CHAPTER NINE
Marie awoke late Sunday morning, pulled the covers over her head, and turned away from the sun. She felt as if she could sleep forever.
An hour or so later she awoke again. Mmm . . . bacon. Rick must be making breakfast. Or lunch. She had no idea what time it was.
She went to brush her teeth and take a shower. She decided the shower could wait until after breakfast, though, when her stomach began rumbling. She hoped Rick was making pancakes too.
He was in the hall when she opened the door. “Morning.”
She smiled up at him sleepily. “Good morning.”
She was wearing only his pajama top and looked unbelievably sexy. Drawing her close, he bent his head and kissed her.
Marie sighed with pleasure as she returned Rick’s kiss. She’d never dreamed anything could make her feel this way.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, kissing the tip of her nose.
“Starved.” She hugged him.
They went downstairs with their arms around each other. “Did you make pancakes?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m starved, and I figured you would be too. So we’re having pancakes and bacon and eggs and juice.”
“Mmm—that sounds great. And it smells even better.” She sat down, poured syrup on her pancakes, and dug in. “Delicious,” she said, swallowing.
“Thanks. I thought we’d go to the grocery store after breakfast and get some more eggs and some milk and a few other things.”
“OK. And then take a nap.”
He smiled. “You’re feeling what we call ‘jet lag.’ Your body got used to California time, and it thinks it’s 8:00 in the morning instead of 11:00.”
“Really? When do I catch up?”
“You’ll probably be back to normal by tomorrow.”
It was such a beautiful day that she almost asked him if they could go to the shore. But she was still a little sleepy, and she was sure he was too. It would be nice just to lie around all day napping and watching TV.
She looked out the window at the roses in the garden as she poured herself some more juice. They were so pretty, and she loved smelling them . . . when she walked . . .
She swallowed hard as a wave of anxiety struck her. She hadn’t walked in the garden for a week, and she hadn’t even thought about it last night or this morning. Her parents would still be frantic, and Davis . . . She swallowed again, remembering every kiss she and Rick had shared. It was as if Hollywood had been a separate world, a world in which she’d been . . . queen. But she was back now. Davis was her fiancé, and she had no business kissing Rick, no business sitting in his kitchen in nothing but his pajama top.
Reddening, Marie set her glass down and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to take a shower.”
She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She could almost excuse herself for kissing Rick in Hollywood, say that he’d been part of the dream. But this morning . . . this morning she hadn’t even thought about walking in the garden, she’d kissed Rick as casually as if she did it every morning, and she'd worn nothing but his pajama top to breakfast without giving it a thought. She'd acted as if . . . as if they were married. Her blush deepened, and she scrubbed her skin frantically. She was betrothed to Davis. She lived in 1927. She was going back. Then she'd be able to talk to her mother about any confusing feelings that might linger.
She put on her Egyptian-motif dress, her ugly black shoes, and even her 1927 underwear. Rick, thankfully, was in his own shower when she went downstairs and out to the garden. She didn't really think she'd be able to get back on a clear, bright afternoon, but she needed to put herself closer, emotionally at least, to home.
"Marie?" Rick called as he searched the house for her. She wasn't in the living room or kitchen. He went upstairs and looked in her bedroom. Where else could she be? "Marie?"
He finally went out to the garden. She was way over by the pink roses, and he was surprised and dismayed to see her wearing her 1927 clothes. "Marie!" He ran over to her, but something about her stance when she looked up at him kept him from sweeping her into his arms like he wanted. "What are you doing?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Trying to get home."
His heart plummeted. "Why didn't you come tell me?"
She just shrugged again.
"I-I'll go sit on the patio and wait for you."
"That's OK. I'm obviously not going to get there today."
He walked silently at her side. When they were back inside, she didn't go upstairs to change. Instead, she went to the living room and sat in a corner of the sofa, erecting an invisible wall between them. Bewildered and a little hurt, he sat down on the opposite end and turned on the TV.
After a few minutes of channel surfing, he pressed the mute button. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, turning toward Marie. "Are you homesick?"
"Don't call me that." She stared at the TV screen.
"`Sweetheart'? Why?"
"I'm betrothed to Davis."
His heart constricted. "Are you missing him?"
"He's my betrothed. Shouldn't I be missing him?" She burst into tears.
Rick felt awful, but he didn't know if he felt worse for himself or for her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he told her, scooting closer and putting his arms around her tentatively. When she didn't resist, he drew her closer. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew what to do to help you."
