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Marie dressed quickly, hoping she could get to the garden before Rick woke up. She didn't know how she could look him in the eye this morning. She'd been so hurt last night when he'd refused to kiss her and told her to go to bed, but now she was embarrassed when she thought about how she'd pleaded with him to keep kissing her. But . . . but if-if they were married, she wouldn't have to plead. He'd keep kissing her and kissing her until-until . . . they made love. Her face turned red at the thought. She didn't know very much about making love, but if it was even better than the way Rick had kissed her and caressed her last night . . . She shivered. She would give anything to be able to make love with Rick. Well, almost anything. She had to go home.
She jumped when she heard Rick's door open. Glancing at him, she turned and headed downstairs.
Rick followed her, wondering if she was mad or embarrassed or confused. Most women would never again speak to a man who had rejected her touch. But most women would have known exactly what they were doing. Marie had simply been yielding to the pleasure of his kisses and touches with no intention of giving up her virginity. He'd never known a woman so passionate.
When they walked out into the garden, Marie headed for the fog without a backward glance. Rick grabbed her hand. "Marie, wait." He pulled her close, gazing down at her. "Are you mad?"
"No. Not exactly."
He stroked her hair. "I don't want you to go into the garden mad."
She smiled then. "I'm not mad."
"Good." He drew her into his arms, bending to kiss her. Her mouth tasted so good, felt so warm and soft. He'd give anything to keep her here with him, to marry her and make love to her and spend the rest of his life with her. Remembering that she’d said she liked being kissed on the neck, he moved to press his lips to her neck, kissing, nibbling, sucking.
Marie gasped, threading her fingers into his hair. His hands slid down her back, pulling her hard against him, reminding her of how he'd pinned her against his car last night. Moaning at the pleasure of the contact, she wrapped her arms around him, wanting to get even closer to him.
Rick covered her mouth with his again, his kiss so hot and thorough and demanding that it elicited more moans from her. He ended the embrace with a series of quick, hard kisses and then eased his hold on her, panting. Marie started to reach for him again, but then her eyes narrowed. Pushing against his chest so hard that he stumbled back, she whirled and stormed off into the fog.
How dare he! How dare he use his kisses to try to keep her from going home! It was already hard enough just to look at him in the morning before she walked in the garden. He knew that whenever they kissed, she didn't want to stop, that she'd kiss him forever. Just last night he'd told her that they couldn't kiss like that unless they got married. And this morning he dared to kiss her that way, knowing that it would make her all but forget her walk!
When she returned to the house nearly half an hour later, she stormed past him and up to her room. Rick knew for sure that she was mad this time, knew why, and knew he'd been wrong to do what he'd done. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he called running after her. "I shouldn't have done it. I just wanted you to know--" He heard her door slam. Going upstairs to knock on it, he called, "Marie, please come out and talk to me." He paused. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I just love you so much, sweetheart. I don't want to lose you." When he didn't get a response, he turned toward the stairs with a sigh. He'd known exactly what he was doing when he'd kissed her, and he'd known it was unfair. He couldn't blame her for being angry.
Marie wanted to throw something. Or hit something. She settled for snatching up her pillow and slamming it against the bedpost. She was confused enough already--she didn't need him making everything worse. She loved her family and missed them. But she also loved Rick. And 2011 wasn't so bad . . . but it wasn't home.
Rick went down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He'd wait an hour and see if Marie wanted him to make her breakfast. He hoped she'd forgive him soon. He'd hate to waste a whole Sunday fighting.
He took his tea out to the garden. Gazing at the white roses, he sighed, wishing Marie would come down and share the beauty of the morning with him. He couldn't blame her for being mad, but he was getting desperate. He felt as if he were in a race to convince her to marry him before they reached a point where they were unable to stop themselves from making love. He couldn't keep pushing her away forever. It was a wonder he'd been able to stop himself--and her--this long.
Being here was like being on vacation, she'd told him. He sipped his tea, trying to imagine what this was all really like for her. He remembered his first trip to Europe, the summer after he’d graduated from college. He'd spent a month in Great Britain and had loved it. But if he'd had to stay there forever, he would have been unbearably homesick. He would have missed his family, his home, the comfortable familiarity of the city and country where he'd grown up. And how much worse would it have been if he'd been snatched away against his will? And unable to communicate with his family and friends?
His heart began to ache for her. She had parents she loved, parents she knew were worried about her. She found everything here new and exciting, but there was a lot to be said for old and familiar. If she were home right now, she'd probably be sitting at her kitchen table with her mother planning a shopping trip or a luncheon or . . .
Rick blinked hard. Something was wrong. The fog, which had been dissipating, was getting denser. It shrouded most of his garden, including his electric fountain, which he could no longer hear.
It was 1927. Rick caught his breath, trying to see through the fog. He knew that the door . . . or window . . . or whatever . . . had opened. He'd been thinking about Marie's life in 1927--just as he had been when she'd walked into his garden and his life. He was the key.
