Before and Ever Since (9781101612286) (3 page)

“Some guy that had a sign on the grocery store bulletin board. I think he said he went to school with you?” she said as I opened the door. “Name's—”

“Ben,” I said.

“Emily,” he said with a guarded but incredibly sexy almost-smile.

Forget the toilet. My day went straight to hell.

CHAPTER

2

O
H, NO.
N
O, NO, NO, NO.
G
OOSE BUMPS RAN THE LENGTH OF MY
body and back again. Ben Landry. As I stared into that face, I felt the old hurt I thought I'd forgotten seep through my bones right down through my feet, rooting me to the floor.

“You're back,” I said, hearing the words and how my voice suddenly went all croaky and hating how stupid that was.

But I was painfully aware that I had thrown on only a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and otherwise still looked like I'd just crawled out of bed. Additionally, after twenty-one years, I was looking at probably the only person on the planet that ever really knew me. And could turn my life upside down.

“Yes, I am,” he said, his voice quiet.

“Mr. Landry,” my mother said from behind me as she moved me over from where I'd dropped anchor in the doorway. “Come on in.”

“Just Ben, ma'am,” he said, shaking her hand and then gesturing toward where I stood with my heart slamming against my ribs. His dark eyes warmed with memory. My stomach threatened to send me back my four cups of coffee as I recalled the last time I'd seen him.

“Emily and I are old friends.”

Old friends.

Ben was the boy that put snakes in the teachers' lounge and snuck into the girls' bathroom. That popped all the girls' training bras and spent at least two days each week in detention. That wore an old black jacket with chains on it when he rode his bike, so he'd look like a badass. He was the boy that lured me under my house when we were seven for my first kiss and into a closet in the eighth grade for another one. He was the mysterious, dangerous-looking dark-eyed guy in high school who could part a room like the Red Sea when he entered it, who always sat with his back to the wall and never let his guard down. Except with me.

“I don't remember seeing you around here,” Mom said.

Ben grinned, an endearing expression that transformed him back into the twenty-one-year-old I'd last seen him as. Time may have dulled some of the edges, but it worked for him, God help me.

His once-long dark hair was cut short and close, and was more salt and pepper than just pepper. That's what softened him, I decided, the lighter hair. His face was virtually unchanged, except for tiny laugh lines at those amazing dark eyes. He stood with his hands in the pockets of brown Dockers and a tucked-in khaki shirt, oddly at ease with what I found to be awkward as hell.

“Well, I'm sure we met at some point,” he said, smoothly moving the conversation on as his eyes slowly took in the walls and beams and ceiling. It was as if he were already seeing the possibilities. “So, tell me what your ideas are for this place.”

He followed her as she talked about the paneling that needed to go, the ceiling that needed Sheetrock, the insulation that was probably rotten, and the gaping cracks around the windows. Just for starters.

Fortunately for me, it gave me the opportunity I needed to release the breath I'd been holding and suck in a few more.

“Jesus Christ, Ben Landry,” I muttered under my breath on a sprint to the bathroom. What I saw when I got there made me want to hurl. My hair was still straight on one side, kinked up and tangled on the other, and a zit waved from one pale cheek. “Shit.”

I dug in Mom's drawers for a brush and a ponytail band and managed to find an old cover-up stick for the zit. I couldn't find any powder or mascara or blush, but at least I'd moved up a notch from scary to just unappealing. I couldn't remember if I'd put on deodorant, but I saw a bottle of cologne and spritzed my neck.

“Oh, God!” I groaned.

It smelled like old woman. Not old woman like my mom, because she was fairly young at heart and active. Old like the women with the beehive hairdos and the stripe of blue eye shadow reaching to their eyebrows.

I found a box of wet wipes under the sink and attacked my neck with one, but I was pretty sure the smell was still there along with the aroma of aloe.

“Damn it, just shoot me now,” I said to my reflection.

I was Cassidy's age the last time I'd seen Ben. The night of my twenty-first birthday. Looking at myself there in the mirror, with my brownish blonde hair that was overdue for a color, and a face that didn't pull off the natural look with grace, I figured he was counting his blessings for leaving town. For leaving me. I gave my head a little shake as that little gem ran across my brain. That was ancient history. I pulled myself back to the present, and the giant white elephant at hand.

