Ramona stormed into the old maid’s quarters above the separate garage at the Van Buren’s. Zachary hadn’t exactly given her a key, but he’d left it out in the open in a subtle invitation to take it. Sometimes she came here just to be near him, even if he didn’t know. Bittersweet comfort.
She felt no comfort tonight, only rage. Zachary had crushed her heart as surely as if he’d held it in his hand and squeezed. After he’d closed the front door on her, she had walked around to the parlor window and watched him with the other woman.
It had been hard enough to watch them eating together on the couch, having what looked like a deep discussion. She’d been relieved when Zachary went upstairs alone, not so much when instead of leaving, the vamp washed dishes as if she lived there. Ramona thought the woman had caught sight of her in the bushes, so she’d ducked. Then she’d followed them back to the parlor window to watch them share not a friendly, first-date kiss, but a smoldering one. Ramona had nearly cried out in rage.
It wasn’t the woman who worried Ramona so much as the way Zachary looked at her. Deeper than attraction or fascination, in a way he’d never looked at her. He’d kissed the woman in a different way, too. Even worse, he’d pressed his forehead to hers in a tender moment.
All he ever did with Ramona was push her away. Zachary was so much like her father, damn him. He made her work hard, made her compete for his love. Zachary had given her a small part of his soul, then taken it away.
A sigh caught in her throat, cutting off her air for a moment. The pain she lived with almost constantly crushed her heart under the weight of its brutality. Stooping over, she pressed her hand against her chest. Got to stop the pain. How? There seemed no end to it. Zachary was her lifeline. Without him she was nothing at all.
There might be a way to end the pain. Stripping her clothes away, she stumbled to the kitchen and removed a knife from the butcher’s block. She took it to the full-length mirror behind the bedroom door. With grim fascination, she took the knife, looking into her reflection on its tapered surface.
Her gaze moved then to her naked reflection. What was it that turned Zachary off? Her large breasts moved up and down with her breaths. Most of the men she had encountered loved her full breasts, lavishing affection and compliments on them. Some men preferred small-breasted women. Maybe Zachary was one of them.
She gazed at the knife gripped in her hand. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears of frustration and anger. She squeezed them shut, and drops slid down her cheeks. One of them fell on the hand that gripped the knife. She looked back at her reflection. What could she do to open Zachary’s eyes to the love he had for her? She held the knife up to her throat. Physically threaten him? She laughed, although it came out as a throaty whimper. At five-foot-two, she wasn’t much of a threat.
She trailed the back edge of the knife down to her breasts. What if large breasts repelled him? His reaction when she’d pulled off her shirt earlier had been evidence of that. She had been a spectacle, a horrid creature throwing her breasts, the size of which he detested, at him in a crude and lascivious manner. She flipped the knife over in her hand, staring hard through tear-filmed eyes at herself. As she watched, she saw the hand in the reflection draw the knife down around first one breast, then the other. She watched the reflection as though it were separate from her. She felt no pain to make her think she was connected to the act in any way.
Her gaze moved down to the hips in the mirror. Hips a little too wide, a bit spongy. Again, the knife slid across the skin, trying to cut away imperfection.
Then she saw the blood. It trailed down creamy skin, cutting a jagged path over firm thighs and shapely calves. Almost even lines of red running from her breasts down her stomach, like jail cell bars closing her in, imprisoning her with her love. But that was only the reflection’s blood.
Then she felt the pain. Not the inner pain she dealt with daily, but real physical pain. The knife slid from her fingers, and she started to scream. A sound stopped her. The garage door opening. Voices.
Ramona grabbed a roll of paper towels and started cleaning the blood. Was someone coming up here? She threw on the dress and rolled the towels around her legs. Laughter floated up, a cruel juxtaposition to her situation.
“What’s up there?” a woman asked.
Ramona crept to the window and saw Zachary and the woman walking toward the garage. The woman, now wearing a hat, pointed up at her.
“Used to be the maid’s quarters,” he said. “I tried to get my grandparents to let me move up there, but they weren’t having it. Besides, I think it’s haunted. I saw a shadow move around in there the other night.”
A shadow? Her. Ramona glanced down at the blood droplets on the floor. Please don’t let them come up here.
“A ghost? But you’re not afraid of ghosts,” the woman teased as they walked into the garage and out of sight.
Ramona finished wrapping her breasts when the car started. She grabbed up her keys as Zachary's black BMW backed out of the garage. Her car was parked out of sight. She was already at the front door when Zachary's car disappeared down the drive. She wouldn’t be far behind.