"Stop being so nice to me," she sobbed into his shoulder.
"What?" he asked, bending his head closer to hers.
"Stop being so nice to me!"
He frowned. "You don't want me to be nice to you?"
"No." She sat up and held out her hand for his handkerchief.
He gave it to her. "Why?"
"It confuses me."
"How?"
"It just does." More tears slid down her cheeks. "I wish I could talk to my mother."
"I wish I could help you with that, sweetheart." When she glanced up at him sharply, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I-I . . . care about you. You're very special to me. And I can't help being nice to you. When you're happy, I'm happy, and when you hurt, I hurt."
"Oh, Rick." Her tears began coming faster.
He tried to draw her closer, but she stiffened and then stood up. “Where-where are those books about time travel?” she asked, wiping her eyes.
“In my office.”
“I want to look at them again to see if I can find something that we missed.”
“OK—I’ll help you.”
“No.” She shook her head, glancing at him but unable to meet his gaze. “I-I need to do it alone, OK?”
“OK.”
He watched her go, his heart heavy. He couldn’t stand to see her so unhappy, but he didn’t want her to leave. He loved her.
He headed upstairs to make sure she’d found all the books and articles. She was coming out of the office with a load of them. “I’m going to look at them in my room,” she told him.
“You can use the office. I don’t care.”
“No—my room is fine.”
The light reflected off her diamond as she turned away from him. Rick’s stomach clenched. Her going back to 1927 would be bad enough. Her going back to her fiancé . . .
All at once he remembered the article about Marie. He dug it out of the bottom drawer of his desk and read it again. All it contained was her birth date and the general information about her family. He wished the information about her marriage to Davis hadn’t disappeared. He could have shown her what her life would be like if she married him.
But why couldn’t he just tell her what the article had said originally? She could draw her own conclusions about what the change in the article meant. Excited, he stood and headed for her room. But when he reached her door, he hesitated. Would she believe him about the article? She still felt loyal to that jerk, and she might not believe him. Especially since it was pretty obvious that he himself had something to ga
in by convincing her that she shouldn’t marry Davis. His sister had once told him that a girl usually wouldn’t even believe her best friend if she told her that her boyfriend was cheating on her.
He went back to his office and read the article again. He should have shown it to Marie before he’d fallen in love with her. But he was afraid to tell her he’d known of her before she’d walked into the garden. What if she thought he’d done something to cause it?
Marie was growing increasingly frustrated with the books she was reading. There were all kinds of theories about how to travel through time, but there was absolutely nothing that could explain how she’d traveled through time. She hadn’t gotten in a time machine, hadn’t been near a dead star, hadn’t been thinking about 2011. That was another thing—most of the articles talked about traveling back in time, not forward. How could she have been thinking about 2011 when she knew nothing about it?
She picked up a book with a chapter on traveling through time by thought. Like most of the others, it was about traveling backwards, so it couldn’t explain how she got here, but now she was trying to travel backwards. It said you should surround yourself with objects from the period you wanted to go to and eliminate any evidence of the present and then think about a scene from the period. That was pretty much what she’d been doing . . . but she’d worn her new underwear most days. And she’d had a hard time keeping her mind on 1927. She needed to wear her old underwear and lose herself in thoughts of home. And she needed to walk without waking Rick up first. If she knew he was waiting for her, she’d have a harder time detaching herself from 2011.
Marie awoke before dawn the next morning—as she had the morning she’d walked into 2011. She put on all her 1927 clothes, even the stockings that she’d stopped wearing once she’d gotten used to her comfortable 2011 clothes. She headed for the stairs but then stopped. Quietly she approached Rick’s door and opened it just a little. Rick was sprawled on his back, a sheet covering him from the waist down. Tears filled her eyes. She’d miss him so much.
The sky was turning a dark gray when she walked into the garden. Grace, their cook, would be getting up soon. Her father liked to have a cup of coffee as soon as he woke up. Her mother usually got up to have breakfast with him unless it was raining. She said she couldn’t drag herself out of bed when it was so gloomy.
Marie decided she’d ask Grace to make her a waffle this morning. She’d like cherries and whipped cream on it. She’d go shopping with her mother and maybe have lunch in town. After lunch she’d come home to take a nap. The house would be hot in the afternoon.
“Don’t forget to pick up the dry cleaning!”
Marie jumped, looking up to see who’d yelled. A car door slammed, and she saw a sleek gray car back out of a driveway. She’d wandered far from Rick’s house . . . but she was still in 2011.
