Chapter Three

By the time Aunt Beth dropped me at home, the lights were out in the main house. Instead of getting to my apartment through my grandparents’ kitchen, I went through the backyard to my private door. The branches on our Chinese Elm hung low, brushing against my cheek as I passed under her massive girth.

“It’s been a crazy day,” I said to the tree. Of course, I knew she couldn’t answer. But I like to think she does hear me. I talk to her all the time and have ever since Mom died.

In those early days, I truly believed she did talk to me. When it was windy, she spoke to me in melodies. In the heat, her words were crisp and short.

I spent hours sitting with my back against her trunk, watering her with my tears.

“I met this guy. He’s weirdly wonderful if that makes sense.”

Her branched dipped lower as if she understood. I rubbed one of her leaves, and then entered my tiny studio.

The first thing I always see when I step through the door are the two framed photos sitting on my dresser. One is of my mom and dad sitting on a picnic bench. My dad is holding a beer, and my mom is touching the pearl necklace my dad had given her for her birthday. I ran my finger along my neckbone, wishing I hadn’t lost the pearl that day at the beach. If not for David I might have found it. But he’d been so annoyed, dragging me away from the sand after I’d been searching for a half hour. I should have left him right then.

The other is the three of us, taken when I was six, about two weeks before Mom died. My parents are each kissing one of my cheeks, but their eyes are on each other.

I picked up both the photos and pressed them to my chest as I lay down on top of the covers.

The dusty blades on the ceiling fan cut through the air. Not for the first time, I thought how my life had been divided into sections.

Act one: Living with Mom and Dad until…fade out… I squeezed my eyes tight until the monstrous hurt in my chest subsided.

Act two: Growing up, becoming who I am, planning and watching my future fall apart.

Act three: Picking up the pieces.

Aren’t there only supposed to be three acts to a good screenplay?

Was this how it was going to be from now on?

Sometime around two in the morning, I finally fell asleep and woke up seven hours later under the covers to the sound of the wake-up chimes on my phone. I pulled it from the charger and saw a text message from Kyle asking if I needed a ride to work.

I typed:

—No.

Accepting a ride would give me more time to get ready, but I felt like walking. I flung my feet to the ground and walked into my mini kitchen, which had a microwave and a coffee maker on the counter, a three-foot refrigerator, and a sink. I popped in a K-cup, pushed start, and headed for the bathroom. Two quick raps followed by a third stopped me—my grandmother’s signature knock.

“Come in,” I called.

She carried her favorite mug with the word LOVE emblazoned on the side and sat down at the table across from my bed.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Grandma said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Would it be too much bother for you to drop off my prescription on your way to work?” She pulled a slip of paper from her bathrobe pocket and set it on my dresser.

“No, of course not,” I said, taking my cup from the maker and adding a splash of cream. On the way to the table, I picked up the photos that had fallen to the floor and set them back on the dresser. “I wish Dad would meet someone else. Has he even been on a date?”

“They were soulmates,” Grandma said, walking over to the photos. She picked up the one of my parents on the park bench and traced Mom’s hairline with her finger. It took a few minutes before she said anything. “There was something special about them.”

My inner six-year-old fixated on the memory of that day. As we walked, hand in hand, I imagined the three of us held together by puppet strings. I thought my parents were perfect and perfect for each other. As long as it was the three of us, the world was a safe, happy place.

“I remember the way they used to laugh,” I said.

“Your father brought out the best in your mom.” Grandma set the photo on the dresser and sat down across from me. “After he showed up, crazy as it was saying he didn’t remember anything about his life or even his name, your mom changed. Little stuff didn’t bother her anymore. She started reading about ESP and all that paranormal stuff.”

“How come they didn’t want to know what was wrong with him?”

“It stopped mattering. They were quite a couple. Your mom and dad.”

“I think about her every day,” I said.

“I do, too.” Grandma gave me that knowing smile, the one I love more than anything in the world. “I better go check on your grandfather.”

As she leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, her lavender scent washed over me like a warm blanket. “We’re going to our discussion group. And then Grandpa has a doctor appointment,” she said. “It’ll be a long day for him.”

“I’ll cook tonight, then, okay? I’ll make Grandpa’s favorite pasta.”

She smiled at me and nodded her head the tiniest little bit.

My grandmother was sixty when that drunk driver crashed into Mom’s car. I know it tore her apart, but she had to keep it all together and become the mom of a little girl all over again. Lots of people actually thought she was my mom because she looked so young. And because we look so much alike, with our wavy hair, green eyes, and small bones.

But now, watching her leave with my dirty T-shirts, I could see that my grandmother wasn’t so young anymore.

“Grandma,” I called out. “I love you.”

“Well, I love you, too.”

After she left, I looked through my closet for something to wear. That awful Mud Hut apron hides everything, so I usually don’t care. But knowing, hoping, Renn would show up, I wanted to wear something flattering.

