Timeless

CHAPTER 21

A bby looked down at their entwined fingers. It felt so new yet so unbelievably old at the same time and in the best way. She smiled at the feel of Quinn’s hand fitting perfectly in her own. Then, she realized that it was shaking.

“Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re nervous, too?”

“Yes,” Quinn admitted. “I feel like he’s mine.”

“Paul?”

“I can feel it. It’s like he’s a little boy sitting on the floor in front of a radio, and he’s our son. But that’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s Deb’s son with John David, and I am not Harriet.”

“If you’re not, and I’m not Deb, why does it feel like I’ve held your hand a million times before right now?”

“Do you believe it?”

“I… don’t know yet. I’m still trying to figure out if you and I just got dosed with some new drug a pharmaceutical company is testing out on our town, and we’re in some kind of coma or a drug-induced state, just imagining this whole thing.”

“Which do you want it to be?” Quinn asked before she swallowed.

Abby watched her like a hawk before she answered, “I haven’t decided that yet, either. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course, it is,” Quinn replied.

“So, I should hit enter now and find out our answer on Paul?”

When Quinn nodded, Abby tapped the key, and the microsecond it took for the results to appear still took too long. Abby had clicked back into the newspaper’s site, and she saw it probably before Quinn did, but by Quinn’s gasp, she guessed that she’d seen it, too.

“I caught the end of the link,” Quinn said, confirming Abby’s thought. “The slug. That’s what they taught us to call it in one of my online business classes. I took a few when I first took over the shop. Not at a university for actual credit or anything, but that one term that I’d forgotten just came back to me.”

Abby checked the obituary for John Paul Stevens.

“He died in 2003,” she read, feeling that news hit her like a ton of very heavy bricks. “Oh.”

Abby saw the little boy sitting in front of the radio. She saw him as she tucked him into bed and ran a hand through his hair. She remembered Harriet telling her how much she thought he looked like his mother. Abby saw something else then, too. It was a teenage girl wearing a hoop skirt. That was what Abby would call it anyway. She wasn’t exactly up on fashion of any time period. The girl had blonde hair and a blue ribbon holding up a ponytail. She was smiling, had a pearl necklace around her neck, and her button-down shirt was tucked into that full skirt. She was standing outside of a building with other kids around who appeared to be her age, which meant that it was probably a school.

“Are you all right?” Quinn asked.

Suddenly, Quinn’s hand was no longer in hers but on Abby’s back, rubbing slow, comforting circles, which Abby loved because it felt so familiar to her.

“I know you’ve done that before, but you haven’t. Not as Quinn.”

“Harriet used to do this to Deb.”

“And another time, too. Maybe more than one,” Abby replied.

“How did he die?” Quinn asked.

“Heart attack. Survived by two daughters and a grandson. ”

“We have–” Quinn stopped.

“What?” Abby looked at her, trying to read Quinn’s face.

“I just meant that they have grandchildren and a great-grandchild.”

“Right,” she replied, knowing what Quinn had actually meant. “This is…”

“Too much?” Quinn asked.

“Yes.”

“What do we do about it?”

“Given when Harriet and Deb died, the granddaughters never would have met them, so I don’t know what we’d find out by tracking them down. Obviously, their great-grandson never met them, either. And with Paul gone now, I’m not sure there’s anything here.”

“You’re still talking about investigating?” Quinn asked.

“Well, yeah. What were you talking about?”

“Us, Abby,” Quinn replied and pulled her hand away.

Abby felt the loss immediately. She wanted to ask Quinn to put it back, sit down next to her, wrap her arm around her shoulders, pull Abby in against her, and just sit there quietly together. She also had a very intense need to go sit down by a river on a blanket, and for Quinn to be there with her on that blanket. Not being an outdoorsy person, she knew that one wasn’t her; that had to be Deb or maybe someone else from the past whom she didn’t know about yet.

“What about us?” she asked.

“Um… Apparently, we’re either high on some test drug and imagining all of this, or we’ve been reincarnated at least a few times, and every one of those times, we’ve somehow found one another and ended up together however we could. What do you mean, what about us?”

