Timebound (50 page)

I borrowed Katherine’s phone to call Mom and tell her about the accident—nothing major, I said, just a scald. But I’d lost my backpack in the confusion. Of course, I started crying the moment I heard her voice on the other end of the line, but she mistook the tears for worry about the backpack.

“Kate, sweetie, it’s no big deal. I’ll cancel the credit card; we’ll get you a new phone and iPod. We’ll pay for the books. I’m not angry about this, so you don’t need to be upset.”

“I know, Mom. I love you.”

“Do you need me to come there, Kate? You sound really shaken.”

“No, no. That’s okay, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then I called the Briar Hill office and asked if they could give Dad a message—I’d had a minor accident and wouldn’t be in trig class, but I’d see him back at the cottage.

Connor drove me to the cottage a few minutes later. My hands shook as I slid the key into the lock, just as they had when Trey was waiting on the steps. There was no
#1 Grandma
mug. Dad’s wok was in its usual place on top of the cabinets. I rushed to the fridge, and saw the jambalaya on the second shelf.

There would be plenty of time to tell Dad everything when he got back from class. For now, I just sank down on the sofa and closed my eyes. Home.

Telling Dad was a multistage process, and the fact that I broke down into tears the first time I saw him didn’t help to expedite matters. At least Dad understood what was going on after a long conversation with Katherine and Connor and a few demonstrations with the CHRONOS key. He and I agreed that it was probably best, for now, to keep this between us. So Mom didn’t have a clue why I hit her with a waterworks display and extra long hug when she walked in the door after classes on Wednesday evening. That’s really not our typical style of interaction, and I think she was seriously considering scheduling another session with the shrink. I talked her into dinner at O’Malley’s instead. Extra onion rings.

Most pieces of my normal life fell back into place over the next few days. I returned to my typical routine of Mom’s house, Dad’s house, and school. The only major changes were packing up some of my things for the upcoming move to Katherine’s house and having to remind myself that there was no Charlayne for me in this timeline.

And I kept putting off the very thing I’d promised to do first.

The freshly printed DVD was in my new backpack. I’d scanned the photo of the two of us for safekeeping, and I was pretty sure that the original I’d tucked into the ID holder would vanish as soon as I handed it to him. I’d watched the DVD at least a dozen times and even left a copy on Dad’s kitchen counter when I went to class on Friday, just to prove to myself that it wouldn’t disappear and that the contents would remain the same. It was still there when I returned, and it was still Trey’s face that greeted me when I inserted it into the computer. There was no logical reason to put this off, but the knowledge that Trey would look at me and see a complete stranger terrified me.

Finally, on Sunday afternoon, when we were clearing away the dishes from a wonderful spinach lasagna, Dad suggested gelato for dessert. From Ricci’s, near Dupont Circle. Just a few short blocks from Kalorama Heights. Walking distance to Trey. My stomach sank.

Dad watched me a moment and then shook his head. “You can’t put this off forever, Kate. You said you made the boy a promise. Even if it isn’t exactly the same as the relationship you remember, it isn’t fair to Trey or to yourself not to give it a chance. And,” he said with a grin, “I’m getting tired of hearing you play that DVD. Did you two ever talk about
anything
remotely substantive?”

I snapped the dish towel threateningly in his direction, but I didn’t argue. He was right. I missed Trey. And there wasn’t any chance at all of getting him back if I couldn’t muster up enough courage to make the first move.

I sat on the front steps, staring at the neat border of grass that ran along the walkway between the house and sidewalk. I realized I was chewing on my knuckle about the time I heard the door open behind me and I tucked my hand underneath my jeans to hide the bite mark. The early-evening breeze picked up the faint, familiar scent of his shampoo, so I knew it was him before I even looked up to see those beautiful gray eyes with their tiny flecks of blue. His smile was as open and friendly as it had been that first day when he followed me across the soccer field. And suddenly I wasn’t nervous. This was Trey, my Trey. He just didn’t know it yet.

“It’s Kate, right?” he asked, sitting down next to me on the front step. “Estella says you’re with the Briar Hill welcoming committee? I’m Trey, but I guess you already know that.”

“Hi, Trey,” I said.

And then I kept my promise. I leaned forward and kissed him, long and slow. He was startled at first, but he didn’t pull away—and he most definitely kissed me back. It was totally unlike our first kiss, which had been shy and hesitant on both sides. This time, I knew what he liked and I threw everything I had into that kiss.

“Whoa—what was that for?” he asked when I finally drew back.

“Just keeping a promise,” I said.

“Okay.” He looked a little stunned, but he smiled at me again. “I think I like Briar Hill’s idea of a welcome.”