****

There was no one at the pharmacy counter, not even the pharmacist. I tapped my fingers on the Chapstick display, leaning forward to see if anyone was in between all the rows of prescriptions waiting to be picked up. We would never leave the counter unattended at work. Especially not with our tip jar there for everyone to see.

That same misty feeling as yesterday creeped over me, tickling the back of my legs. A strip of darkness flashed in my peripheral vision. Turning around quickly, I saw a lady in a trench coat identical to the one Renn had been wearing. She held a bottle of pills, turning it slowly from side to side.

I knew immediately that it wasn’t the same woman I had seen yesterday. But the churning in my gut told me they were related.

This lady had dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, making her appear austere and hard. Whereas the woman from yesterday had moved fluidly down the street, this woman appeared stiff, mannequin-like, as she lifted her head in my direction.

Something moved near the side of her face. No, it was on her face. It looked like a tattoo. I squinted, trying to get a better look. The design changed from a heart to a silhouette of two heads.

I must have made some kind of sound because the old man behind me in line asked if I was okay.

I put my hand over my mouth, as if that would stop my heart from beating so fast. Was she going to shimmer?

Her crimson lips were ruler straight. Her eyes remained dark and unmoving.

“Can I help you?” The voice came from my left.

I turned to face the white-haired man I had forgotten was there.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he answered.

“Did you want to leave that?” Now the voice came from in front of me.

“What?”

“Are you leaving a prescription?” The pharmacist motioned toward the paper in my hand.

“Uh…yeah,” I said, thrusting it at him.

When I turned to check on the woman, she was gone.

I hurried from the pharmacy counter and through the store. She was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, watch it,” a mother pushing a stroller said as I bumped into her.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

But then I had to catch myself before knocking into an old woman.

“Are you all right, young lady?” The woman asked, with the same concern that my grandmother had in her voice this morning.

“Fine, fine,” I said.

“Maybe you should just sit here a minute and rest,” the lady suggested.

“No, no, I’m fine. Honest.”

When I left the drugstore, I started toward home. I made it halfway down the block before I realized I was supposed to be going to work.

For a split second I thought of crawling back in bed. But what good would that do?

****

“Get a grip,” I said as I shoved my purse in my preschool sized cubbyhole. “If he shows up, which I hope he does, I’m just going to ask him about yesterday.”

“Who are you talking to?” Nola asked, startling me.

“Myself.”

“You better tell yourself to hurry. Some kind of tourist bus with a bunch of old people just pulled up outside.” Nola slung her bag under a bench, smiled at herself in the mirror hanging on the back of the door, and rushed off.

I tied my apron around my waist, pulled my hair back in a ponytail, and followed her to our work stations.

I groaned at the sight of the crowd, hoping no one wanted anything more than a plain drip coffee. And that they made their choices quickly.

The first man in line held up an old digital camera and asked me to smile. The badge on his shirt read “Dan M. Santa Barbara Coastline Senior Center.”

Who would have thought The Mud Hut would be a tourist attraction?

I was in the middle of squirting whipped cream into a cup of black coffee for one of my regulars, who managed to make his way to the front of the line, when the lemony scent drifted toward me. I gripped the can harder to stop my hand from shaking.

“Hey, that’s enough, Jessie.” Black with Whip held out his hand.

As I put on the lid, foam spilled over the top and onto the counter.

“Sorry.” I handed him his drink, trying to keep it together. Trying not to let my hands shake. At least, my breathing was okay. For now.

Trench Coat sat down at the same table as yesterday. He pulled out that same oblong tablet and started typing.

My heart beat to the rhythm of his fingers.

“Cover for me, will you?” I asked Nola.

I walked off without waiting for her answer.

If he knew I stood beside his table, he didn’t acknowledge my presence. Not at first.

My full name—Jessica Dylan Singleton—was displayed in bold letters at the top of his tablet screen. Directly beneath my name the word Flaws flashed on and off.

Without saying anything he quickly pressed a button making his screen go dark.

There was absolutely no way he heard anyone at The Hut call me by first and last name, let alone know my middle name. And the way he hid what he was typing reminded me of how David would react when I walked in on him texting his co-worker/secret lover.

I steadied myself ready to confront him. The instant he looked up, I forgot everything I was going to say. It didn’t seem to matter anymore.

I couldn’t stop staring at his eyes. I’d never seen any that blue, trimmed with light mocha.

But it was more than just their color. It was the way he looked at me, as if, well, I know it sounds crazy, but as if he had been expecting me for a long time.

He drank in every bit of my face. My cheeks grew hot. I clasped my hands together and pressed them to my chest.

“Hello.” All the chatter and noise in the room parted as his one single word, deep and rich, made its way toward me.

“Hi.” My voice came out unrecognizable to myself.

“Hello,” he said again, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair.

“Hi,” I repeated. The words that usually poured out of me fell to the cutting room floor.

When he smiled, a small dimple formed in his cheek. “I’m assuming you didn’t come to take my order.”