She took a minute to get her bearings and then wandered back toward Rick’s house. He was perched on the edge of a chair and sprang to his feet when he saw her. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked, taking her hand.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get home.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I tried so hard. I have on all my 1927 clothes, and I didn’t think about anything but what’s going on at home.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He led her into the kitchen. “But maybe that’s not all there is to it. I looked at some of the chapters you’d marked. One of them says that the relative positions of the sun and moon and earth are important.”
“Yes, I saw that. I tried to figure it out, and it seems like the best time would be in September. But I can’t wait until September! And what if that book isn’t right?”
Rick hugged Marie, wiping away her tears. He led her inside and made her breakfast, which she barely touched. Nothing he said drew much of a response from her. He hated leaving her when she was so upset, but after a week’s vacation, he had a ton of work at the office. “Call me if you need anything, sweetheart,” he told her, kissing the top of her head just before he left.
Marie watched him leave and then, with a sigh, rose and went to the living room, still wearing her 1927 clothes. She’d tried so hard to get back this morning. She’d worn only her 1927 clothes, and her mind hadn’t wandered to 2011 at all. What more could she do?
Well, one thing she wasn’t going to do was give up, she determined as she played with the hem of her dress. She’d strolled through her garden countless times without walking into 2011, so who knew how many times she’d have to walk in the garden to get back to 1927? She wasn’t going to give up.
Rick, still concerned about Marie, left work at 4:30, making a quick stop to pick up a surprise for her. To his dismay, he found her huddled in a corner of the sofa, still wearing her 1927 clothes.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he greeted her, going to sit beside her. “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m all right.”
“I brought you something.” He handed her a plastic bag.
She took it and reached inside. “Wow!” she exclaimed as she withdrew the 16-ounce Hershey bar. “I’ve never seen a chocolate bar this big.”
“Me either. It was part of a promotional display.”
She tore it open, breaking off a chunk. “Mmm—this is so good.”
He smiled. “Better be careful, or you’ll ruin your appetite for dinner.”
“I’m starved—I didn’t have lunch.”
His smile disappeared as he reached out to stroke her hair. “Have you been sitting here all day?”
She nodded. “I just—I just didn’t feel like moving. And I wanted to keep my 1927 clothes on.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Would you let me take you out to dinner?”
She looked at him, considering. “Are you trying to get me to put on 2011 clothes?”
“No. You can wear what you have on. I don’t care—I just want to feed you and cheer you up.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. Blinking them away, she glanced at the chocolate bar. “I think I’d rather have this.”
“You can have that later. Just eat some meat and vegetables first, and then you can eat the whole thing if you want.”
She took another bite and then wrapped the bar up. “Can we go to a buffet?”
After dinner, Marie was too full to touch her Hershey’s bar. “I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed,” she said, combing her fingers through her hair.
“Are you tired?”
“Not really. I just don’t feel like doing anything else.”
He took her hand, squeezing it. “I didn’t succeed in cheering you up, did I?”
She returned the squeeze. “There’s really nothing you can do. I’m just so discouraged. I tried so hard this morning. I don’t know what else I can do.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Did you ever walk in your garden before that morning you walked into my garden?”
“Of course. I love to walk in the garden.”
“So that one morning, there was just a-a door or something. All the other mornings there wasn’t. So just because you tried hard this morning, that doesn’t mean that trying hard tomorrow or the next day or the next won’t work.”
She smiled. “That’s true.”
“So you’ll keep trying.”
“Yes.”
“Now I’m sad.” He met her eyes and then looked away.
“I’m sorry.” She hugged him, laying her head on his shoulder.
“I just wish I could make you happy.”
“You do.” She raised her head to look at him. “You do make me happy, Rick. It’s just that . . . that . . .”
“Davis makes you happier.”
“No.” She shook her head. “He doesn’t. He doesn’t spend much time with me or try to comfort me when I’m upset. He-he doesn’t—“ She swallowed, her face turning red as she thought, his kisses don’t make me hot like yours do.
He caressed her cheek. “Maybe it’s something you should think about.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “You deserve better, Marie.” He tilted her chin up, touching his lips to hers. When she didn't pull away, he repeated the feather-light touch. He felt her breath, the quivering of her lips. He kissed the corner of her mouth and nuzzled her cheek. Gathering her closer, he began taking her lips in one soft kiss after another. But as her response grew warmer, his kisses became hungrier.
