Time Between Us (14 page)

“Nope.” I look uninterested, because I am. “Not really.”

“It’s
good
,” she presses in a high-pitched voice that sounds like she might break into song.

“Don’t
care
,” I sing back and take another bite.

“I hear he lives with his grandmother,” Danielle pipes up, and I stop chewing. Emma and I turn to look at her. Then Emma looks back at me. “He does?” She wrinkles her nose. I can’t tell if she’s put off by this new information or just irked that someone else heard it before she did.

My head spins toward Danielle. “How do you know that?” I ask, but I stop and force a grin instead, hoping to cover up how defensive I just sounded.

“Julia Shepherd told me.”

“Oh. Julia?” My tone is light and casual now, but only because I’m working hard to make it sound that way. I take another bite of my apple to emphasize how little this topic matters to me. “How does Julia know?”

Danielle touches her palms together in prayer position and bends her head to meet her fingertips. “The Donut keeps no secrets.” She laughs and takes a bite of her sandwich.

“Clever.”

“So, does he?” Emma asks.

I wipe all traces of irritation from my face and say with a voice calm and steady, like it’s no big deal, “Yeah. Her name’s Maggie. He takes care of her.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” says Danielle, and I shoot her an appreciative grin.

“Where are his parents?” Emma whispers as she watches him across the room. “Weren’t they supposed to be back by now?”

I wish she’d drop this, because I suddenly realize that I don’t know his cover story. He told me his parents were in Europe, but that was before I knew where they
really
were. I have no idea what he’s told the school about his family, but I’m certain he didn’t leave emergency contact information for people who live in 2012.

I twist around in my chair again and see him coming right toward us. “Ask him,” I say, gesturing in his direction. I hope he has a good answer.

“Hey,” Bennett says, sliding his tray onto the table.

“Hey,” Emma and Danielle say in unison, with far too much enthusiasm.

At least the two of them have the decency to let him take a couple of bites before they start the inquisition. Then Emma raises her eyebrows at Danielle. Game on.

“So, Bennett.” Danielle rests her arms on the table. “I hear you live with your grandmother.”

Bennett takes a sip of his Coke, looking unfazed by the fact that she’s in his personal space, and nods. “My parents are in Europe, and I’m living with her while they’re gone.”

“Right,” Emma says. “In fact, I thought you were just going to be here for a month. Did they decide to stay longer or something?”

“Yeah. Now I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here.”

I think about Brooke and wonder where she is, what she’s doing right now. Selfishly hoping she’s having the time of her life and won’t be returning to 2012 any time soon.

“My dad’s working on a big project in Geneva,” Bennett says.

I smile and roll my eyes at him, and he gives me a wink.

They all talk about how beautiful Geneva is.

“So,” I ask at the first break in the discussion, “how’s the auction coming along?”

That’s more like it. Bennett and I sit back and watch Emma and Danielle talk over each other with excited intonations and an impressive host of superlatives like
coolest
and
most stellar
. He keeps shooting me little glances while they’re talking, like he’s trying to guess what I’m thinking, but that’s impossible;
I
don’t even know what I’m thinking. I’m sure it will hit me at some point, but for now, all I know is that he’s sitting here like he belongs.

When the bell rings, Emma and Danielle stand up and start walking to the trash cans while they continue their conversation. Bennett and I follow them, and his arm brushes against mine as he whispers, “So, what are you doing tomorrow?” I don’t think he notices that Emma and Danielle have instantly stopped talking.

“Tomorrow night?”

“No. Tomorrow. All day.” He smiles at me and adds, “Unless that’s too much of me?”

I don’t have a meet. And the idea of too much Bennett is impossible to comprehend. I beam. “No. I mean, I don’t have plans.”

“Great. Can I pick you up at eight?”

“In the morning?”

“Yes.”

Danielle lets a giggle escape and Emma elbows her.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I light up again. Or maybe I’m still lit up. I can’t really tell.

“Oh, and wear your running clothes.”

“Why?”

“Part of the surprise. Excuse me.” He nudges past Emma, dumps his trash in the garbage can, and strides out into The Donut. No one speaks until he’s left the room.

Then Emma turns to me and squeals, “Okay, that was cute!”

“Yeah, but what’s with the running clothes?” Danielle asks.

Emma empties her tray and brings her hand to her hip. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s going to drive you to the track and make you run while he watches from the bleachers.” She cracks up at her own joke.

“Shut up!” I punch her hard in the shoulder but laugh right along with her.

“Yeah, he’s cute,” Danielle decides.

“He is,” Emma agrees. “I’m still watching him,” she says, like she’s a member of British Intelligence, “but I admit, that boy
is
growing on me.”

“And it’s sweet that he takes care of his grandma,” Danielle adds.

Emma looks at me as if she’s just had an epiphany. “Ha! Now we
both
have dates tomorrow! Sunday morning. Coffeehouse. We’ll compare.”

