Hourglass

  After a shower, I borrowed Dru’s laptop, taking it to the cushy chair in my room to settle in, enjoying the rich scent of the buttery leather. I got cozy—good thing—since I searched for an hour before I found what I was looking for. Just when I was about to give up, I came across a blurb in the Bennett Review about a scholarship funded by the founder of the Hourglass, Liam Ballard. I searched his name.

  Jackpot.

  I uncurled myself from the corner of the chair, placing the computer on my ottoman and leaning over so I could better focus on the screen. When I clicked on the first article, a huge picture of a completely devastated building popped up below the caption: No Answers in Laboratory Fire.

  The story questioned the death of Liam Ballard, a scientist who was killed when his private lab was destroyed by a fire. No traces of any combustible materials were found, nor were any accelerants. The building had just passed a fire inspection. His home and several outbuildings, also located on the property, were not damaged. No one else was injured.

  My skin prickled as I continued reading. After a lengthy investigation by authorities, the case was closed due to lack of evidence. There was no logical explanation for the fire.

  A knock sounded at the front door, and I practically jumped out of my skin.

  I exited to the search results page and hurried to answer, stopping for a quick check in the mirror. Opening the door, I found Michael, looking sheepish and holding a bouquet of fragrant zinnias.

  “An apology,” he said, holding out the flowers. “You will explain how you did that. Soon.”

  I reached out to take the flowers, and our fingers touched. Electricity sizzled, and I pulled away quickly.

  “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” I gave him a look, before spinning on my heel and walking toward the kitchen. I was glad he couldn’t see my face—I knew I was blushing. Since my back was to him anyway, I stuck my nose in the bouquet and inhaled the sweet fragrance, creating a scent memory.

  I’d never gotten flowers from a boy before.

  “This place is amazing,” he said. Directly behind me, his footsteps echoed off the hardwood floor.

  “Thanks. Dru is an excellent decorator. She loves to have a project. And now she and Thomas have a new one.” I made a hand motion indicating a bun in the oven before taking a crystal vase from a shelf and placing it in the sink to fill it with water, grateful I could concentrate on a task.

  “Tell them I said congratulations.” He leaned back against the counter beside the sink, watching me. “That’s amazing news, especially for two people who seem to be as in love as they are.”

  “They’re lucky they found each other,” I said, looking up at him.

  “Yes, they are.” Focused on each other, the only sound in the room was the water flowing from the running faucet.

  I broke the stare, shifting my attention back to the vase before it overflowed. “I’m supposed to tell you that you can take loft number two. But it doesn’t come cheap. I hope helping little old me pays well.”

  “For you, I’d work pro bono.”

  “For me?” I bit my lip, turning off the water before looking up at him again.

  “You’re special.”

  “That all depends on your definition of special.”

  His answering smile was slow and deliberate. I stared at his mouth for a few brief seconds before giving myself a mental pinch and shoving the flowers haphazardly into the vase. “Thanks again. Zinnias are my favorite,” I said, after clearing my throat.

  Twice.

  “I’m glad you like them,” he said, his smile growing softer. “They made me think of you.”

  More staring at his mouth.

  Geez a lou.

  I scooped up the flowers, and he followed me to my room, taking a seat in my recently vacated chair. I’d just finished clearing a space on my dresser when he spoke my name.

  “Emerson?”

  “Yes,” I answered absentmindedly, concentrating on arranging the fragrant blossoms so that the taller ones were in the back.

  “Why were you doing a search on Liam Ballard?”

  The tone of his voice sent chills up my spine. I stopped fiddling and answered cautiously, watching him through the mirror. “Because he’s the founder of the Hourglass?”

  Maybe I caused some kind of brain damage when I flipped him over my shoulder. His expression changed, moving from concern to anger in the split second the word Hourglass was uttered.

  “Michael?” I turned around. He was just as frightening face-to-face as he was in the reflection, his brown eyes almost black, his full lips flattened into a thin line. “What—”

  He interrupted me. “How did you find Liam’s name?”

