5. Cora
Cora
T his time, when I wake, it’s to the sound of slow breathing beside me – and the memory of exactly what brought me here fresh in my head.
I sit upright, and there he is beside me, Boone – his shirt off, sprawled next to me, one arm tossed over my stomach like he’s making sure I don’t go anywhere.
I do my best to piece it together, the way he followed me out into the woods, how he kissed me, how he lifted me into his arms and brought me back here and made love to me till my head was spinning and my heart could take no more.
When I fell asleep, it was to the thud of his heart in his chest, and the denial, for a little longer, that anything at all might have been wrong.
But in the cold light of day, I don’t get to deny it for another minute. I’ve been out there, into the woods, and I can see that nothing is as it was when I...when I left. The air tastes different, the trees don’t look the same, even the cold feels colder against my skin.
Something is wrong. And I can’t deny it for another second.
I swing my legs out of bed, and, before I can make it anywhere, I feel his hand on the small of my bare back.
"Where you going in such a rush, Cora?”
His voice has the hoarseness of sleep to it, but he doesn’t sound spooked or confused.
I glance back over my shoulder at him, this man who rescued me from the midst of the woods and brought me somewhere safe, and I feel a stab in my chest. There’s a part of me that wants to live in the fantasy a while longer, but I know I can’t keep pretending, not without losing my mind in the process.
"Boone, I – I need to ask you something," I begin, haltingly, tripping over my words as I struggle to string them together.
He props himself up on his elbow, a crease appearing between his brows.
The dark stubble on his sharp jaw has grown in a little overnight, and I can still almost feel it against my skin.
But the fantasy can only last so long before reality nudges its way in, and the longer I try to hide from it, the harder it’s going to be to face the truth.
"What is it?”
"What...what year is it?”
He stares at me for a long moment, clearly baffled by the question. Can’t say I blame him.
"How bad was that fall?" he asks, an edge of flippancy to his voice. I shake my head.
"I just need to know," I plead with him. "I – please, Boone, just tell me. What year is it?”
He flicks his tongue over his lips, considering. And then, at last, he gives me my answer.
"It’s the year of our Lord 1859, Cora."
1859. That number thrums in my head like a bad dream.
I want it to be a lie, I want to be a joke, I want it to be anything other than the enormity of what it actually sounds like, but I can’t duck and dive this point any longer.
It’s the truth. It’s the only thing that makes sense, the only thing that strings all of this together.
Dark shadows cross my vision as panic begins to set in, and I place my head in my hands, trembling.
I don’t know how this could have happened. Or even if this could have happened. Because it doesn’t make any sense, it doesn’t even come close, it – it sounds like a fantasy, or a bad dream, or a psychotic break.
Could that be what this is? Some kind of reaction to the trauma that consumed me after I failed to save that child?
I’d heard of people freaking out after they had a bad day at work, but this.
..this is beyond anything I have heard of before.
Could I have created a whole vision of another time just for the sake of dodging my guilt, or. ..?
"Cora?"
I feel Boone’s hand on my bare shoulder, and I pull away at once, without thinking. Not because his touch doesn’t feel good, it does, of course it does. But because it can’t be real, and I can’t let myself get attached to something that isn’t...
But then, I feel his fingertips tracing down my back, and I close my eyes for a second.
I don’t know if my mind could have invented the kind of pleasure that he gave to me, nor that I would have come up with it if I had put all this together to punish myself.
No, there’s more to it, more than I can wrap my head around.
I tug myself away from him again, standing up, my legs threatening to tremble out from underneath me.
"What’s going on, Cora? Come back to-"
"It never bothered you that I just appeared out of nowhere?" I demand, rounding on him, crossing my arms over my chest. I know it’s not fair to come out accusing him of anything, but I need to understand what part he plays in all of this, if any.
He shrugs, leaning back on the bed, like he’s got nothing to be sorry for.
"Neighbour of mine married a woman who dropped in out of the blue," he replies. "A girl like you, from what I hear."
I tense. Is there another one? Someone else who has been through this...?
"What do you mean, a girl like me?”
"A girl who’s not from around here."
And the way he says it, I can tell he’s not talking about someone from out of state.
I sink down on the edge of the bed, wary, not sure if I am ready to hear what comes next.
Because if what he’s saying is true, then I might not be the only woman who’s been pulled out of time to be dropped in this strange place. ..
And if she’s out there, then I need to know as much about her as I possibly can.