Whispers from the Past (14 page)

The door to my room banged open.

“Mark, get up. You’re going to be late.”

My head ached. My body ached. How functional could I be today after two hours of sleep? After losing Susanna?

I rolled until my mother came into view. “Mom, please.”

“Are you sick?”

“Sherri.” My dad appeared next to her in the doorway, his gaze zeroing in on me. “You get today, son.”

“What?” Mom gaped at him.

The door closed.

The muffled sound of their voices receded down the hallway.

“
Oh my god. How did—?
”

Whatever question my mom had been about to ask, my dad cut it off, and then there was silence.

I slept until ten and then headed out for two hours on my bike. I returned, showered, ate a sandwich, and called Susanna.

She didn’t answer.

I called again and left a voicemail.

Maybe I should just go over. Yeah. If I saw her, touched her, said the right words in exactly the right way, she would see what a waste this was. We were supposed to be together.

I couldn’t remember when she worked today, so I brought up our joint Google calendar.

Her data wasn’t there anymore.

Holy shit. She’d already locked me out of that?

I raced for my truck, hurtled along the streets to the apartment complex, screeched into the parking lot, and stalked to her door. It opened easily, which I hated, although it worked in my favor.

Susanna sat on the couch reading a book. She glanced up with a half-smile, which faded instantly when she saw who it was.

“What are you doing, leaving this door unlocked?” I ground out. “We’ve talked about this. It’s not safe.”

She slid the book to a cushion and rose.

I shuddered at the sight of her in tight jeans. It was the first time I’d ever seen her wear any. They showed off her body to perfection. Could I ask her to turn around so that I could see how they clung to her ass? “You’re wearing jeans.”

She ignored my comment. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“My brain is useless today.”

She bowed her head. Her hair was loose and it flowed forward, sliding over her shoulders and brushing against her face.

“You look amazing,” I said, fighting an internal battle to stay exactly where I was, because my instincts urged me to lunge for her and kiss her breathless.

“You shouldn’t have come here. Please go.”

She looked hot and gorgeous, while I felt like I was about to explode. “Why are you dressed like that? Were you waiting until you dumped me to give in?”

She looked up then, her face still calm. But her eyes? Damn. Her eyes were wet.

Maybe she did hurt as badly as I did. Maybe she’d recognized how completely crazy it was for the two of us to live in the same world and not be together. I took a step toward her, hands outstretched.

With a gasp, she ran around the end of the couch, keeping it between us like a shield.

“Really?” I stared at her in horror. That simple, defensive movement rejected me far greater than any words she could have spoken. “Are you scared of me?”

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Please. I’ve asked you to leave.”

“Got it.” I backed away slowly, arms up. “I’m out of here, and I won’t bother you again.”

As I pulled out of the parking space, I glanced up at her apartment. Susanna stood on the balcony, watching me.

Why? Was she making sure I was gone?

She didn’t need to worry. I was done with begging.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

A B
ITTERSWEET
T
WIST

I watched until the vehicle had disappeared, and then I watched some more.

Why had he come today?

The night had been endless and unbearable. I tried to sleep, but the effort had proved futile. By three AM, I had simply slipped from the apartment to wander the grounds of the apartment complex, among the trees and around the small lake.

Mark would have scolded me had he known, but he wouldn’t know. Not now. Not anymore.

I had fallen asleep at dawn, lying on the chaise lounge on the balcony outside the great room. The noise of Marissa’s leaving awakened me.

Breakfast had been a mistake. My shaking hands had dropped two eggs before I abandoned the effort. I had prepared buttered toast instead and barely choked it down.

I’d spent the past hour trying to read a new novel. It would’ve been lovely to lose myself in a story that helped me forget my own difficulties, but that hadn’t gone as planned, either. I’d been sitting with the book open on my lap, the letters swimming lazily, as I replayed our words.

When he’d walked in the door, it had taken every ounce of discipline I had to keep from racing into his arms and pleading with him to hold me and never let go.

Am I free to wonder if you ache for me the way I ache for you?

How could he wonder such a thing?

He had noticed the jeans and liked them, as Marissa had said he would. They were snug and immodest. Yet I couldn’t complain about their comfort level. I’d worn them yesterday in private and again this morning, trying to grow accustomed to their feel and the way they looked on my body. Perhaps one day I could wear them without noticing them much.

There had been an instant when his eyes had flashed with admiration and hunger. I liked knowing I had created that look, and I felt sad at the same time.

Could he truly believe I had withheld the jeans from him?

Naturally, he could. My actions last night had given him the right to believe whatever he wished—with no possibility for corrections.

Breaking up with Mark had been the most difficult decision I’d ever made. Not even choosing to move to this world had been so bold, since the alternative had been death. Saving my sister or not? Likewise. There had been little to deliberate there. But separating from the only man I would ever love so that he could have the life he wanted? It had been agonizing.

I perched on the end of the chaise lounge, my eyes closed. It was foolish to dawdle when there were so many chores to be done. I must cook Marissa’s meals and launder our clothes. But I wouldn’t do them at present, for those chores would require none of my attention, leaving me to relive the scene last night for the hundredth time.

Nor would I address a set of envelopes for a May wedding. It would be hours before I could trust my shaking hands for that delicate work.

The documents I had collected from the State Archives might bring relief. I stood slowly and trudged down the hall. Sitting on the carpet at the edge of my closet, I fumbled behind a stack of old skirts, seeking the papers I’d hidden.

