Mystic Memories (33 page)

“The date? March thirteenth.”

Cara stared at him as his words gradually sank in. With a shake of her head and a bitter smile, she almost laughed at the ironic twist of fate that had brought her back to the exact night she’d left.

“
Friday
the thirteenth,” she murmured in disbelief. Though she was certain her vivid memories of 1833 were real, she put on a slight grin of embarrassment “I guess my superstitious mind got caught up in a nightmare.”

“This old ship has a way of doing that to some people,” he said casually. “Do you want to come up on deck for some air?”

“S-sure,” she said, her voice still shaky.

Leading her out of the cabin, he addressed the small gathering of adults in the manner of his role as the captain. “Sorry he is, mates. Just a bad dream is all. Didn’t mean t’wake any of you.”

She followed him up the companionway to the main deck. The lights of Dana Point twinkled from buildings and boats around the harbor. She turned and stared at the cliffs, remembering the arduous climb to the top with Blake. Her heart lurched. Catching the sob before it broke loose, she reached for the rail and held on tight as if it were her only link to the past to the man she loved.

Next to her, the captain maintained character, talking like an old salt to the children standing watch in the chill night as if they were McGinty or Jimmy or Mr. Bellows.

“Feeling any better, Mr. Edwards?” asked the captain, referring to her male persona.

“Not really, sir.” In spite of her confusion regarding the whereabouts of Blake and Andrew, Cara couldn’t blow her cover to the captain, who was unaware of her true reason for being on board. She knew in her gut that Blake and Andrew were not on the ship. What her instincts didn’t tell her was where they were now. “It’s not the dream that’s bothering me. I believe I may be coming down with the flu.”

The captain nodded compassionately. “I’ll take you ashore.”

“Can you spare me?”

“Yes. Now, gather your gear together while I alert Doc and the first mate that we’ll be leaving.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. His words brought back more memories as she went below to retrieve her sleeping bag.

By saying the doctor, or Doc, he had meant the cook, which was the typical handle on board most ships. Except on the
Valiant
. Keoni was, and always would be, Keoni or
Kanaka
. Some of the crew called him Doctor, but she had never heard Blake call him anything else, unless it was
kaikuaʽana
,
big brother.

Ah, damn . . .
Her eyes flooded with tears for Keoni and Bud. And for Andrew. But especially for Blake.

Swiping at her wet cheeks, she considered going back into the portal again. But she knew Andrew would not have gone back without someone coaxing him as she had done. Her primary purpose all along had been to locate the boy and bring him back to his parents. Now she’d lost him. Her next step was to find out what happened to him.

Cara tied her sleeping bag into a loose bundle, giving it a larger shape to appear as though her missing bag might be wrapped inside. After a final glance at the mysterious bulkhead, she turned her back and left the cabin.

It was one o’clock in the morning when Cara thanked the captain and walked toward her locked car. Without her backpack, which she’d lost in the southeaster off San Pedro, she had no money, no driver’s license, and no car keys. If the alarm hadn’t been set, she might have found a way to jimmy the lock and drive home. Instead, she found a pay phone near the parking lot of the marina.

She listened to the computerized voice operator. “Will you accept a collect call from . . . Cara Edwards?”

“Yes,” answered Gabriella, with surprising alertness for the middle of the night. It was as though she had been waiting for the phone to ring.

Cara clenched the receiver. “Aunt Gaby?”

“I’m here, Cara.”

The familiar words sounded so wonderful to her ears that she chuckled despite her misery. “Why is it you were there for me in the past, but now I have to call collect?”

“That was your choice, dear. And this is my nickel, so tell me what you need.”

I need Blake!

Instead, she answered, “Car keys. I probably should have called Lucy to bring my spare set from the house but—”

“Yes, call your sister. I don’t drive the freeways like I used to, especially alone at night.”

No, you just flit throughout the centuries.

Her great-aunt chuckled as if she had heard Cara’s thought, then she repeated, “Now tell me what it is you
need.
”

Cara released a long and trembling sigh. “Blake . . . Do you know where he is, Aunt Gaby? And Andrew?”

“Andrew is home with his parents.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“There is something else, Cara. Andrew was never reported missing.”

“He came back to the same date he left here, didn’t he?”

“Apparently so.”

“If I came back last night . . . and Andrew came back in December—” Her throat tightened. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping she was wrong. She was barely able to speak. “Then Blake went back to the day he disappeared in 1979.”

“It would seem probable.”

“Don’t you know for sure?”

“Cara . . . we are not always allowed to know.”

“We? Or just
me
?”

After a long pause, Gabriella switched the topic. “Call your sister. Tell her to stop by your house and look inside your mailbox on the curb. Your extra set of keys will be inside.”

“When did you—? How did you know—? Oh, never mind.” Realizing the futility of such questions after six months of traveling through time, Cara accepted the unacceptable. “Thanks, Aunt Gaby.”

“Go home, Cara. Get some sleep. We will talk more later.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Two hours later, Cara greeted her bewildered kid sister with a tearful hug, unable to hold back the emotional dam-burst. Aside from Aunt Gaby, Lucy was the only person who might be capable of believing everything that had just happened to her.