Rick squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about television and microwaves and airplanes. When he opened them, most of the fog had evaporated. Everything seemed normal. The water was gurgling from the frog's mouth.
Jumping up, he ran inside and up the stairs. "Marie?" he called, knocking on her door. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. Please come out."
Marie zipped and buttoned her shorts and looked at her hair in the mirror. Part of her wanted to stay mad at him, but she didn't want to waste a Sunday fighting. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she opened the door.
Rick snatched her up, hugging her fiercely. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just love you so much."
The words "I love you too" formed in her mind, but his tight embrace had knocked the breath out of her and kept the words from slipping out. "Rick," she gasped, "please put me down."
He set her down and then took her face between his hands, raining kisses on her lips and cheeks and eyelids. "I love you so much."
She put her hands on his chest and pushed away. "Let me catch my breath!"
"I'm sorry." He caressed her cheek. "Do you want to go to the beach today?"
"Really? You hate to go both Saturday and Sunday."
"But you love it." He took her hand, pressing his lips into her palm. "Go put on your bathing suit."
He'd always had a hard time keeping his eyes off her at the beach, but today it was impossible. She was so gorgeous. He watched as she rubbed lotion on her lovely legs, her silky dark hair falling forward as she did so.
Marie, not noticing any difference in his stare, smiled as she handed him the bottle. "Will you put some on my back?" She stretched out on her stomach.
He ran his hands up and down and around her back, massaging and caressing. Her skin was so soft. He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder. "Does that feel good?"
"Mmm," she murmured sleepily.
Moving her hair aside, he kissed the nape of her neck. Then he moved down, slowly pressing kisses along the length of her spine.
Marie's toes curled, her body on
fire. "Rick," she whispered hoarsely when she could at last breathe. "That-that makes me . . . makes me . . . I want . . ."
"Shhh." He caressed her hair. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone. Relax and take a nap."
Not likely, she thought, her body still tingling.
Rick propped himself up on an elbow, gazing at her. Her eyes were closed, her face still flushed. He knew that she wanted him, and he didn't think she'd respond to his touches and kisses the way she always did if she didn't love him. He could make her happy if she stayed here with him. They'd get married and make love day and night. And soon they'd have children. She'd have a family here, and that would make up for the family she had in 1927.
They swam and played in the surf, but Marie thought Rick seemed very sober. Did he think she was still angry with him? Maybe he wasn't feeling well. Taking his hand as they returned to their blanket, she asked, "Are you feeling all right, Rick?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Why don't we go home so you can rest since you have to go to work tomorrow?"
"It's still early."
"We've been here several hours already. Let's go home and read the paper and nap and order a pizza tonight. Then maybe you won't feel tired tomorrow."
He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. "I love you so much," he said as he bent to kiss her.
They went home, but Rick couldn't read, couldn't rest, wasn't hungry. All he could do was think about how much he loved Marie, how desperately he wanted her to stay here and marry him. The thought of her walking through the garden, back into 1927, out of his life forever . . . He shuddered.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" Marie asked him, having seen his shudder. "Maybe you had too much sun this weekend." She leaned over to feel his forehead. "Hmmm. You may have a slight fever. I'm going to get you some aspirin and juice."
He watched her go. She was so sweet and loving. When she returned, he took the aspirin and drank the juice, obeying when she insisted that he lie down on the sofa so that she could bathe his face with cool water.
Marie patted his forehead with the washcloth, dipped it into the bowl of water, wrung it out, and then patted his forehead again. "Maybe a good night's sleep will help ward off a cold." She kissed his temple.
He took her hand, pressing his lips into her palm. "Lie down here with me."
She stretched out beside him, and finally, with Marie in his arms, he fell asleep.
But when he awoke the next morning, she wasn't there. Panicking, he jumped up. "Marie! Marie!"
She was coming out of her room as he raced up the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he gasped, sweeping her into his arms. "I-I just got worried when I woke up and you were gone."
"I decided to get dressed and make breakfast before I woke you up. I wanted to let you sleep as late as possible."
"Is-is there still time for you to walk?"
"Yes. It's barely 7:00." She pushed away from him, looking up at him anxiously. "How are you feeling?"
"OK."
"I haven't had a chance to make breakfast. Since it's so early, why don't I do that before we go out to the garden?"
He started to say that he wasn't hungry, but he wanted to put off her walk in the garden as long as possible. So he helped her make breakfast and then managed to swallow most of his.
Out in the garden, he took her hands, gazing down at her. "I won't kiss you like I did yesterday. But I want you to know how very much I love you."
She smiled, raising her lips to his for a brief kiss.
As she wandered off, Rick focused his mind on the TV shows they'd watched last night. He replayed all the details of the plots, being sure that he saw, in his mind's eye, all the colors. Then he began thinking about planes, remembering his trip with Marie to Los Angeles. Then he thought about all the computer programs he used and how to troubleshoot them. He'd just started listing microwave products in his mind when Marie returned.
He rose and went to hug her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, immediately kicking himself for his hypocrisy.
