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“Lily?” She turned back to face me. I gestured to the chair. “Help?”
Chapter 13
Thomas wanted to watch The Godfather. Again. I refused to surrender.
“But The Philadelphia Story is my favorite.” When he started to protest, I switched tactics. “Your wife is with child; you’re supposed to be catering to her every need.”
“She’s right, Thomas.” Dru nodded wisely. “And violence isn’t good for the baby.”
“The baby hasn’t even grown fingernails yet—how is he going to know we’re watching a mafia movie?”
“She is going to be sensitive just like her mother.” Dru looked up at him with wide eyes. “Surely you don’t want to take the risk?”
As the music that accompanied the title credits to The Philadelphia Story started, the doorbell rang. On my way back from the kitchen, snack bowl in hand, I called, “I’ve got it,” into the living room, and shuffled to answer the front door. Probably the pizza.
I opened the door to Michael, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, a look of misery on his face.
“Hey.” I hadn’t heard a peep from him in two days, and I felt supremely awkward. I pulled my robe closed over my purple striped sleep pants and tank top, putting the bowl of popcorn between us. “Did you need something?”
He eyed my bunny slippers. “Just you. Can we talk? Please, Emerson?”
“Give me a few minutes,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
The small lobby was deserted except for Michael when I found him there ten minutes later. I’d exchanged my robe for a sweat jacket, brushed my teeth, and at the last second sprayed on some perfume.
I left my bunny slippers on. Just to be cheeky.
I led Michael to the patio on the side of the building. It shared the same street view as the restaurant patio, as well as the same type of wrought-iron fence. Sitting down across from him at a glass-topped table, I waited for him to speak.
“I was wrong.”
Not exactly what I expected.
“Noble of you to apologize,” I said, inwardly cringing at the sarcasm in my voice, even though in my experience it was always best to run the defensive.
Michael leaned back heavily in the chair. “Listen, if you don’t want to work with me, I can try to find someone else to help—”
“No. No, I want you.” The words were out before I could stop myself. Michael’s smile was so wide, it exposed a dimple in his left cheek that I hadn’t noticed before. “To work with me.”
“Good. I promise from now on to keep any feelings I might have to myself.”
Feelings? What kind of feelings?
“There was another reason I wanted to talk to you.” He hesitated, drawing a deep breath. “You said you wanted the truth, and I want to tell you everything I can. Seeing time ripples from the past is only part of your gift.”
Gift was a really subjective term.
“There’s more?” I asked.
“This is going to sound impossible. Just hang with me. You’ve seen people from the past. Have you ever seen anyone … from the future?”
o;Only if you can free me from this beast of a chair,” I said, wiggling as I tried to get some leverage. “What do you feed this thing? Customers?”
“Relax.” Lily let her hair fall around her shoulders and grinned at me. “I kind of like having a captive audience. How’s it going with Thomas and Dru?”
Since I wasn’t going anywhere without help, I took a sip of my espresso, sighing with pleasure. Rumor had it Murphy’s Law was the best place in the States besides Miami to get a Cubano, an espresso shot sweetened with sugar while brewed. “Better than I expected. They’re pregnant.”
“Pregnant? That’s great,” she said before tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at me. “Or is it?”
