Philip’s room at Palais de la Mer, decorated in the Empire style, had a similar feel to his New York bedroom. The room was painted a deep blue, with dark wood furniture and a frescoed ceiling. The sight of black-and-white photographs of him with friends and family, framed throughout the room, brought a lump to Michele’s throat. If only he was really here with her in 2010, rather than a figure of the past.
“The Walker family had more than its share of losses,” Judy said somberly, “and the greatest tragedy in the family centered on the occupant of this room, Philip Walker.”
Michele’s head snapped up in shock. Caissie looked at her anxiously as Judy continued.
“In the year 1927, at the age of thirty-five, Philip Walker was declared dead.”
Michele choked back a scream. The room swayed around her, and she felt like she was going to be sick. Caissie grabbed her hand to steady her.
“His body was never found, and the location of his remains is still a mystery to this day,” Judy said. “However, a cryptic journal entry written the night before his disappearance caused the police to rule his death a suicide.”
Michele slowly backed away toward the wall and leaned against the cold wood as she tried to fight the nausea enveloping her. This couldn’t be happening. It was just a nightmare she was going to wake up from. Her vibrant, beautiful, determined, and brilliant Philip could never have killed himself. Never.
“What did the journal entry say?” Amy Van Alen called out curiously.
“It was widely copied in newspapers at the time, and I actually have a section of it here to read to you.” Judy looked down at her clipboard and began to read. “ ‘Sixteen long years of unbearable waiting. I can’t do it anymore. She was supposed to return—she always did—and now I see the cruelty in this helpless waiting, living at the mercy of Time. Dragging through the days, I ask myself why I bother when I know that the one place I can find her isn’t here on earth. That’s it—that’s enough of this—I’m done.’ ”
For a moment a hush came over the class. Michele felt herself sliding against the wall, her vision momentarily failing her, as she grappled with the sickening discovery. Something happened and I couldn’t get back to him, I couldn’t get back for sixteen whole years! He thought I abandoned him and he died because of me—it’s all my fault. He was supposed to be a great musician, live a long life. What happened, what have I done?
“Philip’s adult life was a sad one,” Judy remarked. “Society columns from the Gilded Age described him as the popular life of the party in his youth, with everything going for him. But as he grew up, he became more and more withdrawn, and despite the countless eligible women vying for his attentions, he always said he was already spoken for. But no one ever saw the girl, and whoever she was—if she was even real—it seems she led to the end of his life. Now then, on to happier topics …”
As Judy led the class out of Philip’s room, Michele and Caissie hung back, looking at each other in horror.
“I killed him … didn’t I?” Michele whispered to Caissie. “How could a love so perfect, so right, turn out like this?”
Caissie just stared at her. “I … I don’t know.”
“I don’t understand what happened. Why couldn’t I get back to him?” Michele covered her face with her hands, her throat thick with sobs. “He was supposed to do so much. He was going to change the world with his music.”
“You really love him, don’t you, Michele?” Caissie asked.
“Of course I do!” Michele cried.
“Then … you know what you have to do.”
Michele nodded, but she couldn’t speak.
“You have to let him go,” Caissie said quietly. “That’s the only way. You have to … to somehow explain all this and end it with him, early enough so he still has a chance to move on. If you do that … well, maybe then you can change the past, maybe you can save him.”
“Do you mind leaving me here for a little bit?” Michele asked numbly. “I just need to be alone.”
“Okay.” Caissie gave Michele a hug before leaving the room.
Michele felt herself sink to the floor. She knew that Caissie was right, but the reality of it was cripplingly painful. How could she give up the only person in her life that she truly cared about, the one person alive who really loved her? Now there would be no more happy distractions, no one to make things better when her grief for her mom became too much to bear. If I do this, I’ll be more alone than ever, Michele thought. And how could she ever stand to break his heart, to leave him when she knew how much he loved her?
“I can’t do it,” Michele whispered. She wanted to get up, to leave this room, but something kept her stuck in place. She kept turning over and around in her mind what Judy had revealed—the terrible fate that had befallen Philip, all because of Michele.
I can’t let that happen to him, Michele thought urgently. Love means putting the other person first, and that’s what I have to do. I can’t let him torture himself waiting for me for years on end. I can’t let him give up his dreams and his life. I have to get him to move on. I have to save him. No matter how much I’ll miss him, as long as I know he survived, then I’ll be okay.
She clutched her key necklace and closed her eyes. “Please take me back to Philip. I need to say goodbye.”
“Phil! The boat arrived!” a young, exuberant voice called out.
Michele’s eyes snapped open, and she sprang up. A little boy of about ten, dressed in a sailor suit, dashed into the room and frowned in disappointment when he saw that Philip wasn’t there. And of course, he didn’t see Michele steadying herself and catching her breath.
Michele followed the boy out of Philip’s room and was once again transplanted into a tableau of Gilded Age life. The Walkers’ Newport home was glitteringly new, with costumed footmen marching importantly throughout, following their master’s orders and seeing to the perfection of the house.
