When I Find Her (6 page)

I’m breathless. “Why me?”

It takes him a long time to answer and I wonder if he’s going to. He looks to his wall of books, to the open window and back. His eyes fill with tenderness. “My grandfather told me that I would know when I met my person. That I would know. And I did.”

“You knew as soon as you met me?”

“Not at first glance when you came with your mother. She did most of the talking that day, remember? It was after
our
first talk. It hit me with every ounce of my being. All these years I was looking for an adult. I didn’t know you’d be so young.”

My throat clenches.

He continues. “Your age came as a critical shock. I told myself that you weren’t ready. That you couldn’t possibly be ready. But you are.”

“Listen, you’re blowin’ my mind–”

“Sorry.”

“Let me take this one step at a time. How often can I go back to fix each mistake?”

“I’m not sure. But it is limited. It takes a toll on your body. All those emotions running through you, the adrenaline, the fear, the hope, the love, the pain...you’ve got to be careful, Luke. If you don’t feel well, especially in your condition, you’ve got to stop. I don’t know what the journey does to someone who’s fighting illness. You’re in remission. You don’t want to lapse.” He rubs his jaw. “If anything happens, I would never forgive myself… And something else you’ve got to remember.
This
is real time,” he says, pointing to the ground. “Not there.” He thumbs the air behind his shoulder. “And the more times you go back to fix one mistake, the fewer times you have for the next. So choose your next trip carefully.”

“It’s an easy decision,” I tell him pointblank.

“It is right now,” he kindly warns.

“I mean it. It’s easy. Take me back to Jennifer.”

∞

Burgen and I are in the same park across from the hospital where we stood yesterday. Traffic spurts past the circle of trees.

“What time and place do you want to go back to?” he asks.

“Can I go back right where Jennifer and I left off?”

“As long as you remember the phrase and the scent.”

“Like it happened yesterday,” I joke.

“Then go for it.”

I concentrate. I clench the antique red dice. I imagine the familiar scents of barbecued hot dogs and sausages, and the surroundings of
Schultz’s Desserts.
“Okay, I believe you.”

My brain whirls, my sneakers shake on moving ground. I blink and suddenly I’m standing in the crowded cafe,
Schultz’s Desserts
. I look around at the tall glass windows, stunned, like I just peeled out of a cocoon. The scent of hot chocolate overwhelms me. Sugar and cocoa and cinnamon…I turn my head away from it and pick up the sharp scent of leather.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” It’s a girl’s voice to my other side.

I turn my head. It’s her!

Jennifer!

She’s seated right here, right where I left her. Fresh white sweater, rich brown hair, riveting brown eyes. Raspberry-scented shampoo. Does she remember the kiss? Did the kiss happen in this version of the time travel?

She laughs softly, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. “Something wrong? Aren’t you going to sit down?”

I laugh, how happy I am, and squeeze my shoulders around the people behind me to sit down at the small circular table. As I pass by her face, her lashes flicker and I pick up the pleasant scent of her mascara.

It’s so freaking good to see her again.

“What’s wrong?” she repeats. “You were so talkative. Now you’ve gone silent.”

“Just savoring the moment.”

The green flecks in her brown eyes sparkle. “I like that.” She reaches out and touches my hand.

A tremble of excitement ripples through my chest. We
did
kiss in this version. She does remember it, I can tell by the way she touches me. It makes my hand sweaty, thinking about the possibilities, wondering how I’m going to stretch this out for six hours this time. I don’t want to make any mistakes by saying something to banish myself to another place.

I shuffle my big feet under the table and accidentally hit her shoe. “Sorry.”

She smiles. “That wasn’t me. Probably the table leg.” Unfortunately, her hand slides off mine as she peers beneath the tablecloth. It smells freshly laundered.

“What can I get you?” asks the waitress with the red streak in her hair. I jolt when I see her because in my other version, in
real
time, I couldn’t find her.

She’s uncomfortable at my staring and touches her hair. “Something wrong?”

“No, no. I...I thought you...” I lower my voice. “Are you looking for a new job?”

Her eyes widen. Her cheeks turn red. “Who told you? How’d you know? Don’t tell anyone,” she whispers.