  “It came up in an article about the Hourglass and Bennett alum—”

  “What else did you find when you searched him?” The question sounded more like an accusation, his tone stone cold. I didn’t know this Michael.

  I didn’t like this Michael.

  “That he”—I paused, forcing my voice to stay level—“that he died in a fire.”

  He stood and crossed the room in a few long strides. I took an uncertain step back, my spine bumping uncomfortably against the dresser.

  Speaking each word distinctly, he leaned over and looked into my eyes. “You need to mind your own business.”

  I swallowed the baseball-sized lump in my throat. “Why does that sound like a threat?”

  “It’s a warning,” he said, placing his hands on the dresser. His forearms bumped against my shoulders. I was glad I was wearing a T-shirt instead of a tank top. I didn’t think his bare skin touching mine would be helpful in a situation like this. “Forget Liam Ballard.”

  “Why?” I asked breathlessly, feeling caged in, trapped by his stare as much as his arms.

  “Just do,” he answered, authoritative and dismissive, his voice as hard as steel. “I’ll handle the Hourglass. Trust me.”

  “Sorry, boss,” I said, making the jump from scared to angry. “I don’t generally believe people who have to tell me to trust them.”

  “You need to this time.”

  Michael held still, his face close to mine. Gold flecks mixed with the dark brown of his eyes. His skin was flawless, smooth, with just a hint of stubble I wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t a whisper away. It could have been a lovely position, if I wasn’t so mad I was vibrating.

  “Emerson?” The question sounded more like a plea.

  “Fine,” I snapped, making my decision. “Now back up.”

  He pulled away from me, his eyes searching my face. I wondered if he could see my pulse pounding in my throat. I could feel it. I needed to think, and when he was close to me, thinking was impossible.

  “Please don’t misunderstand … I’m only trying to …” With his fingertips still on the edge of the dresser, he closed his eyes, struggling with his words.

  Seeing an escape, I ducked under his arm. There were some advantages to being short. “Trying to what? Scare me? Piss me off?”

  “I didn’t mean to do either of those things.” He pushed away from the dresser to face me. “I’m so—”

  “Stop.” I cut him off before he could say anything else. “Whether you meant to or not, you did. And now you should probably go.”

  I didn’t want to hear an apology. I just wanted him out.

  Our eyes met again, and unspoken words hung in the atmosphere. His face was a strange mix of emotions—the set of his mouth angry, his expression regretful.

  “Was there something else?” I asked, and then held my breath. He shook his head and left my bedroom without saying another word.

  The front door to the loft opened and closed before I exhaled.

  Chapter 11

  Michael moved in the next day.

  I could hear him shuffling things around next door. The walls of the building were well insulated, but the weather was crisp and sunny, and we had both opened our windows. The loft Dru gave him shared a bedroom wall with mine.

&
nbsp; Magnificent. I could already imagine trying to sleep knowing he was practically lying beside me. Even though he’d made me furious yesterday, I couldn’t deny that the attraction still existed.

  I was an idiot.

  The sound of John Lee Hooker and his guitar floated from Michael’s room through my window. So much in common—I loved the blues, too. I sat on my bed to listen to the music, watching the shifting shadows cast on my floor by the leaves from the oak outside my window. It was a beautiful afternoon, perfect for hanging out at the lake and grabbing the last bit of warmth before the weather turned cold. If you were a normal teenager. Since I’d left normal behind a lifetime ago, I stayed at home, trapped with my thoughts.

  Even though I promised Michael to mind my own business, I was tempted to resume my Internet search on the Hourglass. Liam Ballard died under mysterious circumstances, and Michael didn’t want me asking questions. Why? What was he hiding?

  I looked at Dru’s laptop, still on the ottoman, mocking me. Would I break my promise if I touched the power button and looked at what popped up on the screen?

