in my throat and I swallow it back down. “But then she and my dad must have talked about it again, because last night at dinner, they laid it on thick. I got this big lecture about making sure I continue to focus on my running and not let my grades slip because of you.”

“Because of me?”

“I know, right?” She winks at me. “As if.”

I raise one eyebrow. “As
if
?”

She shrugs again. “Come on, you’re not
that
big a deal.”

“Nah. Of course I’m not,” I say, suppressing a grin.

She squeezes my hand. “You are, you know?”

I squeeze hers back. “You are too.”

We pass the hedge that lines her neighbor’s yard, and Anna’s house comes into view. It looks exactly the same as it did when I left last May, with its wraparound porch and overgrown shrubs. There’s a soft light glowing from the kitchen window like it always does at night.

Once we’re inside, Anna leads me toward the sound coming from the living room. We turn the corner and I spot her parents. Mrs. Greene has her feet curled up underneath her and she’s resting her head on Mr. Greene’s shoulder. They’re watching some old TV show. Which, I instantly remind myself, probably isn’t old at all.

Anna stops at my side and grips my arm with both hands. The movement must catch her dad’s attention, because he suddenly looks up and sees us. His eyes grow wide and he gives Mrs. Greene a little nudge that makes her sit up straight. “Hi. We didn’t hear you come in.” He aims the remote at the TV and mutes the sound.

Mr. Greene stands up, extending his hand, and even though it feels overly formal for him—for us—I reach out and shake it politely. Anna’s mom gives me a halfhearted wave from her spot on the couch. “It’s nice to have you back,” she says, but her voice sounds hollow and insincere. Then she adds the word “Finally.” It’s not an afterthought; it’s more like it was the one word she was trying
not
to say, but couldn’t quite keep from slipping out.

“It’s good to see you both too,” I say. Then I stand there, nodding and waiting for one of them to say more and feeling my stomach sink. I should probably be happy they aren’t outwardly furious with me. After all, not only did I disappear on their daughter in the middle of a date, I disappeared from all of their lives in the middle of, well,
everything
. I know it would be too much to expect a motherly hug or a fatherly back-pat, and I was hardly expecting tears of joy at the sight of my face in their living room. But I was sort of hoping we wouldn’t be starting from scratch. Or, as it appears to be, less than scratch.

Anna gives my arm a squeeze and I look over at her. Unlike her mom’s blank stare, her expression speaks volumes. She’s beaming at me, her eyes full of joy and wonder, like she can’t believe I’m actually standing here. Without even thinking about it, I let out a relieved sigh and kiss her on the forehead; and she tightens her grip on my arm again and lifts herself up on her toes. She bounces in place a few times.

When I look over at her parents again, their eyes are locked on Anna. But then Mrs. Greene’s gaze slowly travels over to me and the corners of her mouth turn up in a half smile, almost as if she can’t help herself. I give her a grateful nod.

“How’s your sister doing?” Mr. Greene’s voice takes me by surprise and my head snaps in his direction.

“Um… She’s good.” I quickly come up with a way to phrase the rest of my response to give him as little information as possible. “It was touch and go for a while there, but she’s back home now.” I leave it at that and hope that he doesn’t press me for more information, because if he does, I’ll have to lie to him and I’d really like to stop doing that.

“All great to hear.” He waits for a moment, and then it looks like he’s about to say something else. “Ah, never mind, you probably don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not really,” I say.

The cagey thing probably isn’t winning me any points, but now that I think about it, that could be a good thing. If I’m starting at the bottom, I won’t have as far to fall once they learn the truth.

“We’re going to go upstairs,” Anna says, jumping in with a rescue. Before her parents can say anything else, she leads me out of the room. We’ve only climbed the first two stairs when we hear her mom yell, “Leave your door open.” Anna stops, gripping the banister with one hand and hiding her face behind the other.

She shakes it off. “Follow me. I’m dying to show you something.”

Not much has changed since the last time I was in this room. Anna’s impressive CD collection takes up every bit of shelf space, broken up only by the dozens of racing trophies that hold the alphabetized jewel cases in place. The walls are plastered with paper race numbers that were once pinned to her jersey and photos of her breaking through finish-line tape.