“Quinn, just because they ended up together doesn’t mean you and I should, even if we aren’t high and are actually them living another life, which I’m still not entirely certain of.”

“Abby, be serious. You know there’s no drug test here. This is real. ”

“Even if it is, Quinn, we don’t even know each other. Deb and Harriet grew up together.”

“So? I’ve had images in my brain for days now. They’re all different. I even looked up the kinds of skirts with ruffles we both saw. I drew the umbrella. It’s really a parasol, and from what I can tell, the best time period for those outfits would have been Victorian England. I just had one that was from 1919, apparently. I’ve had one from a cabin with a straw mattress, I think. I have no idea where that one is from, but there are more that I’ve had glimpses of, and it only started when I saw you. I’ve been here for five years, Abby. I moved here because I felt drawn to this place. You were raised here; that’s probably why. I’ve waited years to find out why I don’t want to leave this town even to visit my family that I love, and it’s because I’ve been waiting for you to move back here, for you to walk through the front door of my shop.”

“I didn’t just get back, Quinn.”

“No, but I bet if you tell me the day you moved back to town last year, I’ll remember it. I’ll remember some kind of strange feeling coming–” Quinn stopped. “When did you move back here?”

“Come on, Quinn…” Abby closed the computer and moved away.

“When, Abby?”

“It was September, I think. I closed on my house on September fifteenth.” Abby then watched as Quinn seemed to calculate something. “What, Quinn?”

“I was at home. I was working on my laptop, and it was a normal day, but I suddenly got the urge to take a drive around the neighborhood. Where did you move to, Abby?”

“I’m on Plum and Wilcox. Third house from the corner on the left. Why, Quinn?”

“I’m on Plum and Spencer.”

Abby swallowed because Spencer was just the next street over from the house that she’d bought without even seeing it in person.

“I drove down your street three times that day. I had no idea why. Then, the next day, I went for a walk. I just walked up and down Plum, back down Spencer, and all the way to Cherry, where I turned back down Plum. I did it at least four times. Again, no idea why. I went on a walk every day for a week before I stopped because it made no sense. I still go for walks around that block every so often, but usually at night, when I get home.”

“I didn’t take walks when I first moved here,” Abby said. “And I moved in on a Thursday, so you were probably here and didn’t see the truck. I didn’t have much to move, either. I ended up leaving a lot of stuff there, so it was a small moving truck, and I was done with it in a few hours. I didn’t start taking walks until recently, and I don’t walk at night.”

“We can’t ignore this, Abby,” Quinn stated. “Clearly, something pulled me here and maybe even pulled you back , too.”

“Then, why didn’t I get pulled here five years ago when you moved? Or, why weren’t we born in the same town, like Deb and Harriet were before?”

“I have no idea. But I’m guessing we’re not always best friends as little kids before we meet. When that guy brought me that box, I was drawn to the first picture you were drawn to as well, but it didn’t actually start hitting me how much until you picked it up. And just like that, all of a sudden, my brain is turned upside down, and I’m getting these full-on visions, like I’m Harriet, only I didn’t know her name or that she was real. I’m picturing you, too, but it’s Deb, and we’re having a relationship in the 1930s, but you’re married to a man who also wants a man, and we all have a son together before they go off to war.”

“And then, you go off to war,” Abby returned, and she felt it then, Deb’s anger at Harriet leaving her behind. “And I hated you a little for that. I loved you, but I hated you for leaving me there along with our son, a whole farm to take care of, and no one else. I was angry at John David, too, but he wasn’t you.”

Quinn took a step toward her and said, “I’m not her, either, Abby. I am, to a degree, because I have some of her memories, but I’m not the one who left you there with Paul.”

“I know. But the lines are so blurred now… I can feel how angry Deb was with Harriet. God, she cried almost every night, Quinn. She didn’t understand it. Even when Harriet came home, she didn’t get it.”

“I know,” Quinn echoed. “And I can only imagine how it felt. I think, for Harriet, it was just something that she had to do. Her whole life had been about Deb and later, Paul. She wanted something for herself.”

“To go to war?”

“Abby, she was a nurse. And she was in a hospital. I–”

“What?” Abby asked.