She sighed, letting herself be comforted by his embrace. August was just around the corner now, and she and her mother normally spent August at Cape Cod. Her father joined them on weekends. They wouldn't go there this year—not with her still missing. She'd been gone five weeks now. Five weeks and two days. And they had no idea what had happened to her.
"I love you, sweetheart."
She smiled, his words bringing her out of her reverie. Yesterday he'd told her he loved her more times than he had the previous four or five days combined. And that was saying a lot.
He hated having to go to work this morning. What if, now that he was trying so hard not to think about anything in 1927, his mind wandered to it? He knew he wouldn't be able to bear it if he went home and found that she had disappeared.
After nearly four hours of trying to concentrate on his work, he gave up and told his secretary that he wasn't feeling well and was going home. On his way there, a shop window caught his eye, and he slammed on his brakes, causing the driver behind him to lean on his horn. He circled around and dashed into the store.
Marie had just sat down in front of the TV with a dish of ice cream when she heard the garage door open. How odd--why would Rick come home in the middle of the day? Remembering how he'd seemed to feel ill yesterday, she set her ice cream down and ran to meet him.
Rick was just getting out of his car. "Hi, sweetheart."
"Hi. What are you doing home so early? Are you sick?"
"No. I-I've just had something on my mind. There's something I need to ask you."
"Why didn't you just call?"
"It's too important for that." He took her hand, gazing into her eyes as he raised it to his lips. "Let's go inside."
They sat down on the sofa, and Rick held both her hands in his as he faced her. "I love you, Marie. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my life. I want-I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He released her hands to reach into his pocket for a small box. Opening it, he took out a diamond ring.
Marie gasped, staring at the ring. It was gorgeous. But surely . . . surely he wasn't going to ask--
"Will you marry me, Marie?"
She looked from the beautiful ring to his anxious face. Tears filled her eyes. "I can't, Rick. I have to go home. I-I miss my parents. I-I just—I have to go home."
He swallowed, looking down at the ring. "I thought maybe you loved me too. I thought--"
"I do love you." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
His eyes blazed. "Do you really mean that?"
"Yes. Oh, Rick, it's been so hard not to tell you I love you. But I was afraid that telling you would make it harder to leave. And I was right." Her tears spilled over.
"Then stay here with me. Marry me." He took her hand, sliding the ring onto her third finger.
She shook her head, gazing at the ring as tears ran down her cheeks. "Just over five weeks ago, I had a fight with Davis. I was confused and didn't have a chance to talk to my mother about it. I needed to and was going to, after I'd walked through the garden and thought about it and it was time for her to be awake . . . but instead I walked into your garden, into 2011." The tears began flowing faster down her cheeks. "But I don't belong here. It’s as if-as if I’ve been abducted from my home and put in prison. A beautiful prison, yes--but still a place where I'm trapped."
Rick stared at her, his throat thick and sore. "Is-is that how you feel here with me?"
"Yes--no." She looked up at him, sliding her hands into his. "I love you, Rick. And I'm not unhappy here. In many ways, I'm very happy. But I feel . . . lost. Misplaced. Homesick." She squeezed his hands. "I want to listen to my father's jokes, even though they're not funny. I want to sneak off to see my brother and to go to a speakeasy with my cousin Tom. Most of all, I want to talk to my mother. An
d--" She choked back a sob. "And what I want most to talk to her about is you. I want to tell her how much I love you, how wonderful you are, how getting to know you made me realize that I could never spend my life with Davis. I want to tell her how thoughtful you are, how loving. I want to tell her how-how. . . hot . . . your kisses make me and ask her about-about making love. But there's no point to it! I won't have you any more!" She took the handkerchief he'd just pulled from his pocket, wiping her face. "It's so horrible. If-if I were to keep this beautiful ring, the first thing I'd want to do would be to run to my mother and tell her all about it. But I can't go to her. And when I can finally run to her, I won't be wearing this ring." Slowly she removed the ring from her finger. "I love you, Rick. I feel torn apart. But I have to go home!"
Rick drew her into his arms, feeling torn apart himself. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her. But he hated seeing her miserable. "Marie," he said softly, stroking her hair, "you've been here for over five weeks. You've walked in the garden almost every morning. What if you can't get back? What if--"
"Don't say that!" She sat up, looking at him in horror. "I can't even imagine never seeing my family again! Do you know how upset they must be, how terrified they must be wondering what happened to me?" She closed her eyes, catching her breath. When she opened them, she was calmer. "I do love you, Rick, and I enjoy being here. But if I thought I could never go home--" She shuddered. "When I'm missing my family, thinking about seeing them again and thinking how ecstatic they'll be is the only thing that keeps me from complete despair." She opened the hand clenching the diamond and held it out to him. "I'm sorry, Rick. I love you, but I can't marry you."
Reluctantly he took the ring, pocketing it as he watched her rise and head for the bathroom. She didn't know what he did—that she could go home tomorrow. She'd calm down, and then things would go back to normal. Eventually she'd accept that her life was here now. She'd have to accept it.