The bulletin board over her desk still holds the same lonely Pearl Jam concert stub from March 1994, but next to it I spot something new: a framed photo of Anna, Emma, and Justin. Emma’s mouth is open wide, like she’s squealing. She’s standing behind Justin with her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, and Anna’s on his right, her head resting on his shoulder. The picture must have been taken last June, after I left town but before Anna took off for La Paz. They look happy.

“How’s Emma?”

“Eh, not so good. I went over to her house right after I got home and she told me that she and Justin broke up over the summer.”

“Really? Why?”

Anna turns her back to me, runs her finger along the jewel cases, and selects one. “I don’t know
why
exactly, because I haven’t heard Justin’s side of the story yet—I stopped by the record store the other day and he was too busy to talk—but according to Emma, he doesn’t think they have enough in common…that they’re better as friends.”

She drops the disc in her CD player, and when the music begins, it sounds familiar, but I can’t place the song. But then the lyrics begin and I instantly recognize Alanis Morissette’s voice. I’m trying to recall which album this is when Anna says, “Have you heard this before?” She waves the case for
Jagged Little Pill
in the air, and I nod. “I love her. I’ve been running to this CD all summer.” I wish I could tell Anna that she has a lot more Alanis to look forward to, but I keep it to myself. Instead I tell her that I’ll look up the tour schedule and take her to a concert.

I spot the map that takes up the largest wall in her room. I walk over to it and stand there, counting the number of little red pins Anna uses to mark her travels. Nine, including the new one at the bottom of the Baja peninsula. Five more than the first time I stood here, admiring Anna’s intense desire to see the world and enjoying the idea that I could give her a small piece of it.

I turn around and find her standing next to me. “Here.” She hands me a small bag and I peek inside. My Westlake student ID. A blank postcard from Ko Tao. The postcard Anna wrote to me in Vernazza Square. A stubby yellow pencil. A carabiner. One of her pins. “You left them in your desk at Maggie’s. She thought I should hold on to them for you.”

“Thanks.” I remove the postcard from Vernazza, shooting her a glance as I run my finger across the edge. Anna’s watching me as I read it, and I feel myself suck in a breath when I get to the last line,
wherever you are in this world, that’s where I
want to be
, and a wave of guilt washes over me. My chest feels heavy as I drop the card back in the bag and then toss the whole thing on the floor next to the door along with my backpack. “Is that what you wanted to show me?”

Anna’s eyes light up. “Nope.” She turns on her heel and crosses the room. She crouches down low, wrestling with something underneath her bed.

“Close your eyes,” she calls over her shoulder.

Less than a minute later, I feel her behind me, her hands on my waist, pushing me forward. “Keep ’em closed. A few more steps. Okay, stop.” I feel her next to me. “You can open them now.”

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I’m not exactly sure where I’m supposed to be looking. But then I see something lying flat on top of her bedspread, and I take a few steps closer.

It’s a photograph, printed on a huge sheet of thick-looking paper. I recognize the tall rocks and jagged cliffs immediately. “Is that our beach?” I ask, but I already know it is. That’s the spot where I found her in La Paz. The same place I’ve arrived off and on all summer to surprise her during her morning runs. I lean in close to get a better look. “This is incredible. How did you find a print of the
exact
spot?”

“It’s not a print,” she says as she rests her hands on her hips. “I took it.”

I know nothing about photography, but it looks pretty impressive to me. I can see every tiny crack in the rock face, and the tall cliff is perfectly mirrored in the water below. “You took this?”

“Señora Moreno helped me.” I remember her telling me that her host mom in La Paz was also a local photographer. “I thought you could hang it on your bedroom wall.” She doesn’t clarify which bedroom and I decide not to ask.

“But wait…get this,” she says, holding up a finger. Anna undoes the Velcro on a black canvas bag and removes a 35-millimeter camera. Her thumb glides along the back and over the buttons. “Look what she gave me. I guess it’s pretty old, but I don’t care.” It looks ancient. I watch her twist the long lens, remove it from the body, and replace it with a fatter, stubbier one. She brings the camera to her face, and I can’t see anything but her mouth. I hear the shutter snap and a weird, motorized sound.