At precisely eight a.m., a blue SUV pulls into the driveway and I slam the window shut and bound down the stairs. For the hundredth time, I wonder where Bennett’s taking me. I was sort of hoping our next trip would magically transport us to Paris, but all night I’ve been studying my map for locations that might require athletic attire for visitors. The Swiss Alps? Machu Picchu? Borneo? It doesn’t really matter where we go, but the running-clothes part does have me stumped.

Dad beats me to the door and shakes Bennett’s hand while he shoots me a chiding glare, and I know he’s already eager for me to get home so he can lay into me about not having introduced them properly. He gives Bennett the lecture about driving carefully and having me home before curfew, and as we’re walking toward the door he stares at me and mouths the word
dinner
. I nod and close the door behind us.

“This is your car?”

Bennett holds open the door of the shiny new Jeep Grand Cherokee and waits for me to climb in. It figures. Like everyone else I know, he drives something far too nice for a high school kid.

“It’s Maggie’s.” The inside is immaculate and has that new-car smell. He closes my door, walks around to his side, climbs in, and turns the key in the ignition. The car starts with a purr.

“Are you ready?” he asks, still sitting in the driveway. He leans back against the leather, head cocked to one side, watching me as I study him for clues.

“Of course. Where are we going?”

“Road trip.” He clicks his seat belt into place and grins at me.

“We’re driving? How far?”

“A little over three hours each way.” He looks over his shoulder and backs out of the driveway.

“To go…where, exactly?”

He raises his eyebrows and gives me a sinister look. “Still a surprise.”

“Do I need to bring anything?”

He scans me from top to bottom. I’m dressed in my long running pants, running shoes, and a fleece zip-up. All as instructed. “Nope. You’re perfect.”

“Okay. So why drive so far when we can, just, you know…” I make a weird gesture, as if I know the universal sign for time travel.

“Ah, look who’s getting spoiled!” He navigates through the neighborhood toward the interstate, heading north. “First, driving gives us plenty of time to talk. Second, I haven’t been outside Evanston since I got here. And third, well, I wanted to do something normal for you.”

“Normal.”

“You know. That has nothing to do with my weird little talent.”

I settle into the seat and try not to look disappointed.

We talk and listen to music, and three hours and twenty minutes later we pull into Devil’s Lake State Park. I know this because the sign tells me so and not because Bennett has given me any information along the way. He pulls into a parking spot, and we get out and walk around to the back of the car. He clicks open the hatch. Inside are two overstuffed red backpacks, and I feel myself take a step back, confused by the neoprene, Velcro, and shiny pieces of metal that hang from the external loops.

“What is that?” I gesture toward one of the packs.

“That, Anna, is a backpack.”

“Yes, I can see that, thank you. What’s it for?”

“It’s for you.”

“What’s
in
it?”

“Well, you have the lunch. And the shoes. And the harnesses. I have the rest of the equipment.”

“The equipment.”

“Ropes, carabiners—”

“You’ve brought me all the way out here to kill me and bury me?”

“Nope, you’ll love this. Trust me.”

“Love what, exactly?”

“Rock climbing.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him that, while I consider myself to be particularly brave and up for most challenges, I tend to avoid sports that require one’s feet to leave the solidity of the earth. Like parachuting. And bungee jumping. And rock climbing.

He gives me a pat on the back like I’m an old chum. “You’re athletic. You’ll love this.” He grips my shoulders, turns me around, and lifts the pack onto my back. He heaves the second pack over his shoulders, pulls on the straps to tighten it, and reaches up to shut the rear window. He’s a little too chipper as he grabs my hand and leads me to the trail, and I try again not to look disappointed that I won’t be drinking a café au lait on the banks of the Seine.

We walk in silence along a peaceful trail, and a half a mile later arrive at some spot deemed by Bennett to be “perfect.” To me it looks a lot like a very, very tall rock. And if I’m not mistaken, we’re about to scale it.

“Stay here,” he says as he opens both of our packs and begins to sort the gear. I watch him change his shoes, strap a thick harness around his waist, and throw a rolled-up bundle of rope over his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.” And with that, he’s off, pulling himself up the sheer face of the rock with what looks like minimal effort. It doesn’t take long for him to reach the top, pull himself over the shelf, and disappear from sight. He’s gone for a few minutes and I start to wonder if he’s left me here.

“Are you okay up there?” I yell.

His face pops up from above the rock. “Great. I’ll be right down. Stand back.”

I follow his instructions, taking a few more steps than he probably intended, and two thick, white ropes appear from the top of the rock and land a few feet in front of me. Then he’s on them, sliding down and bouncing off the rock as he descends. He’s all happy and shiny when he hits the bottom.

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Here, start by putting on your shoes.” He reaches into my pack and pulls out a pair of funny-looking red shoes with thin rubber soles and pointy toes.

“Classy.” I turn the shoes over. They look brand-new. “Did you buy these for me?”

He smiles. “A little gift.”

