2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Boston, Massachusetts
2010
“ O ne vanilla and one chocolate.” Emily precariously positioned the two ice cream scoops on top of the cone. “There you go.” She handed it to a sportily dressed woman, who balanced her purse on one arm and her toddler in the other.
The woman grabbed the ice cream with her toddler arm while she dug out the change. The little boy—or girl, Emily honestly couldn’t tell—observed the ice cream with wide, hungry eyes. The cone angled more. The scoops started to slip. The toddler gave Emily a half-toothed grin.
The ice cream rolled off the cone, hurling toward to ground.
Heartbeat, wait. Heartbeat … stop .
The scoops paused a foot off the ground. Emily took a quick breath of relief, then ran out of the ice cream truck. Around her, the world of the park stood frozen. A child on a swing stared at the sky, her long hair flowing around as if in water. A dog walker leaned backward, her German Shepherd leaping with front paws suspended in the air. Two men were left in the middle of a handshake, posing like wax dolls in a museum.
woman’sEmily plucked the cone from the woman’s unmovable hands and positioned it under the falling ice cream, catching the two scoops. She put it back into the woman’s hand and wrapped her fingers firmly around it. There. That looks better.
Back in the truck, she leaned on the shelf and let the time stop go.
The woman gasped, then stopped halfway through a yelp. “Oh, I’m sorry. Thought I dropped this!” She raised the ice cream.
“Ice cream plop,” the toddler said.
“No, sweetie, it’s all good.”
“Happens to the best of us.” Emily smiled in thanks as the woman handed her the money. “I think I drop things all the time!”
No more clients lined up after the woman, so Emily took a break and sat down inside the truck, fanning her face with a magazine.
In a minute, Sarah returned, shutting the truck door behind her and collapsing on a chair. “Ugh. Public restrooms.”
“That bad?”
“No. But there are at least three conspiracy theories on the Boston Common restrooms, and I’m pretty sure I’m onto one. They say at night—”
Emily’s phone buzzed on the counter. She raised a finger to tell Sarah to hold on, then answered.
“A package came for you,” Debbie’s voice drifted from the other side.
“Hey, and good afternoon to you too, Sis. ”
“Good afternoon? What are we, seventy?” Still, Debbie paused. “How’s it going?”
“Blissfully peaceful without you. How’s it going there?”
“Same. You should leave more often.”
Emily smiled and rolled her eyes. She doubted her absence made much of a difference for Debbie; her little sister was too busy with all her summer extracurriculars to care if Emily was home.
And she probably shouldn’t call her “little” anymore, either. In two years, Debbie would graduate and be ready for college herself.
College. Emily’s stomach churned.
“Anyway, a package came from you,” Debbie continued. “Looks like a bunch of documents. From, uh, someone named Merryweather in Hartford.”
Harold! He said he’d send her some stuff. The old man loved to dig through history, so Emily had asked him to help her uncover some of her own. It’s been over a year since Will had left, and even though his letter cleared up a few things, Emily was still curious to know more and get the correct family tree done.
“Do I open it?” Debbie asked.
“No! No, no. Leave it as it is.” If Debbie got even a whiff of the documents being historical, she’d be all over it. True, it was her family history as well … but Will had been Emily’s secret. Somehow, it didn’t feel right for Debbie to see more pieces of him before Emily did.
Speaking of which—she wouldn’t be returning for a month. “Actually, do you think you could mail it to me?” She embellished the plea with the sweetest voice she could muster.
Debbie sighed. “Have you two considered some coordination? It’s not that hard. You could’ve told him to send it to you in Boston. ”
“Back then, I didn’t know I’d be in Boston. Debs. Please?”
“Fine,” her sister grumbled.
“And don’t open it!”
“I won’t—aah!”
Emily started from the screech and scrambled for her phone. “Debbie?”
“My hair is purple,” her sister whimpered. “My hair. Is purple. These should be reddish highlights! It said so on the box!”
“Why didn’t you ask Nicky to help you?”
“Because she’d go overboard with it. I wanted subtle reddish highlights, not to look like an anime protagonist. Oh, foot, foot, foot.” Some rustling and screeching of a door followed.
“Relax, it’s just hair,” Emily said.
“Just hair? Just hair? It’s my first work day at the camp today. You know what will look good on my college application? Mature, serious, responsible at fulfilling work duties. You know what won’t look good? Showed up with bright purple hair.”