“It’s like I can’t see all of it, but I can remember all of it. Or, at least, some of it. I can feel why she had to do it even without having all the memories rush into my mind. I don’t understand this at all.”

“Join the club.” Abby crossed her arms over her chest before she lowered them again. “Shit.” Her shirt was still wet, as were her jeans, and there was tea seeping into her shoes and socks as well. “I think we need to get a little space from each other right now.”

“What? Why? I don’t. I think we need to keep talking about this but not reliving their memories. We need to talk about what it means to us now.”

“But we can’t separate it. I’m literally feeling emotions that aren’t my own right now. I can smell grease. Why can I smell grease?”

“I have no idea,” Quinn replied and looked around the shop. “There’s no grease in here unless it’s inside something, and I don’t know about it.”

“Then, I’m also smelling things that don’t exist here. I can’t handle all of it. I’m actually mad at you for leaving me at home at our farmhouse with our son to join WorldWarII. Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?”

“Yes, I do, actually, because I’m standing right here thinking about how good it felt to come home to you after it, to see you running toward me when I’d been so worried you wouldn’t want me back after what I did. I can still smell honeysuckle, Abby.”

“I do not smell like honeysuckle!” she said loudly. “I’m not her. And you’re not Harriet Louise Topper. We’re not best friends turned lovers turned wives, with a son and a farm to run, who die in a tornado. What the hell kind of ending is that? I gave them a better ending. They were in each other’s arms, still young and madly in love, talking about eternity together. They didn’t get that; any of that. They–”

“But yes, they did,” Quinn argued. “They might have died in that life, but they found each other again.”

“What? Us?”

“No, it can’t be us. I think it had to be when they died, another two women were born or somehow became them. I don’t know how it works, exactly, obviously. Maybe those women just died a year ago, and that’s why you moved back, and me moving here was just them getting us ready for them. Maybe it was five years ago when I moved here. I don’t know. Maybe I was born with Harriet in me already, or maybe the day I visited this town, another Harriet died, and I got the memories. I have no idea. All I do know is that, as messed up as this is and as scared as I am, I still think that we need to acknowledge this and talk about it.”

“I can’t. Not today, Quinn. Not when I’m processing everything we just discovered. I need some time.”

“How much?”

“Does it even matter? According to you and these damn visions, we’ll just meet up in another life, anyway. So, why not just skip this one? We’ll find each other again, won’t we?”

“Skip this one?” Quinn looked hurt as she leaned back against the pack-and-ship counter behind her.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you just feel like the Earth tilted a little when you said that?”

“No,” Abby revealed. “But I was the one who said it, so… ”

“You need time, Abby. I get that. This isn’t actually how I thought my life would go, either. But maybe it is supposed to be this way. When I’m with you, I feel…”

“How do you know that’s not just Harriet having feelings for Deb? You don’t even know me. I’m Abby. I’m not her. I’ve had my own life. I didn’t grow up in the early 1900s. I don’t have a son. I’m not even sure I want kids. I don’t think I do. I guess I could be convinced, but I’m not even sure I want to get married. All I know is that I like women, not men, and I want one person for the rest of my life, if I can find her. That’s it.”

“What if you already have?” Quinn asked.

“I can’t, Quinn. Not right now. I’ll…” She pointed to the food behind Quinn. “Feel free to eat all of that. I’m not hungry anymore. I need to go home to shower and change and then try not to think about the fact that I have all these voices in my head right now, trying to tell me what to do.”

“Okay,” Quinn agreed.

“Just okay?”

“Well, I don’t know what else to say. It’s clear that you need time, so take it. I’m not going anywhere.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I can’t. Every time I get more than a few hours away from this place, it feels like my heart is going to explode.”

“I’ll call you,” Abby said.

“Or, just walk to my house or stop by here whenever you want. I’m 412 Spencer. Red house with a white garage door. I don’t own it. I’m just renting. And if I’m not here, I’m there.”

“Okay,” Abby replied. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Then, she moved briskly past Quinn, making sure not to brush up against her. On her way out the door, though, she saw a photo at the front of the pack. She stopped, stared down at it, and picked it up. It was a woman in a hoop skirt, with blonde hair pulled back and wrapped up with a blue bow.