“I won’t, don’t worry.”

“Who told you? Was it Tim? It was Tim, wasn’t it?”

“No, no. I don’t know any Tim. I had this feeling that maybe you were looking.”

Both the waitress and Jennifer are now gauging me with curiosity. I look at the menu. “Do you have any chocolate cake?”

“With thick chocolate icing?” adds Jennifer.

“What type of chocolate? Dark, milk, or white?” says the waitress.

“Dark,” says Jennifer at the same time I say, “Milk.”

The choice is hers. “Two slices of the dark please,” I say.

“Drinks?”

“Frothy cappuccino on ice,” says Jennifer.

“Sounds good,” I say as the waitress takes our order and disappears.

“I never drink caffeine at night,” I say to Jennifer.

“But you just ordered–”

“I wanted to try what you’re having.”

She laughs. She has this way about her…a dimple comes out on her right cheek, but not her left. Her laugh has the right amount of sincerity, and a rich hum.

“You’re odd,” she says.

“I’m flattered that you noticed.”

Our desserts arrive and we dig in. The scents around me are fading. I’m acclimatizing to the time travel.

“It tastes better than the paper one you gave me,” says Jennifer.

“I was trying to cheer you up that day.”

“You’re good at that.”

I lean back to enjoy the taste of thick chocolate on my tongue, and also to give her time to confess to me what’s wrong. Why she’s been coming to school every morning crying.

But she’s quiet and doesn’t take me up on the silent offer.

We finish our dessert. “Want to walk me home?” she asks.

My heart ricochets against my ribs. “First the caffeine? Now you’re going to keep me up past my bedtime?”

“I’ll try to sneak you back to your house before your parents notice,” she teases.

My parents. I don’t want to ruin this moment with Jennifer by thinking about my family problems, so I push them away.

“You know where I live?” I ask.

“Poplar Street. Third house from the corner.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m a smart girl.”

“I like smart girls,” I say to her amusement. We rise and leave our table. I pay at the front and we exit.

Outside in the dark street, I spot the guy grilling hot dogs and sausages, and panic. I can’t help but inhale the scent.

Don’t send me back, don’t send me back.

“You okay, Luke? Don’t you believe me?”

What? I missed what she said because I was focused on the sausage guy, an older man, talking to his customers. But whatever she said, I can’t say I believe her as long as there are charred hot dogs in the air, or I’ll be sent back to a different time.

I rush us between the hordes of people, so much taller than her, trying not to answer, but she insists.

“Don’t you believe that I had this dream before? It feels like déjà vu.”

I stop and turn. “You feel like this night happened before?”

She nods.

I’m stunned. Now we’re getting somewhere.

CHAPTER SIX

I try to play it cool, thinking about her wild statement while I lead her home. We head away from the river.

“Hey, how do you know which way to go?” she asks.

“You live on Alderbranch Avenue, right?”

She raises an eyebrow. Everything about her is feminine and pretty, including her slender brow. “You’ve been doing some spying on me, Luke?”

“Apparently I’m not the only one. You know where I live, too.” I nudge her shoulder and the intimacy between us grows. We weave along the sidewalk.

Trying to muster some bravery, I hope I don’t blow it. I recall Burgen telling me I shouldn’t tell anyone here that I’m time traveling, but what’s wrong with a little prodding?

I remove the red dice from my pocket and hold them out. “Déjà-vu? Have you ever seen these before?”

She lifts one from my palm. Her hand brushes my skin and sends a bolt of sexual lightning through me. The chambers of my heart pound louder. If I kissed her again, would I return to real time?

“Dice?” she says.

“Las Vegas apples.”

“What do you mean, apples?”

“It’s a nickname. Because they’re big and red and shiny. Have you seen them before?” I’m hopeful the answer will be yes. Then we’d be in this crazy thing together.

She shakes her head slowly. “Am I supposed to?”

“I thought maybe with the déjà-vu...”

She shakes her head, no.

“Oh,” I say, hoping that our world doesn’t collapse right at this moment. I look around at the darkening sky as the sun is escaping, and tuck the dice inside my pocket. “So what exactly do you think happened before?”

