Chapter 19
After a busy afternoon shopping at Lord & Taylor and Saks Fifth Avenue, Clay and Marcelle, with Sean and Eleanor in tow, returned to the mansion. The day had transformed into a glorious, sunny March afternoon, the warmth a welcome change.
“I’d like to go for a walk in the park. Anyone interested?” Clay asked.
“I’d love to do that,” Marcelle said. “Let’s take our packages upstairs first.”
“Leave them in the foyer. I’ll have them delivered to your rooms,” Eleanor said. “You two enjoy your walk. I’m going to rest before it’s time to dress for dinner, and Sean has a few phone calls to make.”
“We’ll carry them up when we come back. We won’t be gone long. Come, my dear.” Clay extended his hand to Marcelle. “After we circle the lake, let’s find a bench with our name on it and people-watch for a while.”
Eleanor angled her head to the side and gave them a pensive look. “I don’t think there’s a MacKlenna bench in the park.”
“It’s an idiom,” Clay said. “It means something is just right. So, any bench in the sun would be just right for us.”
“Oh, glad to know. I’ll add that one to the lexicon portion of the family journal. There are several listed, but we don’t use them. We’re afraid we’ll introduce a word or phrase before it’s part of our culture.” Eleanor smiled and waved. “Go find your just-right bench.”
Clay and Marcelle crossed the street and walked to the park side of the Met to join dozens of New Yorkers strolling along the tree-lined path around the Reservoir.
“Have you run this path?” Marcelle asked.
“More times than I can count. I’ve also sat on a blanket and written stories. It’s a great place to find inspiration.”
“I can’t imagine growing up here.”
“It was a normal childhood. I knew the bus and train routes before I turned six. I went to Trinity High School, then Georgetown University, and enjoyed 4th of July celebrations in the Hamptons.”
“You know, don’t you, that spending summers in the Hamptons isn’t normal?”
“Patrick Mallory grew up going to South Carolina beaches during the summer. That’s not normal to New Yorkers.”
“Oh, I see where you’re going with this. Normal is in the eye of the affluent.”
Clay shrugged. “I never really thought about it. So what’s normal for you?”
“Since I came up here to go to school at Columbia, I never had time off to enjoy a summer vacation. Either I was going to class or working to pay for them. Vacations were for other people. That’s why I was excited about playing in Remy and Bastien’s band for Mardi Gras.
It would have been the first vacation Bastien and I had spent together since we were children. ”
“We’re still going to New Orleans. The band is still going to play.”
“But not for Mardi Gras. We’ll miss it.”
“We don’t know the properties of your brooch, but the ones Remy and I are traveling with return you home within minutes of the time you left. The people who watched us leave are standing there waiting for us to come back.”
“How long after Bastien and I left did you and Remy leave?”
“Remy got a call that you hadn’t arrived on your scheduled flight, so we left almost immediately for Chicago to find out what happened to you.
We searched your house, found your brooch, and knew you’d time-traveled.
We flew back to Virginia and left a couple of hours later.
Normally, it takes several days to plan a rescue, but Elliott wanted us to leave immediately. ”
“Why? Not that I’m complaining.”
“He promised a family trip to Mardi Gras and didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Canceling the trip would’ve been a bummer.” They continued strolling along the tree-lined path, watching the ducks in the Reservoir.
“If you two left the next day to find us, was that like twenty-four hours later?”
“Close to it. But you’ll return to our moment of departure, not yours.”
“Even if we spend a week or two here, I’ll only be gone about twenty-four hours in my time. How’s that possible?”
“That’s the way the brooches work.”
“I wish you could explain why it separated Bastien and me. It might make it easier to find him if we knew why he was in New York City.”
“We probably won’t know until we find him.” Clay pointed toward an unoccupied bench in an open area of the park, dappled by sunlight and perfectly situated to view the lake and the Met. “Let’s sit over there.” They sat, and he pulled out his flask. “Want a drink?”
She took a sip and returned the flask. “I’ve had more whisky in two days than I’ve had in two years.”
He took a drink, sealed the flask, and tucked it away. “When you don’t have access to a water bottle, you drink the next best thing.”
“I’m not sure whisky is the next best thing. But the flask is convenient. Maybe I’ll fill mine with water.”