A man in his forties reached the top of the staircase, his arm around a teenage boy with thick dark hair and the most beautiful blue eyes—
Oh, God. It was Philip. Only—had she come to the right time? This Philip definitely looked younger.…
“Phil, the new boat is here, it’s here!” the little boy cried, jumping up and down.
The man with Philip ruffled the little boy’s hair and chuckled. “See that, Philip? Your cousin just might be more anxious than I am to show you the new Walker vessel. Didn’t I tell you it was the finest?”
Philip grinned. “You sure did, Father.”
Father? Michele was stunned. What year had she gone to? She raced back into Philip’s room and rifled through the contents on his desk until she found a calendar, which was opened to the month of July … 1907.
Michele stared at the calendar in shock. How could she have ended up in 1907, a time when Philip’s father was still alive and Philip didn’t even know her? He couldn’t know her. It would alter their whole relationship if he saw her now, too soon. What if it ruined everything? She had to get out of there and get back to her own time.
As Michele was hurrying out the door, she smacked right into someone. “Ouch!” she yelped, rubbing her bruised forehead.
She heard a sharp intake of breath, and she looked up. That was when she saw that she was in Philip’s arms. He was holding her upright, staring at her in astonishment.
“Who are you?” he breathed. “Where did you come from?”
“I—I can’t tell you now,” Michele stammered. “I have to go.”
“Please, don’t go,” Philip protested. “Just tell me your name.”
But Michele turned around and broke into a run down the stairs. They weren’t supposed to meet for another three years!
She heard footsteps behind her as she ran, and a hand closed on her wrist—but then it suddenly lost its grasp on her, and Michele let out a startled cry as she saw that she was literally running through time. The stairs above her and the landing were those of 1907, with fifteen-year-old Philip looki
ng desperately at her, while the stairs below her and the ground floor were from 2010. Caissie was waiting at the bottom of the staircase, watching her worriedly.
“What happened?” she asked, when Michele reached the last step.
“I’ll tell you later. I need to get out of here,” Michele replied breathlessly. “Can you tell Mr. Lewis I got sick and needed to go back to the hotel?”
Caissie nodded anxiously. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay alone?”
“Yeah, I just need to get out of here.”
Michele ran out of the Walker house as the memory of her first meeting with Philip flooded back to her: “It was you—you were the girl I saw at my summer cottage three years ago.…”
So Philip had been right. He really had seen her years before the ball.
On the way back to New York the following night, Michele sat rigidly in her seat, her body cold. It was unthinkable how much circumstances had changed since her last train trip two days earlier. Then she had been consumed with the excitement of being in love; now she was practically numb with pain over the task that she knew awaited her back in New York.
She had done everything she could to put the impending breakup with Philip out of her mind during the rest of the school trip, knowing that the only way she could get through the weekend was to give herself a major dose of denial. But now that they were heading home, Caissie asleep in the seat next to her, Michele allowed herself to drop the act. She thought of Clara’s mother, Alanna. Was this how Alanna had felt when she’d had to leave George Windsor? Michele felt a fresh wave of longing for her mom. How could she not be there when Michele needed her most?
When they reached Penn Station, Caissie and Michele caught a cab home together. Michele followed Caissie into her apartment building, her face white as a ghost. Once the girls were in Caissie’s room, Caissie knowingly offered to give Michele some time alone. “I’m going to go … catch up with my dad, fill him in on the trip. I’ll let your grandmother know that you’re spending the night. You know, in case you need to be … there awhile.”
“Thanks.” Michele swallowed hard.
Caissie gave her a warm hug. “Good luck. You’re doing the right thing.”
The second she was alone, Michele pulled Philip’s card out of her bag. She kept it with her all the time. Closing her eyes and holding on tight to her key necklace, she willed Time to return her to him.
In mere moments, Caissie’s room transformed before Michele’s eyes, taking on dozens of different incarnations, until she found herself in Philip’s bedroom. He was sitting at his desk, and he jumped out of his seat when he saw her appear.
“Michele!” He whirled her around and kissed her tenderly. “I’ve missed you.”
Michele kissed him back, and it felt so good that the thought of never kissing him again, never being with him again, brought tears to her eyes. She broke away from him.
“Michele, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Philip grasped her hands, looking at her worriedly.
“Philip, I have to tell you something and it’s really … really hard for me.”
Philip let go of her and sank into the nearest chair, possibly fearing the words to come.
“I have to say goodbye,” Michele said, her stomach churning. “I love you, but … I have to stay in my own time, and you in yours.”
The color drained from Philip’s face. “No. You don’t mean that, we can’t do that. We belong together.”
“But we can never actually be together,” Michele said, her voice tight with agony. “I can’t fully exist in your time, and you can’t get to mine. And in the end, that will only ruin us.”
Philip just stared at her, shaking his head.
Michele’s tears were now falling freely. “I love you, but I can’t be with you anymore. Please try to understand what I’m about to say. I’ve discovered that … that something is going to happen. I don’t know what or why, but I won’t be able to travel to you anymore, at least not for … for many years. And you’re too good, you have too much life in you to throw it away on waiting for me.” She realized she was babbling through her tears now, but she couldn’t stop. She had to make him understand. “I can’t live with myself knowing that your life ends because of me. I live in the future, so I’ve seen how this will go wrong if it continues. I need you to move on. Please … do it for me.”