“Us meeting at the park like that. You taking me out for chocolate cake. I don’t know, a feeling I got.”

We walk beneath a tall tree that’s creating misty shadows over the sidewalk. The sun has set but it’s not quite dark yet. She leaps up and touches a branch. Then she twirls around and walks backward as I walk forward. I can’t get enough of looking at her.

“What happens next?” I prod.

“We meet at a nice beach somewhere?” She laughs. “Where the sun is setting just like this?”

Is she kidding?

“Come on,” she says. “How am I supposed to know what happens next?”

“I was hoping you’d have a feeling.”

“Nope.”

I sag with disappointment. I don’t understand the significance of her déjà-vu. Does it connect somehow with my own time traveling? I don’t dare mention my time traveling, in case it all crumbles and I’m separated from her again.

People are filtering out of Harvest Park. On the sidewalks around us, little kids shriek at drifting balloons and parents push strollers. Teenagers I don’t know are cheering at something across the street.

It takes us a few minutes to get to the corner of Alderbranch. I don’t want this to end. I’m hoping she’s going to ask me in, but as we approach her house, I sense her hesitating.

I reach out and touch her hand, she squeezes it then lets it go and glances nervously at her front door. It’s as if she’s afraid of getting caught holding hands with a guy. Or maybe specifically me.

“How is everything at home?” I’m hoping she’ll open up to me. Why else would she be crying? Something must be the matter at home.

She shrugs.

I know she’s about to move out of town. That’s how it worked out in real life. I can’t help myself with the next question. “Is your family thinking of moving or something?”

She looks up in surprise. She doesn’t confirm it.

“How soon?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Whenever they say.”

She doesn’t even know herself when they’re leaving. That would explain why she never told anyone.

“Where to?” I ask.

The moonlight streams across her face. Her eyes well up with tears.

“Alaska,” she finally answers.

Alaska
.

“And Hawaii,” she adds in a whisper.

I don’t get it. “Alaska and Hawaii?”

“My dad is moving to Alaska. My mom to Hawaii.”

I groan. That’s why she’s been crying all these mornings. Her parents are splitting.

“Sorry, that’s awful,” I say.

Before she can respond, loud voices startle us. They’re coming from her garage. The double door is open. Some moonlight streams in. Two people I can’t make out in the shadows are arguing.

“I told you not to bother me when I’m in here,” the man snaps.

“But we’ve got to sign the papers,” the woman shoots back.

“Leave them there.”

“Just as helpful as ever.”

A door slams. A skill saw revs and sounds like it’s ripping through wood.

Jennifer, beneath the moonlight, turns ghostly solemn. “They never stop.” She buries her face into my shirt.

I hold her, at a loss what to say.

It’s awful when you hear your parents arguing. I take Jennifer away from it. I coax her in the direction of my house, ten blocks away.

She’s still leaning into me and I wrap my arm around her shoulders. She doesn’t talk, but I know she’s crying because I see her reach up every once in a while and wipe her cheeks.

We near the park around the corner from my house. I tug her hand to take her near the slides. It’s a private nook where we can talk.

We spot some kids. They’re fooling around, play-wrestling.

Except when we get closer, it doesn’t look like play.

Three boys are beating up on a fourth, smaller one. Something about the young boy’s jacket looks familiar. I peer closer and get a sick feeling in my stomach. It’s my brother!

They’re pounding the living daylights out of Simon!

“Hey!” I shout. I step away from Jennifer. “Hey!”

I charge at them but they’re already scattering. Simon rolls off the ground, scoots under a clump of trees and into darkness.

He’s gone. They’re gone.

Vanished.

I try to gulp down my anger, but it’s lurching out of my throat. Who the hell was pounding on my brother? Is this a one-time thing or does it happen often? I remember the bruise on his cheek and his ear at the dinner table last night in real time. Why didn’t Simon ever tell me?

I’m awash with guilt. Deep in my heart, I know why he never told me. The same reason he rarely looks at me.

“You all right?” Jennifer pants as she catches up beside me.

“Not really.”

“What’s wrong?”

I point. “That was my brother.”

“Which one?” She looks to the now-empty spot where they were fighting.