Time Between Us
“When I’m here, we both have the lives we want—you have your daring adventure and I have my perfectly acceptable nothing. And more important, we have each other.”
“Now, there’s your postcard. I expect you to write this all down.” I slide him a new one and smile, but I’m only half kidding.
He continues as if I never interrupted. “I don’t think I can go back to a life without you.”
My face goes blank and I just stare at him. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying…I’m completely in love with you. And I guess I’m wondering…what if I didn’t leave, after all?”
The word that was just pressing against my chest minutes ago is now coming from his mouth, and even though I wanted so much to see it on paper, I guess I wasn’t prepared to hear it spoken out loud. He loves me. He wants to stay with me. I can’t completely process either idea, but I feel light-headed from all of the hope that’s surging through my veins. And I think I’m still staring at him.
“Is that okay with you?”
“Which one?”
He smiles. “Well…both, I guess.”
“Yeah.” I’m just sitting there, nodding, not sure how to say it back but knowing I want to. And instead of telling him how I feel, I take the easier route. “How long will you stay?”
“Through graduation?”
I think again about the words he said in the bookstore the night he first kissed me—I never stay—and now I’m pretty sure he can see the disbelief in my eyes. “I thought you couldn’t.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t think I could, but, well…I’ve been here this long.”
“What about Brooke?”
“When she finally gets home and I no longer have an excuse to be here, I’ll just tell everyone that Maggie needs me and I want to stay here with her. I’ll tell them all about you—”
“Come on, do you seriously think they’re going to be okay with this? Won’t they be furious?”
He shakes his head no but says, “Absolutely.” Then he breaks into a huge grin.
I feel my face light up as his words run in a loop in my head: I’m completely in love with you. What if I didn’t leave, after all? He wants to stay with me. “That’s a lot of Tuesday-night dinners,” I say. “Think you can take it?”
“That’s a lot of traveling,” he says. “Think you can take it?” and he leans across the rest of the postcards, pushes my cappuccino out of the way, and takes my face in his hands. Buried deep in his kiss is a new kind of promise for our future, but on the surface, all I can feel tickling and teasing every nerve ending is the intensity of what we have right here in the present.
We spend the rest of the day in the Cinque Terre.
And then we spend the night there.
I push a pin into the little town of Vernazza and stand back, enjoying the way the newest marker has bridged the gap between Southeast Asia and the state of Illinois.
Thanks to Bennett’s talent, I’ve made it home without my parents even realizing that I was gone overnight, and while I don’t know for certain what happened back here, I have a pretty good idea: I didn’t return to school. Or show up at the bookstore for work. Or come home for dinner. At some point, my parents may have become exhausted from worrying. Police may have been called. Neighbors could have walked the streets with flashlights. Posters might even have been printed and stapled to telephone poles. But twenty-two hours later, when Bennett returned me to the spot in front of his locker—the place where we had taken a brief hiatus from our fight to hold hands, close our eyes, and leave the hallway the day before—it turned out that less than a minute had passed, and no one was ever worried, because no one ever missed me.
Despite knowing how awful the undone day might have been for the people I love, I can’t bring myself to regret it. In those twenty-two hours, Bennett and I climbed the mountain steps to the trail that leads from Vernazza to Monterosso, the steepest of the trails connecting the five villages. It wound us through olive orchards and vineyards, challenged us with rough climbs and narrow pathways, and in the end, rewarded us with the most incredible views of both villages and of the Mediterranean.
We spent the afternoon in Monterosso, but when we tired of the tourists and longed for the more peaceful Vernazza, we chartered a small boat to take us back to where we had begun. As it sped through the blue water, jumping and bouncing over the waves, I reclined lazily against Bennett’s chest and smiled up at the clouds. Just before we reached the dock, he enfolded me in his arms, leaned forward, and whispered in my ear, “Spend the night with me.” Thinking back, I never even questioned my reply. And I certainly didn’t think about panicked phone calls and posters and police and neighborhood searches, even though I should have. Instead I stayed, selfishly wrapped in Bennett’s arms, and watched the Tuscan sun rise up over the bay from a tiny pensione tucked into the hillside.
A shrill series of wailing beeps fills the room, and before I can mentally process the action, my palm comes down hard on the top of the digital clock on my bedside table to buy myself another ten minutes. It isn’t until the guilt climbs in under the soft covers and snuggles up next to me that I finally give in, throw both feet on the floor with an audible thud, and mind-over-matter myself through the darkness, arms extended for safety, to the closet.
Ten minutes later, my music is throbbing in my ears as I take the customary turns, pass the man with the gray ponytail, and reach the spongy surface of the track. I run, lost in my thoughts and singing along with the chorus when a movement in the bleachers catches my eye. I look over and see Bennett sitting there on the metal bench—just like he was that first day, wearing the same black parka and the same little smile—and this time I don’t hesitate. I turn and run across the center of the grassy green field, waving at him as I approach. I take the cement steps two at a time. “See? You are stalking me,” I pant when I’m finally within earshot. “I knew it.”
