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I heard him sigh. “I know you have more questions. Why don’t you go ahead and ask them?”
Stalling, I twisted my napkin between my fingers under the table. Michael could see the same things I could, but he wasn’t freaked out. He came across as calm, comforting. Talking to him almost made the tightness in my chest go away. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to ask him questions. I wanted to know why it was different for him than it was for me, because it obviously was.
“What was it like the first time you saw a vision from the past?” I asked in a low voice.
“My mom found a deal on a house in the Peachtree District of Atlanta. Civil War era.”
I thought of yesterday’s experience with Scarlett and couldn’t suppress my groan. Right after I started seeing things, I was forced to go on a field trip to one of the unfortunate Civil War reenactments we’re so given to here in the South. I’d had no idea who was dead or alive. I didn’t come out of my room for a week afterward.
“The things we see … what are they?” I met his eyes. “I mean, I have no idea why, but I never really thought of them as ghosts. But I don’t know what they are. Do you?”
Michael leaned closer. “I call them time ripples, rips for short. Almost like time stamps left by those who make a deep impression on the world while they’re alive. That’s the basic definition.”
“Isn’t that the same thing as a ghost?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“How?”
“It’s kind of hard to explain,” Michael answered, frowning and drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “It involves theoretical physics, but I’d be glad to—”
I held up one hand. “No, thanks. I’ll just believe you. For now.”
I thought about his definition. The man I saw yesterday came immediately to mind. I was sure he’d made impressions in his own way. “Time ripples. At least that explains why I see people from the past. It makes sense, as if crazy ever could make sense. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He frowned again. “I don’t want you to edit anything you say.”
“You won’t have to worry about that.” I gave him a bleak look. “Most of what comes out is complete truth. My edit button is broken.”
“Good.” Michael leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and stretching out his long legs underneath the table. His black biker boots were huge next to my small sneakers. “I’m a big fan of the truth. I hate it when people hide things.”
I knew all about hiding things.
“How many people know the truth about you?” I asked.
“My family, the Hourglass.” He cleared his throat and twisted the ring on his thumb. “A few good friends. A select few.”
I wondered if the select few included a girlfriend. I wanted to ask, but figured I should probably keep things professional. “Was it hard? Telling them about the things we see?”
“Not really. Some of them have special qualities of their own.”
“The same as us?” I liked grouping myself in his category. It was disturbing to realize how much I wanted to be the only one in it besides him.
“No.”
“So there are other people who have … special … things they can do?”
“More than you would think,” he answered, his gaze steady on my face.
“Hmm.” I rolled that around in my brain while concentrating on my empanada. Michael gave me the space I needed, returning to his newspaper.
The moment I started seeing things … ripples … I turned into a freak show. Then I became a freak show with no parents. When kids are orphaned—it happens—they might go under for a while, but they recover. I didn’t. I didn’t even resurface for air until I’d spent quality time in a private hospital with intensive therapy and nuclear-powered drugs.
Now Michael sat across from me, as normal as next Tuesday, claiming he was like me. Claiming that there were other “special” people out there. The idea that others existed with abilities, people I could possibly form relationships with—the thought both overwhelmed and comforted me. I could already think of one I wouldn’t mind forming a relationship with—and he was sneaking looks at me from behind his paper. I could almost believe he was checking me out.
But he was probably just waiting for me to go kooks and wanted to make sure he saw it coming.
“Okay,” I broke the silence. “What do I need to do?”