“What are you gonna do about this, Emily?” I said to myself. “What the living hell are you gonna do?” No answers came back, so I held my chin up as I left the bathroom.

When I rounded the corner, I leaned against the wall and watched them—okay, I watched him. Watched how he moved, how his eyes could take in the smallest details with one look, how he still stood with his arms crossed over his chest when focusing hard, how he still pointed at things with his first two fingers instead of one, and noticing all those little quirks again made my heart take off like a freight train.

They were standing by the TV, discussing the buckled paneling. He tugged on a loose section, revealing the original wainscot wood and a gap where a piece was missing. My mother was explaining what was under that paneling throughout the house when the sounds turned to echoes and there was a weird pitch in my ears, like a ringing. I shook my head, and everything faded to black for a split second as the sound of air rushed by. I sucked in a breath, panicking as I blinked the room back into view.

But it was different. And I couldn't move.

•   •   •

The light was different, coming in the windows brighter—because there were no blinds, I realized. No curtains. Where did they go? Where was the TV? The couch? The corner table? The walls—I stared at where my hand rested against wallpaper. Wallpaper? It had lines of tiny roses and went halfway down the wall, ending at wooden wainscoting.

“What the hell?” I asked, directing it to my mother.

But my mother wasn't there. Neither was Ben. I turned a full circle to look for them, but stopped when I caught sight of the kitchen. The cabinets were gone. The long attached wooden bar was gone. It was wide open, the sink and countertop with low cabinets the only thing under the kitchen window. It was empty—everything was empty. No fridge, no furniture, and the back door leading out of the kitchen to the garage was solid wood instead of the one with the window. I started to curse again, but then the sound fell away as I caught sight of the floor. My feet stood on wood.

I picked up one foot and tapped it against the hard surface. No shag carpet.

I'm dreaming, I thought. I've passed out, had a heart attack, an aneurysm, a stroke. I'm in la-la land somewhere waiting to be jolted back to life. As unlikely as that seemed, anything else was infinitely more bizarre. I tried to take a step toward the kitchen, but my foot wouldn't go that far. I turned in a circle again and laughed at this crazy dream where I could move only within my two-foot circle of existence.

Then there were voices to my left, and I jumped, wondering how to explain this. I wanted to giggle like a kid in hiding, but I didn't have to. And all giddy thoughts went out the un-curtained window as a young couple came in the front door. A door with no heavy knocker to announce itself. The guy led the girl by the hand, and they stared around them, beaming. Walking right past me as he pointed at a corner that would come to hold a built-in sewing bar for my mom, I inhaled the Old Spice cologne as he passed within inches of me, my eyes filling. They were the same as their photographs, but in living color.

“Daddy,” I said.

But he didn't hear me. Of course he didn't—it was a dream. I was delusional and probably flopping on the floor and having a psychotic episode. I was probably drooling in front of Ben, and he was probably wondering if I was dying and if he caused it. But then—if I were dying, wouldn't I see myself on the ground? In the present day? Would I really be making up scenes from—I stopped to think when they bought the house—I think it was 1964? Would I be that creative?

I wanted to walk over to them as they circled around the den. I wanted to go stare into my father's young face and hug him till my arms fell off. To see him like this—to see both of them, actually, young and eager and in love, not yet affected by the weight of life. To see the man that would become larger than life in my eyes.

“I love you, Daddy,” I said anyway, as I squatted to sit in my little circle. The floor felt cold under my hands. Whatever was going on—whatever this little trip was about—I was going to watch. I mean, how often do you get to experience dreams that realistic?

If I woke up, I could tell my mom about it. If I didn't, I'd be talking to my dad shortly anyway.

“I think the wallpaper's kinda weird,” my mother said. My mother who looked twelve. “Too flowery.”

“We can cover all that,” my dad said, pointing at the lower half. “And take off the wainscot. Kind of old-fashioned. Everybody's putting that paneling up that looks like wood.”

