Chapter Thirteen
Harriet
Nolan looks like he’s going to be sick.
The ocean breeze ruffles his hair, his cheeks a startling shade of white as he stands unmoving on the beach.
I’ve never seen him look more like a ghost.
“Nolan,” I try. He’s looking at the row of buildings behind the beach with wide, unseeing eyes. His hands release from fists at his sides, but it’s the only part of him that moves. “What do you mean? How did we get to your past?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers. He cups his hand over his mouth. “I don’t know. I don’t—”
A loud laugh bursts from the other side of the beach and a little boy appears over the crest of the hill.
Nolan turns to watch as the boy charges down the slope, his little legs barely keeping up with the rest of his body.
His pants are too big, hiked up high and secured with a belt that’s holding on for dear life.
Behind him, an older man gives chase, a wide smile on his bearded face.
“Nolan!” the man shouts. “Come back here, you wee scoundrel!” The little boy screeches in delight, tumbling onto the beach.
He tries to roll in the sand to avoid the man behind him, but he’s not fast enough.
The older man picks him up and tosses him over his shoulder, swinging him around and around.
The little boy laughs, a joy so pure I want to bottle it up and keep it.
“That’s my da.” Nolan swallows heavily. “That’s me and—that’s my da.”
He takes two steps backward, his feet in the surf. But I don’t think he feels it, too busy watching the two figures on the other side of the beach with disbelieving eyes. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I do understand the look on Nolan’s face.
Longing. Heartbreak.
“I don’t—” Nolan pulls in one deep breath and then another, his body struggling to keep up with his panic. “I don’t remember this day.” His wide eyes look around, frantic. “I barely remember this place. This beach. And I don’t—I can’t remember this day.”
“You’re all right.” I grab him right above his elbows and hold on. He keeps moving backward and I follow, the water lapping at our knees. “Nolan. Look at me.”
His wild eyes connect with mine. His chest rises and falls with every choppy inhale and exhale. I smooth my hands up his arms to his shoulders and back again, hoping my touch might ground him.
“You’re okay,” I tell him. “I’m here with you.
You’re not alone.” I reach for something to say.
Something to erase the desperation etched into his face.
I try to find the thing he needs, but I don’t know where to start.
He looks like he wants to sink under the water and disappear.
I grip him tighter. “It’s just a memory. ”
He nods, hands reaching for my jacket. He knots his fingers in the thick, soft fabric, gripping tight. Behind us, the little boy on the beach is gathering sticks, his father watching with a fond smile.
Nolan doesn’t look in their direction. He keeps staring at me.
“I need to leave,” he says.
“Are you sure?” I glance over my shoulder at the little boy throwing sticks in the surf. They’re closer now, the man ruffling the little boy’s hair. What if this is Nolan’s only chance to see these things? To remember? To get this piece of himself back?
What if this is part of moving him on?
Nolan shakes his head, his jaw clenched. His pupils are so dilated, his eyes look almost black. “I can’t be here. I can’t—I don’t remember and I can’t—” His bottom lip trembles before he sets his mouth in a firm line. “I need to leave. Please. It’s too much.”
“Okay,” I answer. I’m a little worried about him using his magic when he’s so wound up, but I trust him to keep me safe.
With one last look at the lighthouse on the hill, he reaches for my hand, tangling our fingers together.
Palm to palm, the ground starts to fall away beneath my feet.
The last thing I hear is the crashing surf, the call of a sea bird, and the laugh of a little boy.
Nolan grips me tighter and a second later, we’re standing in front of the fireplace at the ice-skating rink.
He immediately drops my hand and turns away, both of his arms raised, his fingers clenched tight in his hair. I stare at his back as he paces toward the fireplace, then leans heavily against the mantel. Each breath is more labored than the last. My hand hovers over his spine.
“It’s all right,” I whisper, wishing I knew what to say. The part of my heart that craves making other people feel good aches at the sight of him. He’s barely holding himself together. I trace a path up and down his back and feel his lungs expand beneath my palm.
“We’re not there anymore. We’re back at the ice rink and there’s— there’s Mariah Carey playing on the speakers.
The rink is closed and it’s just us right now.
Us and Denise, who is probably in her office looking up jewelry auctions online.
I’ve told her a million times to stop buying things from Facebook Marketplace, but I think she’s addicted to the fight or flight of it all.
Last year around Easter, she went to someone’s house for these earrings that looked like oranges.
She’s lucky she’s not a ghost now. A ghost of bad online purchases. ”
I’m babbling, talking nonsense, but with every word that falls out of my mouth, Nolan seems to collect himself.
I press my hand harder against his back, slowing my strokes to firm presses.
I spread my fingers wide, seeing how much of his back I can cover.
He tilts slightly until his head is pressed to my shoulder instead of resting against the curve of his biceps, and my heart almost breaks clean in half.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but I have reindeer socks on today. They’re wet right now, from the—from the ocean, I think, but—” He shudders, and I abandon that particular thought. “You seemed to like my reindeer pajamas,” I say.
