Tamara Stone - TIme After Time

“Much better,” she says, sliding her hands under my T-shirt, up my back, kissing me. In a matter of minutes, we both seem to forget about the complications around this whole crazy thing we’re doing. For the rest of the night, it doesn’t seem complicated at all.

I wake to the faint sound of water running. I try to lift my head off the pillow to take a better look, but my movement is restricted by the weight of Anna’s head, buried in the crook of my neck.

I kiss her cheek. “Anna,” I whisper. “Wake up.” She tightens her grip on my shoulder and, without opening her eyes, settles into my chest and lets out a happy sigh.

The water sound stops and it’s almost instantly replaced by a light plinking noise. I’m trying to place it when I hear the unmistakable—and extremely loud—whir of a coffee grinder.

Anna jumps and her lids pop open. The second she sees me, she lets out a gasp. She lifts her head and scans the living room.

“It’s okay. We just fell asleep.”

“My dad ’s in there,” she whispers, her eyes darting back and forth between the kitchen and me.

“I know. It’s okay,” I repeat, thinking she didn’t hear me the first time.

Her eyes grow even wider. “It’s not okay ! He can’t find us like this. He’ll never—” She comes closer, within an inch of my face. “I’m dead.”

“Come on…just tell him we were talking and we fell asleep.” I try to look at the scene from her father’s point of view. Anna’s shirt is back where it belongs but I have no idea where mine is.

“He’ll never believe that.”

I start to speak but she covers my mouth with her hand. “Shhh.” The coffee grinder comes to a stop. She looks at me, wide-eyed. Do something, she mouths. Please.

It takes a second or two for understanding to kick in, possibly because I’m still a little groggy and she’s whisper-shouting at me in the near dark. “You sure?” I mouth back, and she answers my question with a quick, panicky nod.

I find the clock immediately—God knows I stared at it enough last night—and check the time. A little after six thirty. I slide my hands under the blankets, feeling for hers, and when I find them I grip them tight.

Her eyes are already shut.

I kick the blanket onto the floor and squeeze my eyes closed as I picture her room. When I open them, we’re on her bed, wrapped up in the exact same position we were on the couch—Anna curled up into my chest, our hands clenched together, our legs intertwined. I really don’t want to move, but I have to twist away from her so I can read the clock on her nightstand. Six o’clock on the dot.

Minutes pass as we lie side by side, silent and unmoving. Then Anna bends her knees to her chest and starts quietly cracking up.

“See why you need to keep me around,” I whisper, still looking up at the ceiling.

She stretches out and throws her arm over her forehead. Her head falls to one side and she looks at me. “There are lots of other reasons to keep you around.”

I roll over on top of her, my legs straddling her hips, my face only inches away from hers. “So will you?” I kiss her. “Keep me around?”

She inhales sharply. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Good.” I kiss her again. “How are you feeling?”

She crinkles her nose. “A little…twisty. But I don’t feel sick or anything.” She pushes my hair off my face but it just flops back down again. “How about you? How’s your head?”

“It’s good. But you know, I only feel the side effects on the return trip and only if I change time zones. I’m just popping back downstairs.” I look over at the clock and kiss her again. “Unless you keep me here too long.”

Anna glances at the time. “You should probably go. It’s already ten after.”

I plant a kiss on her cheek and then hop off the bed. I give her a little wave. She waves back. “See you downstairs,” I say, closing my eyes and picturing her living room.

My eyelids pop open and I’m standing next to the couch, staring at the jumble of blankets we left behind. I see my shirt on the floor and pull it over my head. Then I crawl back under the covers, where I belong.

Twenty minutes later, Anna’s dad peeks around the corner. He sees that I’m already awake and gives me a wave. I wave back and wonder if he checked in here last time and saw something quite different.

I hear the water running. The coffee beans tumble into the grinder. The whirring sound starts and stops. I wait for a few more minutes and then head toward the kitchen, where I’m greeted by the sounds of dripping and percolating and an unmistakable aroma that makes my mouth water. Anna’s dad is wrapping the cord around the grinder and returning it to its home in the cupboard when he sees me out of the corner of his eye.

“Good morning.”

I lift my chin in his direction. “Good morning, Mr. Greene.”

He leans back against the counter. “How’d you sleep?” He crosses his arms and stares at me, and I feel the adrenaline start racing through my veins.

I rest my hip against the counter opposite him, hoping I appear calm and not at all guilty. I look at him straight on. “Great,” I say. “Thanks for letting me stay last night.”

He stares at me for what feels like a full minute. I hold my breath and try not to move.

Finally he uncrosses his arms and says, “No problem. Glad we could help.” His tone is friendly, and when he turns his back to me, I silently exhale.

He reaches into a high cabinet and pulls out two mugs. “Do you drink coffee, Bennett?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, and he reaches into the cabinet again and grabs a third.

Two cups of coffee, three tall glasses of water, a bowl of cereal, and a couple of hours later, I leave the Greenes’ and walk the four familiar blocks to Maggie’s house. My heart is beating hard in my chest by the time I reach the porch, and speeds into a whole new gear when I pick up the lion’s-head door knocker.

Sweat drips down the back of my neck and my shirt sticks to my skin. Today the weather may be different, but I’m just as nervous as I was when I stood in this same spot last March, bending the corners of an index card back and forth while I waited for her to answer the door.

I’d just come from the Northwestern student housing office. I had no way of recognizing the penmanship, but as I stood in front of the giant bulletin board, one card stood out, its letters carefully drawn and perfectly slanted, as if someone who cared how it looked had written it. I pulled out the thumbtack and turned it over to verify what I already knew. Then I went straight to the address.

When my grandmother opened the door, I introduced myself as a Northwestern student and asked her if her room was still available to rent. She wore a guarded expression, but nodded, and when I handed her enough cash for the remainder of the quarter—even though I had no intention of staying that long—she invited me in for tea and showed me my new room. But two months later I disappeared without saying a word, leaving behind a closet full of clothes, a brand-new SUV, and a bunch of questions Anna had to do her best to answer for me.

I hear the floorboards creak on the other side of the door. Maggie peeks through the curtains, takes one look at me, and disappears again. Everything’s quiet. No floorboards creaking as she walks away, but no deadbolt snapping either.

Finally, the door opens. She’s wearing a loose-fitting dress that hangs almost to the ground and, as usual, there’s a brightly colored scarf draped around her neck. I look up at her face and when I see her eyes, I lock on to them. They’re blue-gray and striking, but that’s not the reason I can’t stop staring at them. It’s because I know them well. Her eyes are exactly the same color as my mother’s. Exactly the same color as mine. I can’t help wondering if she’s thinking the same thing.