The air was cooler on Blue Hawk Mountain, and the skies were clear blue. As Wendy and Zachary wandered amongst the crowds, she felt oddly disconnected from the festivities, the music, even the scents of fried dough and pork pies. It was busier than she remembered, though nowhere near full capacity. She almost waved at someone she knew, forgetting that she couldn’t talk to anyone.
“Look, there’s the schedule.” She pulled Zachary over to a large board. “The band plays in an hour and a half. I don’t know exactly where we stood, but…oh.”
“Oh?”
“Roslyn was boy-crazy. I just remembered, these two guys came up to us at the concert, and we spent the rest of the day with them. Once we’re—they’re with those guys, it’ll be harder for you to approach.”
“Did you like one of them?”
“He was cute, but…” She gave him one of his one-shouldered shrugs. “It never went past the games. Roslyn, on the other hand, fell head over heels in her usual manner. She’s been married and divorced twice.”
“So I have a narrow window in which to ply Wendy-seventeen with my charms.”
She patted his cheek. “Just don’t throw the make-out request at her.”
“Hah. I don’t go around doing that. But it’s not often that a woman appears in my house either.”
“True. Just be yourself and go slow. She doesn’t have a lot of experience when it comes to guys. Especially a guy like you.”
“Like me?”
“Gorgeous, confident, and, um, worldly.”
“All right, I get it. I'll be a perfect gentleman.” He glanced at his watch. “We have some time. Let’s wander. Maybe we’ll find Wendy-seventeen early. I’d hold your hand, but that would give her the wrong impression if she sees us.”
“Definitely,” she said, though that sounded nice.
She fell into the festival mood as they meandered around the grounds. They shared a secret grin at a troupe of young boys racing through the booth area in their little kilts. They browsed at many of the white tents selling all manner of Scottish souvenirs, foods, and clan merchandise, pausing at one to buy coffee and shortbread. The sound of bagpipes filled the air, and they walked down to where lines of men in kilts paraded by. As much as she wanted to watch the display, she scanned the crowd that lined up to watch.
Later, they wandered down to the Heavy Athletics area, as it was called by a large banner. Amateurs were already competing, large men in kilts tucking a large ball beneath their chin, spinning, and tossing it. More like heaving it.
“When I came here,” Wendy said, “all I could think was men in skirts and knee-high socks. Throwing stuff. I wasn’t impressed.”
“Guess I won’t be donnin’ my kilt and tossin’ me stones for ye then,” Zachary said in a fair imitation of a brogue.
She doubled over in laughter, losing her hat in the process. He picked it up and handed it to her when she gained control of herself. Her mirth vanished when she saw Ramona in the near distance.
“Did you find her?” Zachary spun around, catching a glimpse of the pitiful expression on Ramona’s face before she turned away from them. “I don’t believe it. I mean, I do believe it, but I don’t.”
Wendy’s sense of alarm sprang to life. Nothing could get in the way of Zachary and her younger self meeting. “Do you think she followed us?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.”
The woman perusing mohair blankets looked a far cry from the femme fatale who’d come to the house earlier. Though she wore the same red dress and chunky high-heeled shoes, she moved like a frail old woman. Her shoulders slumped, her mouth turned down in a frown. She winced as she turned to move on to the next tent.
“She looks like she’s in pain,” Zachary said. “When she’s like this, I feel bad for her. I think that’s closer to her real self, not that nymph personality she puts on.”
Wendy tucked her hair back under the hat, her gaze on Ramona. “Or maybe the pitiful thing is an act. I think she’s calculating. And you’re too nice.”
“Maybe. Let’s go to the concert area. It’s almost time.”
This was it. Wendy scanned as they approached, remembering that the band was pretty popular with the locals who’d come to support them. Her heart skipped a beat as her gaze went right to a couple of young girls. Her younger self. She knew it would be strange to see herself, but she actually felt dizzy. Zachary had also seen the young Wendy, standing with her friend Roslyn, watching the kilted men readying their equipment. The two girls were sizing up the muscular musicians, the obviousness of it embarrassing to watch now.
“That’s her?” he asked, following her stare. “You? Damn, this is confusing.”
“Yes, it’s me. Go on.”
“They look pretty preoccupied already.”
She shoved his arm. “Go. Don’t let Roslyn sideline you. She’ll zero right in and she’s a lot more confident than I was. Hang out with them.”
“What will you do?”
“I'll be fine. Maybe once destiny’s been fixed I'll return to my present.”
He took her hand, rubbing her palm with his thumb. “I don’t want to lose you.”
She swallowed at the seriousness of his expression. “You won’t. You’ll have me at the proper age. Now, go. If this works, when I return to my time, we’ll be together.”