I shook my head, mesmerized by his eyes.

“I, um…I…was wondering, do you live near here?” Oh, God, I might as well have been asking about his sun sign.

“Why do you ask?”

“Um, just curious. I thought I saw you walking yesterday and…”

“It wasn’t me,” he said, looking down.

“I didn’t even tell you where I was.”

He started blinking, a sure sign of lying according to my aunt.

I pulled out a chair from the empty table next to his, and as I sat down brushed my hand against his coat draped over the back of his seat.

It had a watery feel to it. A dampness covered my fingers.

“I saw someone walking in this coat and…” As I reached to touch it again, a faint blue mist rose into the air. He pulled it onto his lap, moving it out of my reach.

“And?” He settled his hand next to mine on the table. The space between our fingers charged with electricity. I had to concentrate on not reaching out and taking his hand.

“It’s just odd, that’s all. It’s pretty warm for a coat this heavy, don’t you think?”

“To each his own, Jessica.” He carried out the S sound, letting the last half of my name rest on his tongue.

“How do you know my name?”

“I heard that guy, your friend, use it.”

“No, you didn’t,” I said. “He never calls me Jessica.”

“He should. I like it better. I’m Renn.” He held out his hand. “Renn Porter.”

I grasped his hand firmly and let go quickly, afraid if I didn’t, I might hold on forever.

As our fingers separated, I heard Nola calling me.

“See.” I nodded toward the register. “Everyone calls me Jessie.”

“You better get back to work,” he said.

My body tingled all over, more intense than it had yesterday.

He put on his coat and pressed his hands against the table, pushing back his chair. That’s when I saw it. Again. The shimmering. And his hands sort of sliding through the table.

“Are you working tomorrow?” he asked, as if nothing unusual was going on. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I was just seeing things again.

I barely nodded.

“Cool. See ya then.” That outdated slang expression sounded even odder coming from him.

I stared at his back as he walked out the door, waiting for the after-image I had seen yesterday. But it didn’t appear.

And I know it sounds weird, but my heart did that shifting thing again, and it felt like part of my soul walked out the door with him.

A few minutes after he left, as I moved slowly toward my station at the bar, Kyle burst into The Mud Hut like an avalanche.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, suspecting something must have happened with Heather.

“Nola texted he was here again.”

“It’s all good,” I said.

I glanced over at Nola, busy ringing up a sale. Getting angry at her wouldn’t change anything. I let it go and started cleaning the wands and counter.

A flurry of tan rushed by the window. Renn paced back and forth.

“Why is he out there?” Kyle asked.

I slapped my rag on the countertop. “Be right back.”

Before Kyle could stop me, I lifted the counter up and walked into the customer area.

A group of women in workout clothes streamed through the door. The kind who spend more time on how they look than how they exercise.

While they started rattling off double mochas, non-fat lattes, caps no foam, I made my way to the exit.

He was gone.

****

A TTMM must have open communication with his mentor during the first twenty-hours of his mission. Law #6.

Renn opened the Memo icon on his tablet and tapped Arlianna’s face. The screen blinked, ready for his data.

He couldn’t get his fingers moving past the date. He couldn’t tell his private thoughts to Central Match. Yet he couldn’t lie.

Something was off in the calculations. He felt it with every fiber of his being.

God, Jessica was gorgeous. And those eyes. They filled him with a desire he’d never known before. It had taken all his willpower to keep silent. He had wanted to tell her he’d been in her neighborhood. But admitting the truth would have led to further questions, ones he couldn’t answer. Not yet.

Arlianna had engraved that law into his mind until it attached itself to every thought. Never tell the reason for your mission. Law #22

That was all he wanted to do. Break that damn law and tell her everything. But he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t until he was certain.

If only Arlianna hadn’t appeared while he had been walking. And then forcing him to disappear like that. No wonder Jessica was a mess.

He knew mentors were supposed to make pop arrivals, but she could have waited until now. Until he was sitting on this hard bench, with his stomach agitating as if it were an old-fashioned butter-making churn.

He shut the screen and opened the private one linking him to his mentor. Arlianna was smart. She’d see that Central Match was not included, read quickly, and hit delete.

Mission #265

Confidential Memo To: Arlianna Greenhouse From: Renn Porter Had convoy with subject. Unnerving. Confirm on what we spoke of last night. Something wrong with match. Will keep watch. Follow and report back shortly.

Going walking to clear head.

****

To: Renn Porter From: Arlianna Greenhouse EAT

Renn read her message, hit delete, and shook his head. He did need to eat. He’d read enough case studies about Travelers who ended up in psych wards from lack of nutrients. His research had informed of the unsavory attitudes toward patients in those institutions.

But what to eat?

Sushi was said to be extremely fresh in this time, unlike where he lived. And Arlianna had confirmed that truth during one of their briefings. Sushi it was.

He dug his hand into the pockets of his coat and headed toward the center of the town.