“How do you know what size I wear?” I slide my foot inside. It fits perfectly.

He shrugs, reaches into my pack again, and pulls out a second, smaller harness, also presumably for me. He takes out a small bag and clips it to the belt. “This is your chalk.”

“Chalk.” I stand up. The elf shoes feel funny.

“To help your grip,” he explains as he holds the harness open for me to step into. He tightens it around my waist and then picks up one end of the rope, wraps his arms around me, and starts fiddling with something on the back of the belt. He smells good.

I look up at the sheer wall. “No amount of chalk is going to help me climb that thing.”

“Follow me. Chicken.” He picks up the other end of the rope, feeds it through some metal contraption, and clips it onto his harness. “This is a belay device. It keeps you connected to me.” I’m still not sure about the climbing, but the last part makes me smile. “All I want you to do right now is learn to trust the device. To trust me and know that you aren’t going to fall.” He leads me to a part of the rock that has lots of grooves and deep cracks. He calls it a great “beginner’s rock” and shows me where to place my feet and hands for the first few moves he expects me to make.

“I’m not sure about this,” I admit.

“Why not?” He looks genuinely let down by my apprehensiveness. “You’re safe. What’s going to happen?”

“Well, for starters, you could disappear into thin air while I am halfway up that rock.”

“Never happen.”

“Okay, but unlike most people, you could actually vanish.”

“It won’t happen.” That damned grin of his shouldn’t put me at ease, but it does.

“You’re just mean.” I laugh and move toward the rock, dipping my fingers into the chalk bag.

“So, the first thing you want to do is check to be sure I have you securely on the rope. You say, ‘I’m ready to climb.’”

“‘I’m ready to climb?’”

“And I say, ‘On belay.’ Then you say, ‘Climbing.’”

“Climbing,” I say, annoyed.

“Climb on.” He’s far too cheery.

I lift my right leg up into the grove the way he showed me, reaching up and pulling myself into the spot. I can feel my butt jutting out at an awkward angle, so I find a new hold and pull myself into it.

“I knew it. You’re a natural!”

I look for another crack and grip it. It feels like a puzzle, finding just the right hold for my hands and an equally strong foothold at just the right distance.

“Okay, stop for a second.”

But I’m just getting the hang of this. “Why?”

“Let go completely, like you’re falling.”

But I’m not. “Just…let go?”

“Yeah. Push yourself away from the rock and let go.”

I take a deep breath. Push myself away from the rock. Let go.

I suck in my breath sharply as I swing backward. Hang. Dangle.

“I just want you to feel that. I have you. Right now you’re only about ten feet off the ground. But when you’re higher, that’s exactly how it would feel if you missed your hold, or needed a break, okay?”

“Okay.” I do feel safe, even though this sensation is so strange.

“So just swing yourself back to the rock when you’re ready and say, ‘Climbing.’”

I do as I’m told.

“Climb on,” I hear from below.

I continue to look for the right places for my hands and feet, maneuvering into them and surprising myself when I don’t fall. I don’t look down. I don’t even want to. I’m focused on solving this puzzle of a rock, figuring out how to crack the code that will get me to the top, and without my expecting it to be there, there’s sunlight. And sky.

I pull myself up and throw my arms in the air, Rocky Balboa style, as I dance back and forth at the summit.

As it turns out, getting down is scarier.

Bennett yells instructions from below, telling me how to maneuver myself back onto the face of the rock, and where to plant my feet.

“I don’t hold the rope?” I shout, without looking down.

“No, just plant your feet on the rock and lean way back. I know it feels weird, but I’ve got you. Just let your arms relax.”

I can’t seem to let anything relax.

“What if I fall?”

“You won’t. Anna, let go of the rope, or you’ll flip around.” I force my arms to hang by my sides. “Trust me,” he says, and I close my eyes and let him lower me.

It’s all I can do to keep my feet in front of me, my legs parallel with the earth below, but I manage to get the rhythm, and soon I’m back on solid ground.

“You were amazing!” Bennett says as he throws his arms around me. “How was it?”

“Good.” I’m euphoric, though my arms are still a little shaky. “That was actually really cool.”

“I knew you’d love it.” He loosens his grip on me and I start to move away from him, but then I feel his hands leave my shoulders and move down, pausing at the harness so he can untie the rope. He’s so close I can feel the rise and fall of his breath, and it’s all I can do to stand still while his fingers work to untangle the knot behind me. A minute later, the rope falls to the ground and his hands leave the belt and settle on the small of my back. He pulls me to him and kisses me, and I feel my adrenaline pumping even harder. He smiles and says, “My turn.”

Somehow I manage to respond. “What?”

“Ready to learn to belay?”

“Really? You trust me to hold you?”

“Absolutely.” He steps back and I miss his hands the minute they leave me. He opens the metal carabiner, unclips it from his harness, and clips it onto mine.

He takes his place on the rock. “Climbing,” he says.

And I reply: “Climb on.”