  I reached toward the computer, and Jack appeared in front of me. I almost yelped in surprise, but the open window and the thought of Michael possibly hearing stopped me. Since I was alone, and lonely, I figured a conversation with a dead guy wouldn’t be a horrible way to pass the afternoon.

  “Hello.” His voice still sounded smooth, cultured.

  “What’s up?”

  “What’s … up?” Jack asked.

  “Never mind,” I said as I walked to the window to slide it shut. I leaned back and rested my bottom against the sill. “I meant, how are you?”

  “Better than you appear to be.”

  “Yes,” I sighed deeply, “but don’t feel too good about it. Better than me is not a hard thing to accomplish.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe that at all.” Jack folded his hands together behind his back. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” I asked. I held out my arms and looked from my feet to the tips of my fingers.

  He pulled his head back in dismay before he erupted into warm, contagious laughter. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing with him.

  “Your size makes you seem delicate, like a spiderweb. But the wise fly knows that delicate can also be strong.”

  I was suddenly very aware that even if he wasn’t alive, he was a man, and he was in my bedroom. And he’d just paid me the best compliment I’d ever received.

  “So”—I paused and made a conscious effort to lower the pitch of my voice—“is there a reason for your visit?”

  Jack shrugged. “I wanted to take advantage of human companionship while I had it, unless, of course, you find my presence intrusive?”

  Weighing his words, I tried to decide if it did feel intrusive. If he were alive, he would probably fall into the creepy-stalker category. Since he was a rip, did that make him more guardian angel?

  “No, it’s all good.” I walked back to sit on the edge of the bed, not trusting my knees. Jack was a grown man. Who happened to be dead. I needed to pull it together.

  “To have gone for so long without anyone to talk to,” Jack said in a voice so sweet it would turn vinegar to sugar, “how lucky am I that my first conversation is with someone like you?”

  Not an angel.

  I fought the urge to fan myself.

  “Um … thank you?”

  “You’re welcome.” He fingered the chain on his pocket watch, the upward pull of his suppressed smile barely noticeable.

  I couldn’t even manage a normal social exchange with a dead guy.

  “Em?” Dru knocked on my door.

  Feeling like I’d been caught doing something naughty, I jumped up from the bed. “Yes?”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “No one, just … oomph—” I backed away from Jack and managed to trip over my ottoman in the process. “I was reading out loud.”

  “Open the door. I want to show you the baby bedding I bought.”

  “Sure, just a sec.” Staring at the doorknob, I realized I hadn’t locked it. It didn’t really matter if Dru came in or not because she wouldn’t be able to see Jack. But the thought of trying to have a conversation with her while he stood next to me … no way.

  I scrambled to my feet and turned to tell him he needed to disappear.

  He was already gone.

  In addition to bedding, Dru purchased possibly every article of gender-neutral baby clothing in the entire town of Ivy Springs. She sorted it into groups on the four-poster king-sized bed she shared with my brother, and the cream lace coverlet was completely hidden underneath the piles.

  “Emerson, I wanted to apologize,” Dru said, folding up a tiny T-shirt imprinted with the words SPIT HAPPENS.

  “For what?”

  “Running you off when Thomas and I, uh, celebrated our pregnancy news.” Her face turned the same tomato red as the bedroom walls. Mine grew hot, and probably the same color as hers. I welcomed the cool breeze flowing through the open window and stirring the pale window sheers. Dru cleared her throat and continued. “We could’ve been a little more discreet.”

  “It’s okay,” I mumbled, ducking my head and kneeling to retrieve a tiny sock that had escaped to the hardwood floor.

  “No, it isn’t. This is your home, and you should feel comfortable in it.”

  “I do.” I smiled up at her. “You and Thomas are going to be wonderful parents. And I know how long you’ve … wanted a baby.”