“I do like the layout, though,” my mother said, walking to the kitchen. “I mean, it needs more cabinets, but I love how open it is.”

He scooted up behind her and picked her up, making her laugh. “I'll build you some cabinets,” he said into her neck. “I'll build you a table and a place for your sewing—”

“Oh, most definitely that,” she said, her voice full of innuendo as she smiled. “So I can make little clothes after we make little babies.”

He turned her around and held her close, face-to-face. “So where do you want to make the first one?”

“Oh, God, really?” I said, then clapped a hand over my mouth. Then I laughed, remembering they couldn't hear me, but still, too much information.

My mom laughed softly as she kissed him. “Maybe right here.”

He looked down at their feet. “Right here? Do I need some chalk to mark the spot?”

She laughed again and pushed him away playfully. “I think we'll remember.”

“Oh, no,” he said in mock seriousness, pulling a coin from his pocket. “It's been foretold now.” He got to his knees and scratched a small
x
in the wood with the coin. “Just like the Egyptians marked their dwellings.”

“Oh, now we're Egyptians, are we?” she said, laughter in her voice. She sounded so happy and—positive. I couldn't remember my mother ever sounding like that. “And you're carving up my floor!”

He stood up and bowed deeply. “My love, I present you the place of our home's christening.”

She cracked up laughing and stood on the
x
. “Can I bring a blanket for this christening, or are you going to just take me on the wood, splinters and all?”

He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows as he took her in his arms again. “I love you, Frances Lattimer.”

“I love you, Charles Lattimer,” she whispered back before they kissed again.

“I'm going to take you to Egypt to see those drawings one day,” he said against her lips. “And anywhere else you want to go.”

“Montana.”

He laughed, a deep-throated sound that brought new tears to my eyes to hear again. “Montana? Okay then. Egypt and Montana it is.” He kissed her forehead. “Let's go sign the papers.”

She looked so giddy, I was reminded of children opening presents. She looked around, taking in the whole room as he led her out by the hand, and for one microsecond, she looked right at me. Or through me, most likely, but it took my breath away just the same.

“By the way, I think we need to get carpet when we can afford it,” I heard her say as they opened the front door.

There was the strange ringing in my ears again, the rushing of air, and blackness that took over the room. I held my breath, waiting to wake up, wondering if I would be incapacitated or if they'd had to do CPR. I thought of Cassidy then, and hoped she hadn't witnessed whatever happened to me.

•   •   •

I heard the warbled sound of voices as they came back, and I felt my body spasm as I sucked in a very audible breath and blinked the room back into focus.

Still standing.

And they were still talking in the same place by the TV. Or at least they were until they turned to stare at me.

“My God, what was that, Emily?” my mother said, frowning. “You sounded like you just ate your tongue.”

I was dumbfounded. I wasn't dying or passed out, or even asleep. I glanced down at my body and feet that stood on carpet again. I was fine. It was like no time had passed. How was that possible?

The room was back to normal, blue shag on the floor, blue drapes on the windows, same knickknacks covering the same shelves over the sewing bar. Same photographs in a box on the ottoman. Same dark worn paneling around the same dark worn cabinets.

I knew I was standing there like a gaping fish, but I had no words.

“Emily, what's the matter with you?” Mom asked, walking up to where I still stood rooted to the spot. She laid the back of her hand against my forehead. “You're all clammy.”

Great, I thought, as Ben stood in the middle of the room watching us. I managed to look at everything but him, but I could feel his gaze.

“Whoa, honey, what's that you've got on?” Mom said, waving a hand in front of her nose. “My gosh, that's strong.”

“I—I'm—”

What was I? A lunatic? The door knocker saved me from speech but added to my anxiety when Cassidy strolled in, scooping up a frantic Tandy on the way. The dog licked her face as Cassidy cooed at her.

“Hey,” she said in her carefree lackadaisical way, swinging her hand wide at the room. Her wild blonde curls bounced around her face, always a stunning contrast to her dark eyes. “So, what's the big dilemma?”

I blinked, her ability to float through life pulling me from my stupor. “Did you miss the big sign outside?”