“But … how will I ever bear it?” Philip asked, his voice breaking.
“How will I?” Michele cried. “All I know is that … even when we’re not together, I’ll still love you and think of you every day. And the one thing that will get me through is knowing that you lived a long and happy life, that you were able to achieve your dreams and touch people with your music. I can’t let our relationship stop you from having the life you were meant to have. Please promise me that you’ll move on, pursue your music, and not let anything bring you down.”
Philip was silent a long moment, blinking back tears. “I promise,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For you.”
As Michele gazed at him, she realized that she was shaking. He wrapped his arms around her, and she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed her back with a new urgency, and as their kisses grew more and more heated, he pulled her onto the bed with him. And for a while, in each other’s arms, they managed to forget about goodbyes.
She was asleep in his arms, her head nestled on his shoulder. Even with the terrible knowledge that this was their last night together, she managed to find comfort and peace in being this close to him. And then, without any warning, she wasn’t anymore.
“Michele?”
At Caissie’s voice, Michele blinked and looked up—as 1910 vanished. She was lying on Caissie’s bedroom floor, with no arms holding her. When Michele saw that Philip was really gone, a wave of fresh tears came over her. Caissie helped her up off the floor and comforted Michele as she cried.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” she offered anxiously. “We can rent a really distracting movie, or …?”
“Thanks,” Michele replied, wiping her eyes. “But I feel so sick—I think I should just go home and go to bed.”
“Okay. You’re going to be all right. I know it.” Caissie gave her a tight hug. “Call me if you need anything.”
On the short walk from Caissie’s apartment to the Windsor Mansion, Michele was unable to stop her tears. She knew she had done the right thing for Philip, but how was she ever going to get through the days, months, and years ahead without him? Their love had saved her after her mom died. What was going to save her now? And now that she had found the kind of real, true love that everyone dreamed about but hardly dared to hope for, how could she ever even contemplate being with someone else? I can’t, Michele thought. There’s no one else I can marry, or even date. Philip was the one. And now I’m condemned to a lifetime of missing him. God, if only Mom were here.
And suddenly, Michele realized something: these were the exact feelings her mom must have suffered when Henry had disappeared. This was what Marion had lived with every day for nearly seventeen years. The one and only person who could ever understand what Michele was going through was gone too. And now Michele cried for all of them, her parents and Philip. By the time she walked into the mansion, she was a wreck.
Dorothy was in the Grand Hall talking to Annaleigh when Michele walked in, but they both stopped short when they saw her.
“Michele, what happened?” Annaleigh cried.
In an uncharacteristic move, Dorothy ran to Michele and wrapped a protective arm around her. “Annaleigh, I should talk to my granddaughter in private.”
“Of course.” Annaleigh nodded and left the room. When they were alone, Dorothy asked Michele, “What happened, dear? I thought you were spending the night at Caissie’s. Did you two get in a fight?”
“No,” Michele managed to choke out.
Dorothy was silent a moment and then she said, “Are you missing your mother?”
br /> At this point Michele was crying so hard she couldn’t even speak. Dorothy pulled her into a hug, their first embrace since Michele had arrived. Michele leaned her head on her grandmother’s shoulder as Dorothy stroked her hair, murmuring soothingly.
“Why don’t you change into your most comfortable pajamas and get cozy in bed? I’ll bring you up some chamomile tea,” she said kindly.
Michele nodded and went dazedly up to her room, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed. Dorothy came in a few moments later with a mug of warm tea for Michele. For a moment Michele was surprised she had shown up. Dorothy had never visited Michele in her room before, and it was out of character for her to be taking care of Michele like this. But now her grandmother was here, tucking her in and stroking her hair until she finally fell asleep.
The next morning, Michele woke up feeling like she had been run over by a truck. Her whole body ached, there was a painful lump in her throat, her eyes were swollen, and her stomach was so queasy that she couldn’t imagine eating anytime in the near future. But if I saved Philip, then it’s worth it, Michele reminded herself. Desperate to find out if it had worked, she hurried to her desk, ignoring the waves of dizziness she felt upon getting out of bed.
Her hands trembling, she went online and typed Philip James Walker into Google. As she frantically scanned the links popping up on the screen, she knew right away that something was wrong. None of these articles, none of these links had to do with her Philip. None of these people were her Philip. And if he had made a name for himself in music … wouldn’t he be among the top searches? And even if not, if he had lived a long and fruitful life, wouldn’t being part of the prominent Walker family garner him a listing on Wikipedia or some other online encyclopedia? But so far, nothing. By the time she had reached page twelve of the search results, Michele buried her head in her hands in defeat. How could she have peace of mind now, not knowing whether she had stopped his tragic end? What had happened to him?
Michele jumped out of her desk chair and hurried to her dressing room to throw on some clothes. School was just about the last thing she could handle right now—but she had to talk to Caissie, and it couldn’t wait.