“Well, I
am
at Briar Hill, but this is more of an unofficial welcome,” I said, holding out the picture and placing it in his hand. It was very clearly Trey, with his arms wrapped around a girl, who was very clearly me. I kept my fingers on the photo long enough for him to get a really good look, long enough for the inevitable question to creep into his eyes, and then I pulled my fingers away and watched the picture vanish.

I grabbed his hand and placed it on the CHRONOS key, holding it between my own two hands. His face had the same pale, pained look as before. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know that’s uncomfortable for a minute, but…” And then I kissed him again, a soft kiss on the side of his mouth.

“Who
are
you?” he asked.

“I’m Kate. And I love you, Lawrence Alma Coleman the Third. I’m not some crazy stalker girl. There’s a DVD in this envelope, videos that
you
made, that will explain everything. The disappearing picture, the reason I’m holding your hand against this weird piece of jewelry—do you feel okay now?”

He nodded, but didn’t speak. I stared into his eyes for a long moment. I saw confusion, doubt, and all the other things I’d expected to see, but behind all of that there was a light that I’d seen before. It wasn’t recognition, it wasn’t love, but it also wasn’t the blank stare of a stranger. There was a connection between us and I felt a surge of hope that Trey had been right to have faith, right to believe that we could rebuild
us.

“The videos will explain everything.” I placed the manila envelope in his lap and leaned forward, kissing him once more. “Bye, Trey.”

I was halfway down the sidewalk before he called after me. “Kate! Don’t go. How do I get in touch with you?”

I smiled back at him over my shoulder. “Just open the envelope.”

Acknowledgments

Every historian I’ve known has imagined having a time machine. Not to
change
history, but just to see how events actually unfolded, without the varnish or bias that gets added to historical accounts. But would we be able to resist tweaking things just a bit to create a better world? I’m not so sure.

That was the idea that launched
Timebound
; and here at the end, I’d like to take a moment to thank some of the people who helped along the way. With the exception of taking a few liberties with dates and events, the description of the Exposition is largely based on actual history. I spent many hours digging through the Internet Archive, a vast treasure trove of photographs, recordings, and first-hand accounts of the Exposition. The Urban Simulation Team at UCLA has created a truly incredible online simulation of the 1893 Columbian Exposition that made me feel as though I’d actually strolled the sidewalks of the Wooded Island, toured the Palace of Fine Arts, and explored the Midway Plaisance. Finally, a large body of work on serial killer H.H. Holmes, aka Herman Mudgett, including Erik Larson’s wonderful book
The Devil in the White City
, and several detailed documentaries provided background information that brought the horrors of the World’s Fair Hotel into gruesome focus.

Thanks go to my sisters for listening to me when I needed to vent, and to my parents and brother, along with many other friends and family, who helped to get out the vote when
Timebound
reached the finals for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award. I’d also like to thank my nieces and nephews for giving me glimpses into the lives and Facebook statuses of young adult readers. (Amanda, you’re old enough to read this now.) Conversations with Gareth and Ariana helped to flesh out the Cyrists, and Mary reminded me many times of that illusive quarry of every writer, the “suspension of disbelief.”

I am also indebted to the many friends, colleagues, and students who have (with various levels of good grace) stuck with me through this project. Gigantic bear hugs to my beta-readers—Ryan, Donna, Pete, Ian, Teri, Joy Joo, Savannah, and Mary Frances—and an extra big hug to those of you who had the patience to comment on multiple drafts. My two favorite Goodreads groups—YA Heroines and Time Travel—provided much needed moral support and insightful commentary on the earlier draft, as did a wide array of book bloggers and fellow writers.

Additional thanks go out to everyone at Skyscape and Amazon Publishing, especially Courtney Miller, Terry Goodman, and Tim Ditlow. This has been a wild ride and you’ve all been very patient with a newbie author. And an extra big thank-you goes to my developmental editor, Marianna Baer, for her insight and commentary. To all of you: if I didn’t incorporate some of your suggestions, please remember that I’m stubborn, and you were probably right. Your advice and feedback were invaluable and I owe you mega.

And even though I’ve mentioned a few of you already, I’ve saved for last the group that I can never thank enough—my wonderful family. You guys rock.

About the Author

Rysa Walker grew up on a cattle ranch in the South. Her options for entertainment were talking to cows and reading books. On the rare occasion that she gained control of the television, she watched
Star Trek
and imagined living in the future, on distant planets, or at least in a town big enough to have a stoplight. These days, when not writing, she teaches history and government in North Carolina, where she shares an office with her husband and a golden retriever named Lucy. She enjoys yoga, über-dark chocolate, Galaga, and Scrabble. She still doesn’t get control of the TV very often, thanks to her sports-obsessed kids.
Timebound
is her debut novel.