“If you do, and I ask for a sip, remind me it’s water, or I might not recover from the shock.”
A quiet chuckle escaped her. “That might be fun to watch, but I enjoy your company too much to have you die from shock. Besides, I feel very safe with you and wouldn’t want to damage the trust we have in each other.”
His heart kept a soft thrum against his ribs. “I enjoy your company, too.”
“Where do you live most of the time?”
“Two months ago, I would’ve said here in the city, but I’m building a house at Mallory Plantation outside Richmond.”
“Virginia?”
“Yep. I have to confess something to you, and I hope you don’t cuss me out.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll try not to.”
His palms didn’t sweat, but he was apprehensive. This confession could be a do-or-die moment. “Well, while… searching your townhome for clues to your disappearance, we saw the note about the Richmond Symphony job offer.”
“That’s okay, but when you see Bastien, don’t mention it to him. I haven’t told him yet because I was waiting until I made a commitment. I didn’t want to get his hopes up and then disappoint him by not taking the job.”
Clay gave her a sheepish grin. “Since I’m confessing, I also searched your purse?”
Her lips tightened into an unyielding line. “Anything else? Bank accounts, tax returns, medications, boyfriends?”
His entire body jerked as if a Taser had shocked him. “Do… do you have one?” It never occurred to him she might have a boyfriend.
She locked eyes with him and, in a completely serious tone, said, “A bank account? Sure.”
She was teasing him, and he deserved it. With a slight nod, he said, “Touché, madam.”
The park pulsed with life. Couples wandered hand in hand, riders clipped through the trail, and children darted between trees and rocks.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she finally admitted.
“I don’t either,” he said.
She gave him a strange look. “You don’t have a boyfriend?”
He played along. “No boyfriend.” He let that hang there for a moment before saying. “No girlfriend, either.” He valiantly tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably. She drove an elbow into his side, and he jackknifed, groaning as if slugged with a sledgehammer.
“You’re such a wimp.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, the glint matching her wit.
The bright green of her eyes caught Clay off guard. “I’m glad you think so highly of me.”
“I don’t want you to develop a God complex,” she whispered.
“That’s not likely to happen around you.”
“Got to keep you humble, MacIntyre.”
“Stand in line, sweetheart,” he said.
“Who’s ahead of me?”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Everybody I know.”
She laughed softly, then slid closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad I’ve got a place in line.”
Right now, he felt very secure, so he took a risk, even though he faced the possibility of rejection. “Will you go out on a date with me when we get back?”
“If I can fit you into my schedule.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she pressed her lips together to prevent it.
“Well, I’ll be hard at work on my novel, so we’ll have to see if I can fit you into mine.” He bit his lip, suppressing a smile that threatened to betray him.
And then they both started laughing.
He ached to pull her into his arms, to kiss her, and much more, but that had to wait. Clay checked the time. “We’d better head back. We have to get cleaned up and dressed for our evening out.”
“That sounds like we’re going on a date already.”
“I guess we are—but I wasn’t counting on what happens here.”
“If we have a lousy time tonight, we won’t have to go out when we get home.”
He shook his head. “Seriously. We can’t count on what happens here—we’re under stress. And I want an actual date here in the city. I haven’t had one in a long time.”
She tilted her head. “How long is that?”
“Since college. I don’t like friends to fix me up. I dislike dating apps, and going out to bars has never been my thing. So it’s been impossible to meet women like you.”
“Are you saying I’m the type of woman you find interesting? My PhD doesn’t”—she shrugged—“intimidate you?”
“Do guys have a problem with that?”
“That’s been my experience.”
“It doesn’t bother me. Does my Pulitzer intimidate you?”
“Not in the least. I think it’s cool. I know many published authors, but none has a Pulitzer. You must be one of the youngest ever to win.”
“Nick Ut was twenty-one when he won a Pulitzer Prize for Photography. The photograph captured the horrors of the Vietnam War. Jackie Crosby was twenty-three, and Josephine Johnson was twenty-four.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-three. Archibald encouraged me to submit the article I wrote for The New York Times. I did it to please him. I’d hoped I might be a finalist, but I never thought I’d win. Because I did, Elliott Fraser has high expectations for my novel.”
“That you haven’t started.”