It’s an invitation to react. I know how much he hates my reindeer pajamas.
He looked at them like he’d never seen anything so offensive in his life.
But he lets the comment sail by, his head still against my shoulder, his trembling hands hanging limply at his sides.
“Okay, no comment on the reindeer.” I sneak a look around the open space.
There’s a snack bar in the back corner, tucked next to the skate rental.
It’s abandoned right now, but I know they have hot chocolate in the back.
“C’mon. I have an idea.” I grab his hand as he reluctantly unfolds his body, but he doesn’t give in to my persistent tugging. He is an immovable object in front of the fireplace, his hand clamped around mine.
“This way.” I nod toward the snack bar. “Hot chocolate will help.”
“In a second,” he tells me, his mouth barely moving. He’s not as pale as he was on the beach, but he still looks vacant. A little bit lost. “I need a second,” he says again.
“Can I—” I watch him carefully. “Nolan. Do you need a hug?”
I still don’t know where Nolan and I fall on the scale of appropriate physical touch, but I know hugs always make me feel better.
He doesn’t say anything and I’m just about to backtrack—make an excuse, give him some space—when his arms band around my torso.
He wraps himself around me like a vine, gathering my body against his until his face is in my neck and my arms are draped over his shoulders.
His hands are so big, cupped on either side of my rib cage, his arms crossed over one another.
My feet dangle off the ground as he lifts me up closer against his chest, the toes of my boots skimming the tops of his.
I blink at the wall in astonishment, then wrap my arms around him and squeeze.
A deep sound rattles out of him.
“Okay?” I ask.
He nods, then shakes his head. I drag one hand through his messy hair and he holds me tighter. I scratch my nails against the back of his neck and he shivers.
I hold him in the lobby of the ice-skating rink with my body wrapped around his, my feet dangling at his shins and his arms snug around my waist. I hug him until my arms go numb.
“Another moment,” he begs, after I’ve combed all his hair off his face and traced the curve of his ears enough times to know that he has a scar shaped like a crescent moon on one, the delicate skin slightly raised beneath my touch.
Nolan presses his face farther into my neck, nose nudging.
“I just need one more moment and I’ll be grand. ”
“Take as much time as you need,” I say quietly, starting another meandering path against his scalp. His hair is so soft. I drift my touch over his ears again, lower to the warm skin of his neck. I trace his shoulders, then circle one hand back up to cup the side of his face.
“Feels nice,” he slurs.
I retrace my path along his jaw. “What does?”
His arms tighten around me. “Holding you,” he says, and I can feel his mouth move against my skin. “’S been a while since I’ve had a hug,” he adds, quieter.
I blink against the sudden pressure behind my eyes and across the bridge of my nose. How lonely he must have been, all of these years. Waiting for something that never arrived. Wanting for something to change. No wonder he lashed out when I offered him the hope of something different.
He releases another deep breath and his arms loosen.
No, I want to protest. Not yet.
But he sets me back on my feet with an embarrassed wince, lines from my jacket on the side of his cheek. I reach up and rub at them.
“Better?” I ask.
He nods, distracted, a downward twist to his mouth. “Aye. Thank you.” He reaches for my hand with his, pulling it away from his face. “I need to go.”
My stomach twists. “Right now?” I look over my shoulder at the abandoned booth. “But the hot chocolate. It’ll help. I promise.” I pause. “We don’t have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to. But I don’t think you should be alone.”
You could stay, I almost tell him. I could try to make it better for you. His hand squeezes mine, his eyes fixed on the door. “If we visited my past, there’s something wrong. That’s not supposed to happen.”
He swallows, flinching again. He looks so tired. Rattled. “I need to talk to Isabella.”
“Isabella?” My heart gives one uncomfortable thump, right in the middle of my chest.
His expression softens, his hand rising to brush at my elbow in reassurance. “My supervisor,” he explains. “I need to get this sorted. I’ll be back tomorrow. The next day, at the latest.”
Where will you be? I want to ask. How will I get in touch with you?
Are you all right? Do you need another hug?
He still looks like he’s clinging to his composure through sheer force of will.
His eyes are bloodshot and his hands are trembling.
I want to reach out and grab him. Sink my hands back into his hair and hold on.
Wrap him in a blanket and stick him on my couch.
Hug him until he remembers what it feels like.
I don’t know why, but it feels like when he disappears this time, I won’t ever see him again.
“Do you promise?” I ask.
He hesitates, then nods. “Tomorrow,” he says. His hand drops from my elbow. “I’ll find you.”
I look at my feet instead of his face, nodding absently. “All right,” I agree. “Be safe—”
But when I look up, he’s already gone.
“—and I’ll see you soon,” I finish. I blow out a breath. At least I didn’t have to watch him leave.
I stare at the door of the ice-skating rink for another minute, then head toward the snack booth in the corner. I ignore the knot in my gut and try to decide if I want marshmallows or not.
This is familiar territory. I know how to hold myself up against disappointment. I’ve been left behind by every person who has ever mattered.
A forgotten thing, just like the treasures I keep stocked on my shelves.