Marie was growing hot and felt almost drugged by Rick's kisses. She ran one hand over his chest, wishing that his shirt had buttons so that she could undo one and slip her hand inside. If--oh! The tip of Rick's tongue was touching her lower lip. But she wasn't repulsed. Rick had said he'd never hurt her . . . maybe she should see what it would be like . . .
Even as she thought it, she opened her mouth a bit. Rick's tongue darted inside. And the flame that it created shot through her entire body, surprising her with its power and heat. Her body ached with a pleasure that seemed too intense to bear. Intoxicated, she wrapped her arms around Rick’s neck, moaning.
Powerfully aroused by that moan, Rick slid one hand down her back to press her closer. She shuddered with pleasure as he began kissing her neck. He undid the first button on her dress. "I want you, Marie," he rasped, raising his head to look into her eyes.
Marie gazed into his eyes for a moment. "I can't!" she whispered hoarsely. "I can't do it. I can't do it!" She turned and ran to her room.
Rick hurried after her. "I'm sorry! Marie, I'm so sorry!" Her door was locked, so he knocked. "Marie?" When she didn't respond, he leaned against the door, sliding to the floor. He dropped his head into his hands. How could he have done what he did? How could he put doubt in her mind about her fiancé and then-then . . . try to seduce her? He loved her and desperately wanted to make love to her, and her response to him was passionate and unrestrained. But she was confused--he knew that. And he knew that she was a virgin. He'd felt her initial hesitation when he'd tried to coax her lips apart, felt the shock go through her body when his tongue had touched hers. The fact that she'd found the kiss exciting didn't change the fact that she was an innocent. Or that she was far from home. Or that she was engaged to another man. He had no qualms about wooing her away from her fiancé, but how could she be anything but confused when she couldn't even talk to the man?
Heavy-hearted, he finally got to his feet. He could no longer hear her sobs, but he knew he needed to give her some time alone. He wanted to give her a gift of apology, some flowers or something. But there were lots of flowers in the garden. He picked up his car keys so that he could go find something nice.
Marie was huddled in the middle of her bed sobbing. When her tears were at last exhausted, she dragged herself off her bed and went to wash her face with cold water and brush her teeth. Then she changed into shorts and a t-shirt. There was no point in pretending that she was in 1927. The clothes couldn't change what had happened. Even getting home tomorrow wouldn't change what had happened, what she’d finally realized tonight.
She went downstairs and turned on the TV, wondering where Rick was. She felt bad for running away from him. She knew she must have hurt him, and the last thing in the world she wanted was to hurt Rick. He was the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful man in the world, and he couldn't help it if his kisses confused her, made her . . . made her . . . She grew hot as she relived his kisses, remembering how he'd tasted, how he'd made her feel, how--
"Hi, sweetheart."
Marie jumped, whirling to see Rick come in the door. "Hi. Where've you been?"
"Shopping." He handed her a gift-wrapped box.
She looked up at him in surprise. "What's this for?"
"To apologize."
"For what?"
He turned red. "For-for pushing you. For taking advantage of you." When she just looked at him in bewilderment, he nudged the box. "Open it."
She tore off the paper and stared at a rectangular gadget with several buttons and what looked like a small TV screen. "What is this?"
"A Gameboy. You can play different games on it. I bought you four." He opened a bag and took out four small cartridges.
Marie watched as Rick made bricks of different shapes fit together, laughing when he got stuck in a pattern and all the bricks piled up to the top. "Let me try."
The bricks piled up as she tried to manipulate the buttons. But by the time she began her third game, she'd mastered them, and she got over 5000 points. "I love this!"
"Good." He stroked her hair, smiling at her excitement as she began a fourth game.
His caress sent a shiver through her, and she turned off the Gameboy. "Thank you," she said, turning and kissing him on the cheek.
"You're welcome." He gazed into her eyes. "Marie, I'd never intentionally do anything to hurt you."
"I know that. It isn't your fault."
He frowned. "What isn't my fault?"
She blushed. That your kisses make me hot, she thought. That your warmth and tenderness and thoughtfulness have made me dissatisfied with the man I'm supposed to marry. That I feel more comfortable with you than I could ever hope to feel with Davis.
Rick watched the emotions play across her face. "What isn't my fault?" he repeated, his forefinger tracing a path along her throat up to her chin.
She swallowed. "That-that I can't go through with it."
His finger froze. "I'm sorry--I should never have pushed you. I know that you're engaged, and I know--"
"But that's it. That's what I'm talking about. I can't marry Davis."