He stands up, looks around the track, and steps down to meet me.
“Hi. I’d kiss you, but I’m all sweaty.” I stand next to him and lift the hem of my T-shirt up to wipe my forehead. “What are you doing here? And what’s with the jacket—it’s, like, sixty-five degrees out here already.”
“Oh, my God. You know me. Anna, you know me?”
“Yeah. Ummm…why wouldn’t I?”
He tightens his lips and presses his temples with his fingertips, and I start to realize that something’s not right.
“I’ve been trying to get back.” His voice is sharp, his eyes wide and panicked. “I haven’t been able to get back. What’s the date?”
“Tuesday. May…”—I think for a moment—“the sixteenth, I think.” I add what would be obvious to most people but may not be to him: “It’s 1995. Bennett, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, my God,” he says again under his breath, “I’m still here.” Then, to me, “I’m still here.”
He is, in fact, standing in front of me, so I nod. I take a step back and watch his face as he processes the information. “Anna, I’m so sorry. I’ve been trying to get back to you, ever since—”
It’s sinking in. “What? Ever since what?”
“Anna, listen to me. This is important. Brooke’s home. Tell him…er, me…that Brooke’s home. And tell me to show you—” But before he can say another word he’s gone.
“What?” I beg. “Show me what?” But I’m talking to empty space as I stand there wondering where and when he’d come from and what he’s supposed to show me. I search the bleachers, looking for him like he might still be there, but I know he’s not. When Bennett disappears, he’s gone.
I sprint down through the bleachers, through campus, and back into the street. Brooke’s home. Trees are blurring by and I’m stopping only for traffic lights, and I’m trying to block the vision of his fading against his will. My heart’s beating so fast it feels like it’s going to explode by the time I reach Maggie’s porch and knock hard on the door. I double over trying to catch my
breath while I wait for Bennett to answer.
“Anna.” Maggie’s clearly surprised to see me sweaty and flushed, and the tone of her voice as she says, “Good morning,” makes it clear she doesn’t think I should be here this early.
“Good morning, Maggie.” I pant. “I’m sorry. I know it’s early. Is Bennett here?”
She opens the door wide and invites me in. “I don’t think he’s left for campus yet. Go on up.”
“Thanks,” I say as I race past her, up the stairs, and down the hall to Bennett’s door. I knock and listen for movement, and when I don’t hear anything, I start to panic. He said he was trying to get back here. What if he’s already gone? But he opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of sweats, a headful of wet hair, and a smile. I take in a sharp breath. He’s still here.
I throw my arms around his neck, relieved to smell his shampoo and feel the warmth of his still damp skin. “Hey, what’s up?” he says brightly, but he seems to realize from the vise grip I still have on him that I’m here for a reason. “You okay?”
I back away. “Something’s wrong.”
He pulls me inside and closes the door behind him. I haven’t been here since we sat on his bed and I begged him to do a day over again. That was only a month ago, but it seems like years have passed since then.
“I saw you at the track, just like that time in March.”
“That again? I keep telling you, I was never—”
“Bennett. I just saw…another…you.” I’d planned to break the news a little more gently, but at least I have his full attention now. “You were at the track again, but this time I could talk to you, and you knew me. And you were shocked that I knew you too.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I nod, wide-eyed and absolutely certain. “What did I say? Exactly? What were the exact words I used?”
“You asked me the date, and when I told you, you were surprised. And you realized that you”—I reach out and rest my hand on his chest—“you were still here.” He stares at me, eyebrows knit, forehead tight with confusion. “You told me to tell you that Brooke’s home.”
“What?”
I nod. “That’s what you said.”
He looks at his watch like the time of day is going to help him puzzle this out. “She’s home?” he says, to no one in particular.
I nod. “There’s more.” I have his full attention again. “You said you’d been trying to get back here ‘ever since.’ And you told me to tell you to show me something, but you never told me what. You were in midsentence as you disappeared, like you couldn’t stop it from happening.” Like you were out of control, I want to say, but don’t.
He looks around the room, out the window, anywhere but at me. “Bennett, what’s going on?” I press my fists into my thighs hoping he’ll say something, anything, that will make me feel better.
“I don’t know.”
Dad is driving us home from track-and-field sectionals, where I got the top time in the 3200-meter and guaranteed myself a spot in the state finals, when Bennett pipes up from the backseat, “Will you drop me off at home on the way, Mr. Greene?” His voice is robotic, just as it has been since the full impact of my conversation with the other Bennett hit.
I don’t know what’s going on. I do know that Brooke is back home and he’s still here and there’s something he’s supposed to show me. I know that all week, he’s replied to my questions in monosyllables, with forced smiles, before disappearing into his thoughts again. He’s already blown me off twice this week to sit alone and think, and now I’m not even sure if we’re still going to the movies with Emma and Justin tonight.
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says without looking at me. I watch him get out of the car and disappear through Maggie’s front door.
At least now I know one thing.