“Yup. That’s my cue to end this,” Emily said, mostly to herself. “Good luck. And don’t forget to mail the package!”
While she’d been talking, two new customers had arrived. Sarah served them, then smiled and waved them goodbye. She’d been all smiles this summer—no wonder, with what awaited her.
The last summer they’d spend together.
Somehow, Emily had always thought she and Sarah would move on through life together—including college. If one would fail, both would; if one succeeded, both would. It’s always been like that: Emily didn’t have to be so sad when she got a bad grade in Math because Sarah did, too, and they consoled each other .
But somehow, somewhere, over the years, Sarah got fewer of those bad grades, and now she was suddenly going to Boston College, and Emily … Emily was going to her fourth choice, back home in Savannah.
Not that she thought she belonged at a prestigious university, and not that she wasn’t happy for Sarah.
But it stung just a little bit. Knowing she’d be left behind.
Knowing she was no one special.
“What did Debbie say?” Sarah asked.
“Just some stuff she needs to send me.” Emily slumped in the chair and let her head fall back.
“Early birthday present?”
“Oh god, don’t even mention it.” As if it wasn’t enough that Emily would have to return home and face reality in a few weeks, she’d also be coming back straight to her birthday party, and Nicky made it clear she couldn’t avoid it, not with Dad also attending. A year ago, Emily would’ve been happy her aunt and Dad had made up. But this year’s Emily was older and wiser and knew the painful truth.
If there was one thing more terrifying than Nicky and Dad fighting over the girls, it was them uniting forces. Emily would be celebrating with her family.
Even if she’d be nineteen at that point.
“Just tell me about the conspiracy,” she said to Sarah, hoping that would distract her from thoughts of clowns, magicians, and a unicorn-shaped cake.
In the early evening, Emily stood in front of a red-bricked townhouse. A set of steps, bordered by a low wrought-iron fence, led to a freshly painted red door. Sarah had gone back to her grandma—where Emily was staying as well—but Emily had made an excuse about visiting an old friend of Nicky’s. A quick tale of a lady who liked to talk one’s ear off and had eleven cats at the last counting ensured Sarah didn’t want to accompany her.
Emily glanced at her phone, confirming she was at the correct address. Then she shook the nerves off her shoulders, clenched her fists, and knocked on the door.
“Yes?” The woman who opened the door wore a soft pink flowery dress and light cardigan, making her look older than she was—Emily judged her to be around her age. Her chin-length brown hair bobbed as she looked from Emily to the street and back. “How can I help you?”
“I—uh—” Was this the correct address? Perhaps he’d moved on by now. “I’m looking for Phineas Fenn?”
“Oh, sure.” The girl flashed her a quick smile, then turned back and yelled, “Uncle! You’ve got a visitor!”
The narrow staircase down the hallway creaked. First, a pair of leather shoes came into view, then perfectly ironed gray dress pants, and finally, the man descended. He was about fifty, with sandy-brown hair neatly trimmed and combed back, and a few creases on his face adding to a dignified look.
“Mr. Fenn,” Emily started, remembering to put a hand forward. “I’m Emily. Willburne.”
A second passed before the light of recognition hit his eyes. “Miss Willburne. Would you like to come in?”
Emily hesitated, but the smile on the girl’s face flushed some of the worry away. They both seemed kind. And she’d come here to talk, not to run. If anything went awry, she could freeze time and escape instantly.
“Thank you.” She let him lead the way into a cozy living room supplied with mahogany furniture and a matching, intricately carved fireplace. Rows of shelves held history books, maps, a globe, and even a neatly displayed ornate knife. Emily leaned forward, frowning at it. A bit strange to display cutlery like that—
“Lovely letter opener, isn’t it? Original, nineteenth century,” Fenn said.
That’s why you’re not going off to a better college.
“You’re a historian?” she asked.
“Historian, collector, everything that comes with it.” He smiled and gestured for her to sit in a purple upholstered armchair.
“Coffee? Cookies? Raspberry tarts?” the girl offered. Emily shook her head; her stomach was too nervous to take in anything.
“Gracie dear, would you give us some privacy?”
