Timepiece

Chapter 8

Emerson’s expression was priceless as we filed out of the shop onto the sidewalk. “I can’t believe you grabbed Lily’s… You know, Kaleb, maybe you should start drinking organic milk. It has less hormones.”

The town square teemed with people and energy. The fall festival ran for the whole month of October, kicked off by the masquerade. Today was the Town Trick or Treat, and little kids rushed around everywhere, holding out bags and taking candy from shop owners and employees. A cauldron with individually wrapped chocolates sat unattended in front of Murphy’s Law.

“Exactly how much does she know about the Hourglass?” I asked Emerson.

A tiny ballerina in a purple tutu danced up and held out her bucket. I scooped some chocolates from the cauldron and gave her two. She smiled up at me with sparkly pink lips, exposing the space where her two front teeth should have been.

I gave her the whole handful.

“Lily knows everyone at the Hourglass has a time-related ability,” Em answered. “But I kept the details to myself.”

“We gave her specifics about travelers, but we didn’t go into anything else,” Michael said. His cell phone rang, and he read the caller ID. “Be right back. Hello?”

“Why were you and Lily apologizing to each other?” I picked up the cauldron and passed out more candy to a couple of boys with king-sized pillowcases bursting at the seams.

Em stared at Michael’s back and sat down on a bench flanked by flowerpots filled with yellow mums and purple pansies. “I can’t really talk about that.”

Even though I could sense emotions, I didn’t always know the cause of them. When someone was angry, it could be directed at me, something I did, or it could be because the Yankees won. If someone was afraid, it could be because of a social situation or because they were awaiting the result of a medical test. I hated never being sure.

Like with Em right now. I didn’t understand why I felt fear from her, especially fear wrapped up in guilt.

“Why can’t you talk about it?” I asked.

She dug at the concrete with the toe of her sneaker. “It would mean betraying a confidence. Not that I don’t trust you… it’s just… I can’t.”

I picked a piece of candy out for myself. “But Michael knows?”

Em hesitated for a brief second before answering. “Well, I had to tell him.”

“Sure you did.” Putting the cauldron back in its chair, I smiled thinly at her, turned on my heel, and walked away.

“Kaleb, wait!”

I’d just crossed the square, weaving through craft booths bursting with canned vegetables and jars of jam, as well as homemade candles and really creepy-looking dolls, when Emerson caught up to me in front of the Ivy Springs Cinema.

She grabbed my arm. “Please.”

Her face was so vulnerable, just like it had been the second before Poe had cut her throat open. The memory of her bleeding and broken on the ground made me soften. “What?”

“Michael’s known about this particular situation for a while… I’m not trying to hide anything from you on purpose. But I promised to keep a confidence and I can’t break it.”

Her raw honesty almost leveled me. This girl wouldn’t know betrayal if it punched her in the face. “You’re excellent at keeping your word. Aren’t you?”

Her hand was still on my arm. “I’ve never told him how you took the pain from me when we thought he was… dead.”

“You mean how I tried to take it.” I’d been completely willing to carry her grief for her, but she’d stopped me.

“What happened was between us,” she said. “And it’s not like it was a betrayal.”

I knew part of her felt it was. Taking emotion from someone was intensely personal. It created a strong bond. And with Emerson, it was a bond I didn’t want to break, even though I knew I had to.

“You can tell him. I want you to. It was your pain, your business,” I argued, when she started to disagree. “It’s your place to share that, not mine.”

“Only if you promise to talk to him about it after I do.”

I nodded. She’d tell him how it connected us. I’d have to promise to disconnect it.

“Soon. And you need to talk to your dad, too. After the way you argued with him today-he just wants what’s best for everyone.”

“I’m not ready to talk to my dad.” I stared at the line of movie posters on the brick wall in front of the theater. They must have been running a revival of some sort, because all of the posters advertised black-and-white films, with the exception of Gone with the Wind.

“He loves you. He’s proud to have you as his son. His only son.”

“Yeah.” He loved me. But he trusted Michael. Everyone did. The last thing I wanted to do was to get into that with Emerson.

A faint breeze brought the smell of caramel corn and cider. It sent Em’s hair flying, and she tucked it behind her ears. “Also, about Lily-”

“Oh no.” I shook my head. “You don’t get to yell at me now. Lily already took care of the shaming portion of the day. I won’t bother her again, swear.”

Em laughed. “I’m not worried about you bothering her. If you do, you’re the one who’ll be in trouble.”

I got a really strange feeling, and I looked around. We were in a crowd of people, but none of them were little kids in costume. The smells of the festival had disappeared and been replaced by the smell of popcorn.

“The line for the theater is really long,” I said, mostly under my breath. “What’s so exciting…”

“Everyone has on hats. Those are 1940s-style coats,” Em said slowly. “Hells bells.”

We looked up at the giant marquis at the exact same time.

GONE WITH THE WIND

MIDDLE TENNESSEE

PREMIERE TONIGHT AT 7:45

ADMISSION $1.10

“What do we do?” I asked, overwhelmed by the sheer number of bodies lined up on the sidewalk. Em and I were the only modern people in sight. “Where did our Ivy Springs go? What happened?”

“Time slipped. Maybe you can help me pick it up?” Em extended her arm to touch a woman wearing red lipstick with hair in big, fat loops on top of her head. “And who decided to call a hairstyle a victory roll, anyway? Dumbest name ev-”

She froze.

Dread, the kind that makes your stomach bottom out.

“What is it?” I asked.

“They don’t see me.” Em waved her hands in front of the woman’s face, careful not to touch her. When the woman didn’t react, Em ran down the length of the movie line, stopping every few feet to try to catch the attention of one of the patrons.

I followed, almost knocking her over when she stopped short.

Em was shaking her head. “Why don’t they see me?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

“Rips. I’ve had conversations with them. They notice me, and I notice them. These rips don’t see me.” She closed her eyes. “The rip at your house yesterday-the soldier I touched didn’t see me coming. The rip the night I went back to save Michael was the same way. I was in a house with a mom and her kids, a small house, but they didn’t see me.”

“Hey,” I said, concerned with her whirl of fear and anxiety. “It’s okay.”

“I actually think it’s a huge sign that it’s not okay at all.” Em reached out to touch the closest rip. As the scene dissolved, she sighed in relief. “We need to get out of here. And then Michael and I need to talk to your dad.”