The phone starts ringing the second I walk through the door, and I’ve barely even gotten the word Hello out when Emma’s voice booms through the receiver. “We’re going shopping. In the city. I’m picking you up in a half hour.”
I look down at my shoes and at the number still pinned to my chest. “Not today, Em. I just walked in the door from my meet.” And, besides, I want to add, I already have plans for today. I’ll be spending the afternoon trying to figure out how to get things with Bennett and me back to the way they were.
And on top of that, just the words the city and I’m picking you up leave me with horrible visions of Emma lying in a sterile room with cuts all over her face, and tubes and needles sticking out of her body like alien appendages. I can practically hear her pout over the phone line, but the mental image only strengthens my resolve. “I am not shopping, Emma.”
“Anna. Greene. The auction party is next weekend. What are you wearing?”
“I’m borrowing something from your closet. Like I do every year.”
She clicks her tongue like she can’t figure out how she got stuck with me for a best friend. “Well, then help me pick out my dress. I need something new and shiny and gorgeous.”
“I really don’t feel—”
“Come on,” she whines into the phone. “I need your advice.”
She doesn’t, but I look at the clock and sigh.
“Thank you!” she blurts out. “I’ll give you forty-five minutes to get ready!” She barely gets the last word out before clicking off.
“I take it you’re going shopping with Emma,” Dad says, and I flip around. I didn’t realize he was standing there.
“Apparently so.”
“Well,” he says as he pulls out his wallet and offers me his credit card, “here. Now you don’t need to borrow a dress.”
We drive into the city—Emma chatting away, me silent and white-knuckled because of my grip on the door handle—and spend the sunny Saturday shopping on Michigan Avenue. Emma picks out a graceful dark orange gown for the auction party that looks beautiful against her olive skin. I pick out a black sheath that’s much simpler, and much more me than anything Emma owns. As I turn around in the three-way mirror, I picture Bennett leading me past students with their dates, staff members and their spouses, moms and dads, as we round the skydeck on the ninety-ninth floor of the Sears Tower, and my chest constricts with the thought I don’t want to have: What if he isn’t here next Saturday?
I realize he’ll need to go home eventually, but that he’ll come back and stay through graduation. Won’t he? I want to believe the words he said in Vernazza two weeks ago—What if I didn’t leave after all—but they keep fighting with the words I heard at the track five days ago—I’ve been trying to get back to you ever since.
Two more shopping bags and four hours later, Emma decides we need to return home immediately, before she spends another penny. As we’re walking to the car, she has an idea.
“Oh, Anna!” I jump as her squeal echoes through the parking structure. “Come home with me, and I’ll get you ready for our dates tonight! I’ll put together an outfit and do your hair and makeup! Come on! It’ll be fun!”
Fun? I’ve been her project before, and I wouldn’t use that word to describe the experience.
When we’re settled in the Saab, bags in the trunk, music on the stereo, Emma turns to me and says, “I know the perfect outfit!”
Emma and I spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready. She dresses and undresses me, pokes and belts me, tugs and brushes me. And finally she throws her arms up in the air, declares her work complete, and turns me around by the shoulders so I can stare into her full-length bedroom mirror.
“Ta-da!” she yells as I stare. Okay, I have to admit that I look pretty good. She’s piled my dark curls up with a clip and pulled some of them down at the sides so they are wispy around my face. The makeup feels thick on my skin, but she’s done a great job with the colors, and I don’t look like a clown. I glance down at my feet—I’m practically on tiptoe, thanks to the chunky heels—and back up past the black tights to the clingy little skirt. The tight cotton shirt is a lot more low-cut than what I’m used to,
and I cross my arms over my chest like I need to cover something.
“Stop that.” She forces my arms to my sides and holds them there. “You look stunning.”
I sigh, but relax my arms. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She walks over to the window and looks outside. “Where are those guys? They’re twenty minutes late.”
As I stand there, staring at my reflection, my heart starts racing. What if he’s not coming? What if he’s already gone?
“Stunning!” Emma says again. “Oooohh. And guess who is about to tell you the same thing.” I rush to join her at the window, pressing my face against the glass, and watch as Bennett and Justin get out of the car and walk up to the front door. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Awww…just look at them. Our boys are awfully cute.” Emma blows an air kiss down in Justin’s general direction, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the stairs. “Come on.”
She races down to the front door like she’s about to burst with excitement, and as she opens it to greet the guys, her accent is even thicker than usual. I can’t help smiling at her. Or maybe I’m smiling because the guys really are cute. Or maybe it’s that even though I’m dressed in high heels, a skirt far shorter than anything my mom would ever approve of, and more eyeliner than Marilyn Manson, there’s something about this moment that feels more normal than anything I’ve felt all week.
Bennett must feel it too, because when he sees me, he launches right into compliments and pulls me into a big hug that signals that he’s here—really here—and for the first time since we found out that Brooke was home, it feels like I’m all that matters to him and there isn’t someplace more important he’s supposed to be.