  Dru rubbed her midsection as tears formed in her eyes. I stood and focused intently on finding the mate for the sock in the pile of clothes on the bed. According to Thomas, they’d started talking about babies on their honeymoon. It was never openly discussed, but I knew the past few years had been filled with disappointment.

  “You know,” she said softly, her voice trembling, “we decided we’re going to name the baby after your mom or dad. Clarissa if it’s a girl, Sean if it’s a boy.”

  I would not cry. I just wouldn’t. “I know they’d love that,” I whispered. “I mean, I know they would’ve loved that.”

  “So, it’s okay with you?” Dru asked, removing her hand from her stomach and picking up a chenille blanket.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Dru fiddled with the blanket’s fringe, twisting and untwisting. “You’ll have children one day. I didn’t know if maybe, you’d want to …”

  “Me? No way,” I said, trying to laugh it off, failing. The only way I’d ever experience children would be vicariously, as the spinster aunt living in a tiny house with thirty cats. And possibly some dead people. The muscles in my face wouldn’t cooperate with the smile I tried to force. “I don’t think I’ll ever get married, much less have children. Whether I want to or not. That’s all so … normal. I’m not.”

  She put down the blanket and reached out to take my hand and give it a comforting squeeze. “Thomas told me you’re seeing them again.”

  “Bad news travels fast.” My stomach dropped all the way down to my shoes. I pulled my hand away and turned back to the bed to continue sorting through the tiny clothes, searching blindly for the elusive sock with the yellow chick on it.

  “Maybe it’s not bad news. Maybe it’s serendipitous, perfect timing. Thomas really seems to think Michael will be able to help you.”

  “Or he could end up being as bad as all the rest of them.” Or worse. Because from our first conversation I’d hoped for so much more from him, and now I didn’t know what to think. “How did you two find him anyway?”

  She shrugged and took more clothes out of a paper shopping bag. “You’d have to ask your brother about that. And don’t change the subject.”

  “What subject?”

  “The subject of your future. Your happiness.” She wadded up the bag, fiercely crunching the brown paper, and threw it to the ground. “You’re one of the most compassionate, generous people I’ve ever met, which means if you w
ant to be, you’ll make an excellent mother. You have so much to offer. Don’t sell yourself short and hide in a hole instead of living your life!”

  I froze, waiting for the flying pigs to descend. Dru never yelled.

  “I’m sorry.” Her hand flew to her mouth. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I—I, just, thank you. For everything.” I paused, pressing my lips together, blinking furiously. “That’s how I know what a phenomenal mom you’re going to be. Because you’ve been one to me. So thank you.”

  This time the tears spilled over. I grabbed the spit happens shirt and held it across my chest. “I don’t think this will fit. Didn’t they have bigger sizes?” I got the laugh I was hoping for and took the opportunity to change the subject. “Looks like the bags are empty. Are all baby items deemed acceptable?”

  She nodded, brushing the wetness briskly from her cheeks, getting back to the business at hand. “Will you help me take the tags off everything so I can wash it all?”

  “No problem. I had no idea babies needed their own detergent.” I handed Dru the pink plastic bottle with the picture of a sleeping infant on it.

  “Me neither.” She laughed. “We have a lot to learn. Isn’t it exciting?”

  It was.

  When we were finished, a pile of tags and tiny plastic hangers covered the floor, so I stuffed it all into an empty shopping bag and took it down to the Dumpster. Dusting off my hands, I headed up the metal stairs and ran smack into Michael’s chest, losing my balance.

  He reached out to grab my shoulders, stopping me before I fell. I pulled away quickly. Now wasn’t the time to be reminded of our crazy physical connection.

  “Hey,” he said, his focus shifting from my face to the ground as he hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans.

  I crossed my arms and stepped around him to continue up the stairs, irritated that he’d spoiled my good mood.

  “Wait, Emerson.” I heard his feet hit two steps behind me before I turned and leaned back against the metal railing. We were practically eye to eye.

  “What?” I drew it out, trying to sound bored, but my voice trembled at the end of the question.