Timepiece (Hourglass #2)

Timepiece (Hourglass #2) Page 10

Even though I could sense emotions, I didn’t always know the cause of them. When someone was angry, it could be directed at me, something I did, or it could be because the Yankees won. If someone was afraid, it could be because of a social situation or because they were awaiting the result of a medical test. I hated never being sure.

Like with Em right now. I didn’t understand why I felt fear from her, especially fear wrapped up in guilt.

“Why can’t you talk about it?” I asked.

She dug at the concrete with the toe of her sneaker. “It would mean betraying a confidence. Not that I don’t trust you … it’s just … I can’t.”

I picked a piece of candy out for myself. “But Michael knows?”

Em hesitated for a brief second before answering. “Well, I had to tell him.”

“Sure you did.” Putting the cauldron back in its chair, I smiled thinly at her, turned on my heel, and walked away.

“Kaleb, wait!”

I’d just crossed the square, weaving through craft booths bursting with canned vegetables and jars of jam, as well as homemade candles and really creepy-looking dolls, when Emerson caught up to me in front of the Ivy Springs Cinema.

She grabbed my arm. “Please.”

Her face was so vulnerable, just like it had been the second before Poe had cut her throat open. The memory of her bleeding and broken on the ground made me soften. “What?”

“Michael’s known about this particular situation for a while…. I’m not trying to hide anything from you on purpose. But I promised to keep a confidence and I can’t break it.”

Her raw honesty almost leveled me. This girl wouldn’t know betrayal if it punched her in the face. “You’re excellent at keeping your word. Aren’t you?”

Her hand was still on my arm. “I’ve never told him how you took the pain from me when we thought he was … dead.”

“You mean how I tried to take it.” I’d been completely willing to carry her grief for her, but she’d stopped me.

“What happened was between us,” she said. “And it’s not like it was a betrayal.”

I knew part of her felt it was. Taking emotion from someone was intensely personal. It created a strong bond. And with Emerson, it was a bond I didn’t want to break, even though I knew I had to.

“You can tell him. I want you to. It was your pain, your business,” I argued, when she started to disagree. “It’s your place to share that, not mine.”

“Only if you promise to talk to him about it after I do.”

I nodded. She’d tell him how it connected us. I’d have to promise to disconnect it.

“Soon. And you need to talk to your dad, too. After the way you argued with him today—he just wants what’s best for everyone.”

“I’m not ready to talk to my dad.” I stared at the line of movie posters on the brick wall in front of the theater. They must have been running a revival of some sort, because all of the posters advertised black-and-white films, with the exception of Gone with the Wind.

“He loves you. He’s proud to have you as his son. His only son.”

“Yeah.” He loved me. But he trusted Michael. Everyone did. The last thing I wanted to do was to get into that with Emerson.

A faint breeze brought the smell of caramel corn and cider. It sent Em’s hair flying, and she tucked it behind her ears. “Also, about Lily—”

“Oh no.” I shook my head. “You don’t get to yell at me now. Lily already took care of the shaming portion of the day. I won’t bother her again, swear.”

Em laughed. “I’m not worried about you bothering her. If you do, you’re the one who’ll be in trouble.”

I got a really strange feeling, and I looked around. We were in a crowd of people, but none of them were little kids in costume. The smells of the festival had disappeared and been replaced by the smell of popcorn.

“The line for the theater is really long,” I said, mostly under my breath. “What’s so exciting …”

“Everyone has on hats. Those are 1940s-style coats,” Em said slowly. “Hells bells.”

We looked up at the giant marquis at the exact same time.

GONE WITH THE WIND

MIDDLE TENNESSEE

PREMIERE TONIGHT AT 7:45

ADMISSION $1.10

“What do we do?” I asked, overwhelmed by the sheer number of bodies lined up on the sidewalk. Em and I were the only modern people in sight. “Where did our Ivy Springs go? What happened?”

“Time slipped. Maybe you can help me pick it up?” Em extended her arm to touch a woman wearing red lipstick with hair in big, fat loops on top of her head. “And who decided to call a hairstyle a victory roll, anyway? Dumbest name ev—”

She froze.

Dread, the kind that makes your stomach bottom out.

“What is it?” I asked.

“They don’t see me.” Em waved her hands in front of the woman’s face, careful not to touch her. When the woman didn’t react, Em ran down the length of the movie line, stopping every few feet to try to catch the attention of one of the patrons.

I followed, almost knocking her over when she stopped short.

Em was shaking her head. “Why don’t they see me?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

“Rips. I’ve had conversations with them. They notice me, and I notice them. These rips don’t see me.” She closed her eyes. “The rip at your house yesterday—the soldier I touched didn’t see me coming. The rip the night I went back to save Michael was the same way. I was in a house with a mom and her kids, a small house, but they didn’t see me.”

“Hey,” I said, concerned with her whirl of fear and anxiety. “It’s okay.”

“I actually think it’s a huge sign that it’s not okay at all.” Em reached out to touch the closest rip. As the scene dissolved, she sighed in relief. “We need to get out of here. And then Michael and I need to talk to your dad.”

Chapter 9

Fingertips tapped a staccato rhythm on my bedroom door. I took the ice pack off my ribs and shoved it under my pillow before marking my book with a wayward candy wrapper. I opened the door to my dad.

“Ava is getting settled.” He reached out to ruffle my hair on his way in. A year ago, I would have ducked. Now I fought the urge to lean into his touch. “I’m glad you asked her to move in. Wish I’d thought of it.”

“It’s not like she’ll ever come out of her room.” I noticed a beer bottle cap sticking out from under the edge of my dresser. I walked over, kicked the cap underneath it, and leaned against the edge.

“Maybe not, but we’ll know she’s safe,” Dad said, frowning in the direction of the bottle cap.

“As safe as anyone can be from Jack.” I twisted the drawstrings hanging from the hood of my sweatshirt. “Did you and Em and Mike come to any conclusions about the way the rips are changing?”

“Just combined our observations.”

That was all I was going to get. Something else I couldn’t be trusted with.

“Switching topics.” He sat down on the end of my bed, smoothing out the wedding ring quilt. It had been passed down through my mother’s family and was mine since I was little. I loved the comfort and the weight, knowing generations of Walkers had slept under it. “Have you been taking your emotion control meds regularly?”