My mission was to find some references to my family and friends after 1805. I was determined to discover if any of them had survived the tornado. Since the marriage register lay on top, I began with it. Scanning quickly, I read through every marriage recorded in Raleigh for the first decade of the nineteenth century.

I only recognized one name. Dr. William Eton had married a young lady in March of 1803. She must have been from a local family if he’d returned to Raleigh for the wedding. Her name appeared to be Margaret, or perhaps Martha. William had waited to marry for nearly eighteen months after my sister rejected his offer, only to lose his new wife in a fire less than a year later. I knew little about him but felt a moment of regret that he had suffered such misfortune.

My phone rang with Marissa’s signal. Although I suspected how the conversation would proceed, I answered it anyway. “Hello?”

“How are you doing?”

I drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. From the tone of her voice, it was clear that she had learned of my news. Yet I could detect no accusation. No anger. No impatience. Just pure concern. “I am managing.”

“Any thoughts about changing your mind?”

Thousands of them. They would not let me be. “I shall not.”

She sighed. “I’d understand if you feel like you need to move out.”

A gasp lodged in my throat. I hadn’t pondered this. “I do not wish to. Would that be your preference?”

“No, Susanna… Hey… Wait a sec, okay?” There was a deep, muffled voice in the background. She responded rapidly, her voice a smudge of sounds, before returning to our conversation. “I need to go. Want me to take you out tonight to talk? Or not talk?”

It was a lovely offer. “I work the supper shift.”

“I’ll pick you up. Is that all right?”

“Yes.”

I clicked off the phone and then set it to silent, not willing to speak to anyone else. Glancing down at the papers on my lap, I put the marriage documents aside and sorted through the stack until I found the court records. Those pages were numerous and the most difficult to read. Precisely what I needed to capture my attention.

I poured over the court dockets carefully, making note of the type of each case and the people involved. There were disputes over debts and wills. An inordinate number of assaults. The unlawful detaining of a slave. Claims of fatherhood for the children of unwed mothers.

Over time, another type of petition caught my eye. The Court of Pleas and Quarter Sessions had heard petitions from indentured servants asking for relief from poor conditions. And, though rarely, the judges had sometimes granted the petitioners the right to transfer their contracts to different masters.

Had I known such a petition were possible, I might have been saved years of torment. I could have worked for another villager. Perhaps I would’ve moved to a master in Raleigh.

I leaned against the wall of my bedroom, the papers on my lap. Why had I not known of this option? Had Mr. Worth or Mr. Pratt been aware of it? If so, had they kept it from me willfully?

Most certainly they had. I hadn’t known enough to inquire, and they would surely have lied if I had.

There was a bittersweet twist to this discovery. What if I had been given a new master? He might have been more kind and might have assigned duties that were less onerous, but I would’ve given up much in the transfer.

I would have said an earlier good-bye to the youngest Pratt children—John, Dinah, and Delilah. I would have missed the delight of Dorcas.

Perhaps I would have lost the chance to save my sister.

And Mark? I should never have met him or made the decision to move to his world.

A lifetime that had never known the sweetness of loving Mark? It was unthinkable.

I straightened the documents and hid them at the back of the closet. I was done with this chore, for even it could not be trusted to keep my thoughts from Mark.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

M
INDLESS
R
EPETITION

Dad only gave me one day to recover, which meant I got up Friday and headed for school. I took the truck. Riding my bike through the city was dangerous, given how distracted I was.

It was a boring day, since we’d be out for the next week. Some teachers let us talk. Some made us watch movies. Nobody did anything of value. It was fine with me. I felt old and sore and not really there.

I received three separate texts to meet my friends at Olde Tyme Grill. We were going to celebrate the start of spring break. As soon as school was out, I cranked up the truck and detoured to the grill.

They were waiting on me. Gabrielle slid over when I slammed into the bench.

“Where were you yesterday?” Jesse asked.

I shook my head. “I stayed home. I needed the day off.”

“Why?” Benita laid a hand over mine. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Susanna broke up with me.” Wow. It sounded worse than I expected, and I’d expected it to be pretty bad.

“Really?” Benita’s fingers squeezed convulsively around mine. “When?”

“Wednesday night.”

“After the party?”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry. Are you sure?”

My fists clenched. “Damn sure.”

Benita recoiled at the harshness of my tone, pressing back onto her side of the bench. The others stiffened.

I willed myself to relax. “Sorry. I don’t mean to direct that at you. It’s just…” I shook my head and stared at the table top. I still couldn’t process what had happened.

“Mark—”

Whatever Benita had been about to say got cut off. Jesse muttered something. She muttered back.

There was a long silence.

“Do you want us to talk about something else?” Gabrielle asked.

“Please.” I continued my study of a gouge in the table.

The topic they chose next was tennis, a class the three of them had together. I listened, sort of, but couldn’t contribute anything. Their conversation morphed from an upcoming tournament to their plans for spring break.

Gabrielle wrapped gentle fingers around my wrist. “Do you want to come with us after all?”

“Huh?” I turned to her. “Come with you to what?”

“The fundraiser in Washington.”

Yeah, I remembered hearing something about it. Gabrielle was taking Jesse and Benita with her to DC. There was some kind of black-tie charity event at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., hosted by the director of her next film,
Flight Risk
. When Gabrielle had asked me to go too, I hadn’t wanted to refuse. It sounded like fun. Dressing up, meeting or staring at a lot of famous people, riding around in private jets and limos like a celebrity. But no way could Susanna have tolerated that kind of event, and no way would I have spent two days of my spring break away from her. “When is it again?”