His eyes widened, and he seized her in his arms. "Oh, sweetheart, that's fantastic!" He took her face in his hands and rained kisses on her mouth. "I couldn't bear to lose you." He threaded his fingers into her hair, nuzzling her temple.
"L-lose me?" she breathed.
He raised his head to look at her. "Don't you know how I feel about you, sweetheart? Why I took you to Hollywood? Why I want to make your dreams come true? I love you, Marie."
Marie's breath caught in her throat. "I-I . . . I don't . . ."
Rick's heart fell. "Please don't say you don't love me." He cupped her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I know that you have to sort things out now that you've decided not to marry your boyfriend. But please give me a chance." He slid both arms around her, gathering her close as his mouth covered hers.
His kiss was almost irresistible, but she was hurting too much to stay in his arms. Breaking off the kiss, she stood and turned away from him as tears poured down her cheeks.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Rick stood, putting his hands on her shoulders.
Marie shrugged his hands off. Wiping her face, she turned to look at him. "If I'm in love with you, how will I bear it when I go home?"
He stared at her. "Go home?"
"Yes. I missed Davis when I first came here, and I never felt for him like--"
"Marie." He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. "I don't want to cause you pain. But I can't help it that I love you. And that I want you to stay here with me."
Her body shook with sobs. Rick scooped her up and sat down with her on his lap. "Please don't cry, sweetheart," he pleaded, kissing her hair. He opened his mouth to tell her that she might not even be able to get back, since she'd been unsuccessful so far. But that would just hurt her more. Still, the thought calmed his own turbulent feelings.
When her tears were exhausted, Marie rested quietly in Rick's arms. If they had been in 1927, everything would be different. Rick was so much warmer, so much more thoughtful and loving and fun than Davis. She would never have given Davis a second glance if she'd known Rick in 1927.
At last she sat up. "I need to go wash my face."
"Wait." Rick took both her hands in his. "I would never do anything to hurt you."
"I know."
He raised her hand to his lips. "I just can't imagine not having
you here with me."
She squeezed his hands. "I don't belong here, Rick. I love--I love . . . 2011, but I miss my mother and father and brother. I miss . . . I miss my home."
"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't realize you were so unhappy."
I'm not. But that's because it's been like a holiday, a visit. If I thought that I weren't going home--" Her voice caught.
"I understand." Rick nuzzled her temple. "But now that you're not going to marry Davis, will you at least stop feeling guilty when we kiss?"
She smiled. "I like your kisses."
"I like yours too." He pressed his lips to hers.
Marie nestled close to him, hoping he'd kiss her like he had last time. But then she hiccupped.
Rick, startled, pulled back. "I've never kissed a girl with the hiccups before," he said, chuckling.
"I'm sorry." She turned red and hiccupped again.
He laughed. "Why don't you go wash your face and then get a glass of water?"
She didn't want to get off his lap, but she couldn't kiss him while she had hiccups. So she kissed his cheek and then headed for the bathroom.
Rick leaned back with a sigh. He understood her mixed emotions. But he knew he could make her happy if she stayed here with him. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing her. Surely it would be easier to convince her to stay now that she'd decided not to marry Davis. He knew she was extremely attracted to him. Her response to him this afternoon had been passionate and unrestrained. And now he knew that when she'd said that she couldn't do it, she hadn't been talking about making love with him but about marrying Davis. And if he made love to her, she'd feel tied to him and be more likely to stay. If he slowly increased the heat of his kisses and caresses, made her so hot that she stopped thinking altogether, made her so wild with desire . . .
Rick closed his eyes, flushed with both desire and chagrin. He'd just told Marie he wouldn't do anything to hurt her. She was a virgin and planned to be one until her wedding night. How could he take that from her? How could he use an act of love to manipulate her into staying with him? And if she decided to go home anyway, how could he let her go home with the shame he knew she'd feel? He couldn't do it. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he wanted to make love to her and keep her with him, he couldn't do that to her.
By the time Marie had washed her face and redone her make-up and brushed her hair, the hiccups were gone. Good. She could go kiss Rick. She smiled to herself, thinking about how sweet he was to her. Already she was feeling better about ending her betrothal to Davis. She wanted a man who would spend time with her and hold her and make her feel safe and cherished. A man like Rick.
Tears filled her eyes yet again, and she snatched up a tissue to dab at them to keep from ruining her make-up. Rick loved her. And-and . . . she loved him. But she couldn't stay here. The thought of never going home, of never seeing her parents or brother or Tom--
A sob caught in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to go home, but when she left Rick, her heart would break. Would she be trading one misery for another?