When her sister insisted on pouring some coffee into Cara before either of them drove home to Long Beach, they parked their cars at a twenty-four-hour coffee shop nearby and went inside. The reintroduction to modem society after six months in the 1830s was a strange experience in itself. In a way, she was relieved to have Lucy with her instead of having to face the rest of the dark night alone with her thoughts.

And without Blake.

After sharing her bizarre journey through time, including their great-aunt’s participation, Cara knew she had to let her sister go back home to her own family, who were probably concerned about the emergency that had dragged Lucy out of bed.

It was six o’clock in the morning by the time they said good-bye in the parking lot.

Cara decided to drive home along the Pacific Coast Highway rather than take the freeway where higher speeds and traffic would be too much for her to handle. She felt like a crystal vase that had been shattered and glued back together again. Her body was here and whole, but her life was in pieces of confusion and shock and grief. There was a part of her that wanted desperately to turn the car around and go back to the ship. But another part of her resisted, knowing that Blake would not be in 1833 anymore.

She passed through the beach cities, stopping at traffic lights, staring at the early-morning joggers or watching surfers in wet suits on the water. As Highway 1 wound along the coastline through Sunset Beach, she realized she was going to pass by the entrance to the Huntington Harbour community.

“Andrew,” she whispered to herself. She had to stop at three pay phones before she found a phone book and the address she needed. Turning off PCH onto Admiralty Way, she found the house and parked in front, intending to wait until eight o’clock before disturbing the family. With luck, Andrew might open the door.

Within a few minutes, however, Mr. Charles came out to get his Saturday morning
L.A. Times
. Obviously an early riser, he appeared to be dressed for a day on his sailboat. Cara left her car and approached him as he started back to the front door.

“Mr. Charles?”

He turned around with a pleasant smile, which quickly faded into a puzzled glance at her rumpled costume. “May I help you?”

She could see he didn’t recognize her. “Is Andrew home?”

Mr. Charles’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “No. He . . . spent the night with a friend. Why would you want to see my son?”

“I just wanted to know how he’s doing.”

“He is perfectly fine.” He looked over her shoulder as if searching for someone or something. “What is this about? Who are you?”

“My name is Cara Mas-uh, Cara Edwards, sir. I’ve been investigating a disappearance of a child from a ship in Dana Point called the
Mystic
.”

“Yes, my son went on it with his class last December.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Andrew regarding my case.”

He shook his head. “I don’t recall any news about a missing child lately. Something like that would be all over the papers and television.”

“The police are trying to keep it quiet,” she lied, sensing his suspicions escalating. “Please, Mr. Charles. I need to see Andrew.”

“No, I won’t allow it. As far as I know, you could be some kook trying to get at me through my son. If some kid was lost or fell off that ship recently, you wouldn’t need to be coming here after all this time to talk to Andrew.”

“But I must—”

“Get the hell out of here.” He started toward her, but she stood her ground. When he grabbed her arm and started to escort her to the curb, she felt his fear. Through his touch, she saw a vision of Andrew with dark circles under his dull, lifeless eyes.

Pulling her arm from his grasp, she turned to face him, knowing she had nothing to lose by telling him the truth. She hastily explained his desperation to find his son a few weeks earlier, how he’d come to her for help, and how she had brought the boy back last night. And yet Andrew had ended up returning to the actual night he’d disappeared.

“The boy with the hollow eyes is not the same child who went onto that ship on December twenty-second, Mr. Charles. He needs help. He needs someone to talk to, someone who will believe his story. Andrew will keep slipping away unless you reach out to him.”

She knew her emotional barrage had stunned the man into silence. But now that she was finished talking, she saw his shocked expression turn into fury.

“You are a disturbed, delusional nutcase, lady.” He pointed his finger an inch from her nose. “If you come anywhere near my son, I swear to God I’ll have you committed to a mental institution for life.”

With his political and financial clout, he could probably do it, too.

“I’m leaving, Mr. Charles,” she assured him. “And I promise to stay away from Andrew. But I want you to know I would never do anything to hurt your son, even though you might not believe me. Good-bye, sir.”

Without saying another word to her, he stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him as she walked toward the curb.

Cara drove the rest of the way home feeling like a shell-shocked war victim. As she maneuvered her car on the streets of Long Beach, a wave of sadness washed over her, bringing tears so heavy she could hardly see the blurry road ahead of her.

Where did her life go from here? How could she possibly pick up where she left off yesterday? Or was it six months ago? She knew she couldn’t simply go into her house, take a shower, and get a good night’s sleep, expecting to feel fine in the morning.

By the time she parked on her shady street, she had drifted back into the numbness. Her body was functioning on autopilot, walking along the flagstone path past her landlady’s house on the front of the property. She let herself into her little bungalow, dropped the keys next to the phone, and automatically hit the playback button on the answering machine out of habit.

Half listening while she headed toward the bedroom, she heard a message from Lucy, calling from a cellular phone in her car, wanting to make sure Cara had gotten home okay. Another message was from a friend who wanted to go sailing next weekend.