She could tell that he wanted to kiss her goodbye but checked himself. “I hope so.” He made his way toward the girls in a casual lope. Oh, yeah, he’d slay her younger self. She would probably stammer and embarrass herself, but Zachary would hang in there.
He was only a few yards from them when Wendy saw Ramona approaching in a hesitant, fear-of-being-rejected way that reminded her of Grizabella in Cats. Appropriate, being that she was the glamour cat. Ramona’s hesitancy lessened, though, when she saw the girls in Zachary’s trajectory.
Hurry, hurry! Wendy thought as she watched in suspense. The girls looked up from their appraisals, interest evident in their eyes at the man approaching. As he started to greet them, Ramona let out a yelp before falling face down on the ground. He spun around, seeing her sprawled out holding her ankle and howling in pain. Calling his name, “Zachary, help me!” Those nearby looked at him, and he could do nothing else but go to her. Because that was Zachary.
He knelt beside her, shooting Wendy a helpless look. She glanced at the two girls, watching the scene as well. Ramona moaned, all the while holding onto Zachary. Looking clearly like his lover, wrapping her arms around his neck and briefly kissing him.
He unbuckled her shoe and examined her foot.
“It hurts, baby,” she said loud enough for all to hear. “It really, really hurts.”
“I'll call an ambulance,” someone in the gathered group said.
“No! I mean, thank you, but I’m sure it’s just a bad sprain. My honey will take care of me, won’t you?” She gave him a sweet, imploring look.
Wow, the woman was a master. Wendy saw how she worked the crowd. And worked Zachary, obligating him to either dispute and abandon her and look like an ass, or go along—and look like her boyfriend.
“I can take you to the hospital,” he said, his frustration evident as he met her gaze. Now he looked like the Zachary in her time. He glanced at the girls, who had just started talking to the two guys they’d spend the day with.
Wendy clamped her hand over her mouth. No! They can’t have gotten this close only to fail.
Zachary removed her other shoe and helped her to her feet. Ramona gently put her weight on her ankle. She huffed in pain, taking the opportunity to lean against him. Tears streaked shiny down her cheeks.
“We can get you a wheelchair,” someone said.
“No, I'll be okay to walk in a minute,” she said. She tried her foot on the ground again, breathing harshly but keeping it there. Her arm was wrapped around his waist, and she took one tentative step. Then another. “I can walk with your help.”
“Of course,” Wendy muttered, realizing she sounded bitchy to anyone who didn’t know the situation.
He gave her a Now what? look over Ramona’s head.
Wendy shook her head. She needed to think. Where might her younger self go after this? Would there be an opportunity for Zachary to approach without looking like a cockblocker? Probably not. What had she done the rest of the summer? She could barely remember what she did last summer, much less ten years ago. Fine, she’d give Zachary all the information she could about her younger self so he could find her.
Zachary scooped up Ramona’s shoes by the straps. “No wonder you sprained your ankle. What were you thinking, wearing these to an outdoor festival?”
“I can run in those things,” Ramona said with a sniff. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
When Zachary put his hand on Ramona’s side to steady her, she cried out in pain again. “Did you hurt your ribs when you fell?” he asked, stepping back. “You’re bleeding.”
A line of blood ran down her leg. She angled her good leg out to see, holding onto Zachary for balance. “I must have scratched myself.”
“You should go to the clinic here.”
“No, I'll be fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re bleeding. You need to at least have the scratch cleaned and treated.”
“I'll be fine,” Ramona gritted out. “Just take me home, please. I can’t drive with this ankle.” She lifted it, and yes, it was swelling.
“I can’t just leave. I’m here with my friend. I’ll call you a cab.”
“You’re really going to send me home alone when I’m in pain?”
“You’re not in enough pain to go to the clinic, so yes. I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound in the cab. Come on, let’s see where we can grab one.”
Wendy smiled at how Zachary had circumvented Ramona’s machinations. He mouthed, I'll meet you back here and led Ramona toward the administration tent.
Someone touched her shoulder as he passed by her. “Excuse me, miss,” he said, smiling at her, then blinking. “Wendy?” He took her in and chuckled. “Sorry, you look a lot like my granddaughter.”
Her throat had gone dry as she stared at him from behind her dark glasses. Her grandfather. She’d forgotten that he’d come. And here he was, right in front of her. A link to her past. To her father. Was there some way to warn her father through her grandfather?
“It’s okay. Actually, this is going to sound a little crazy, but…”
Everything started spinning around her, mixed with music and laughter. Dizzying images, voices, the wailing of bagpipes washed over her, then everything went black.