Gracie nodded and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Emily tensed, one hand wrapping around the watch in her pocket. Even if it was useless, it helped her steady her nerves. On the armchair across from her, Fenn waited patiently, unmovingly. Like a predator? No, stop—you’re getting carried away. He was probably just awkward; nerds tended to be, and with a living room like this, he certainly was one.
“Mr. Fenn,” she spoke up, “you remember my dad. Ben Willburne.”
“The name does sound familiar. But if we’re thinking of the same one, it’s been a long, long time.” His voice was even, devoid of emotion. “Ten, fifteen years?”
Emily clutched the watch tighter. If she was wrong, at worst, he’d think her deranged. If not … “You’re the one who gave him the almonite serum. You made him into a time traveler.”
For a long, stretched second, Fenn stared at her. “Yes. I did.”
The held-up air left her lungs in a loud whoosh . “You’re a time traveler, too?”
“I am. ”
“Do you still have a watch?” Her voice trembled from expectation. For over a year, she’d tried to fix her own to no avail. Only after months of failure had she begun to think in a different direction. With Will gone, she thought there was nobody else to help—but that wasn’t true. There was at least one other, besides her and Dad—the one responsible for all of this. After digging through old court files, Emily found a name and, perhaps, a solution.
Fenn’s eyebrows drew together in pity. “I’m sorry, Miss Willburne. Your father destroyed both our watches. If he’s told you about it, you know it was for the best. He wouldn’t wish to travel anymore.”
“I know. It’s not for him.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “When you gave the serum to my dad, it infected me as well. It made me a time traveler.” Her hand still in her pocket, she rubbed the floral engraving on the lid of her watch. “Not any time traveler. A Leader.”
Fenn gaped, his fists clenching the arms of the chair. In a swift movement, he rose and strode to her. Emily’s pulse picked up. Heartbeat, wait. Heartbeat—
He kneeled. He actually, truly, kneeled in front of her like she was a freaking queen.
“A Leader,” he gasped. “You’re a Leader?”
She nodded, only a peep escaping her mouth.
“Miss Willburne—may I—may I call you Emily? I never thought I’d meet a Leader.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. It’s no biggie, really.” She shrugged. “I hoped you might be able to help me. My watch doesn’t work anymore, and I thought maybe you’d have one. That we could share.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was my fault, anyway. ”
He rose to his feet. “If I could help—”
“It’s all good. I should probably get going. My friend is waiting. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Fenn.”
“Likewise.” He motioned to the exit. “Emily,” he said when she was at the front door, “Would you care to visit again? After that disaster, I thought I’d never meet another time traveler. I know I’ve done a lot of things wrong in the past, but—”
“It’s the past. We’ve moved on,” she supplied. “Of course, I can visit. I’ll be in Boston until the end of August. Maybe we can share some stories? Or even figure out if my watch can be fixed. Two minds are better than one.”
“I’d like that very much.”
They said their goodbyes, and Emily headed down the gently sloped street, lighter of heart. Maybe Fenn would be able to help her. She didn’t dare ask Dad or even tell him about this. He was happier thinking Emily couldn’t travel. That way, he didn’t have to bother with time travel and, therefore, didn’t have to keep it a secret from Nicky and Debbie—what use would it be, telling them about something that could never happen again?
The only problem was, Emily wasn’t happy. She was left only with time freezing, as it didn’t require the watch, but it wasn’t enough.
Fenn kneeled in front of her like she was a queen.
Maybe she couldn’t get decent grades and get into a distinguished college, but once upon a time, she had almost been someone. She was good at something—time travel. And unlike the great majority of time travelers that once existed, she could travel to any time in history, not just within the limits of her lifespan. She was a Leader. If she’d been born two hundred years ago, she’d be the head of the Watchers—the secret time travel organization that used to exist back then .
But that didn’t matter anymore. There were no more Watchers, no more time travelers. Her pocket watch was just a memento, nostalgia for that time over a year ago when, for a brief moment, she thought she’d found her meaning. Her destiny.
But she wasn’t a leader of anyone. She was only Emily.
At the end of the street, she paused for the cars to clear the road and checked her phone. Fast steps echoed on the walkway behind her, drawing close. Fenn—did he have something to add? Or somebody else? She was alone, but this was a safe neighborhood. She turned around, already preparing her mantra in case of trouble. Heartbeat …
A pair of golden-flecked hazel eyes met hers. She dropped the mantra and nearly her phone as well. “Will?”