CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Luuuucy! You not goin' to play in the band tonight."
Rick watched without seeing and listened without hearing as Ricky and Lucy fought. It had been Marie's favorite show.
She'd been gone four days. He'd sat in the garden until nearly 9:00 Tuesday evening. He'd slept hardly at all that night, but he dragged himself to work anyway, not wanting to spend all day alone in the house. He'd gotten practically nothing done, and coming home at 8:30 had been torture. He'd spent that evening and yesterday evening doing exactly what he was doing tonight: sitting in front of the TV, not seeing, not hearing, not moving.
How could she have become so much a part of him in only five weeks? He'd been engaged to a woman who hadn't been as deeply imbedded in his heart and soul as Marie. How could his life ever be complete again without her?
He wondered if she was feeling the same way. Was she finding that home wasn't the same as it had been before she'd fallen in love with him? Did she wonder how she could ever feel complete again?
But no--she was dead! The agony of that realization pierced his numbed heart. This was 2011; she'd gone back to 1927, been reunited with her family, probably gotten married and had children. Now she was dead. And she'd lived her life without him.
Tears ran down his cheeks. The thought was too painful to bear.
Around 1:00 he dragged himself upstairs, even though he knew he'd be unable to sleep. He took three Advil and lay down, throwing his arm over his eyes.
He dozed fitfully, finally coming wide awake just after 6:00. He wished he could sleep. Sleep would be an escape. He couldn't bear the images that had come on the heels of his newest realization--images of Marie surrounded by children, making dinner for them, for a husband, kissing him, making love with him . . .
His breath caught on a sob of pain. He sat up, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wished he could stop thinking. He wished--
All at once he remembered the pages about Marie he'd copied from the book Teri had lent him. They'd told about her life, her children--but that had been before she'd come here. Then the pages had changed. Now that she'd gone back to 1927, would the article have changed again? Not back to the way it had originally been, because he knew she wouldn't have married Davis. Would she? She would have been lonely and vulnerable when she'd gone back. Could Davis have won her back?
Although he knew it would be torture, he went to his desk and dug out the pages about her. He scanned them for the information he wanted. Born 1904, daughter of Jefferson Tranton, one brother . . . The pages hadn't changed since the last time he'd read them. There was no mention of her life after age 23.
He read the material more carefully, and then he reread it. He was actually rather relieved that he didn't have to read about her husband and children, but it seemed odd that the pages hadn't changed when she'd gone back. He snorted, shaking his head. What was really odd was that the pages had changed to begin with, that the information about her marriage had disappeared when she'd walked into 2011. And that, of course, had been the biggest oddity of all. Still, she had come 84 years into the future, and the parts about her husband and children had disappeared. He'd been sure that the pages had changed because her 84-year trip would affect the choices she was to make in 1927, so it made sense, now that she'd gone back to 1927, that those pages would change again to include the name of her husband or at least something about her adult life.
Shaking his head, he put the papers back. He'd never know what had happened to her. Maybe, eventually, not knowing--
Rick staggered, everything suddenly going black. Gasping, he gripped the edge of the desk and then turned to jerk the drawer open again and grab the papers. Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed.
He threw the papers onto the desk and ran downstairs and out into the garden. Forcing himself to calm down, he closed his eyes and began to think about 1927. He imagined Marie in the dress she'd worn to and from 1927, imagined her in a speakeasy, imagined her listening to the radio in a room without a TV. He had a hard time concentrating and remaining calm, but he continued to conjure up the images, trying to fill in details . . .
"Rick? Rick?"
He opened his eyes and stopped breathing. Marie emerged from the fog and started running toward him.
"Rick!" She leapt into his arms, laughing and crying.
"Marie." He buried his face in her hair, tears spilling into it.
She began covering his face with kisses. "I was so afraid that I wouldn't be able to get back to you.
"How long have you been trying?"
"Just this morning. Yesterday it occurred to me that if you were thinking about me the way I was thinking about you, you might open the door. I told my parents good-bye last night, but I really didn't know if I'd ever be able to get back. But here you were, thinking about me!"
"I haven't stopped thinking about you." And when he'd read the pages about her and realized they hadn't changed, he'd wondered if maybe it was because she hadn’t stayed in 1927, had come back to 2011. Or rather, would come back to 2011. He tightened his arms around her. "I love you, Marie."
"I love you too. And I want to marry you. How soon can we get married? And where's my ring?"
He laughed, setting her back to look at her. "We'll go inside and get it. But you have to tell me what happened. You wanted so badly to go home." He gazed down into her eyes. "You loved me, and you were completely torn apart, yet you wanted to go home so badly that you left me. What happened?"
Tears shimmered in her eyes. "I was miserable. I mean, I was really happy to see my family, and we felt closer than ever. They thought I'd been kidnapped at first, but when there was no ransom request, they were afraid I'd been murdered. They were out of their minds. When I walked back into our garden, I ran up to my parents' room. I thought my mother’s screams were going to bring the police. And then I spent the whole morning with them—it was wonderful. But . . . but . . ."
Rick touched her trembling lips. “But what?”
"I was miserable without you, Rick. I realized that if I could just-just finalize things, say good-bye to my family and let them know I was safe and happy, then I wanted to be with you. I love my family and my home, but you're the man I want to spend the rest of my life with."
His eyes were glistening as he nuzzled her temple. "Maybe you can visit. Maybe--"
"No. I don't want to risk going back to visit and being unable to get back to you. Mother understands. She'll explain it to Father." But she was sure her mother wouldn't tell him exactly why she understood.
Rick took her face between his hands, kissing her over and over. "I love you so much," he murmured, claiming her mouth again.
Marie pulled away. "How soon can we get married?" she asked breathlessly.
He laughed. "Will Monday morning be soon enough?"
"I don't know." She didn't think she could resist his kisses for another second.
He smiled slightly, stroking her hair. "Are you sad you won't be married in your mother's gown?”
"I almost brought it back with me. But it belongs in 1927 with my family. My brother is getting married, and I think his fiancée should wear it. But I'd like to buy a gown for our wedding. I want to save it for our daughter."
Rick's breath caught. "Our daughter." He hugged her. "Thank you. Thank you for giving up everything to be with me. I love you with all my heart, Marie, and I promise you that I'll make sure you never regret your decision."
Tears slid down Marie's cheeks. She was finally home.
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