I hadn’t completed the training I intended to tonight, but it didn’t matter anymore. This ride was over. The scene with the girl had blown my concentration.
There were only two walkers left on the greenway, their shadows slipping like headless silhouettes from tree to tree. I headed home at a slow, steady pace. But there was nothing slow or steady about my thoughts. They raced out of control, replaying what had just happened.
And something had happened. I wasn’t crazy. But what? When I banged my head after the first crash, had I blacked out?
Probably not. I hadn’t hit hard enough.
How could I explain the water? It had taken control of me, swinging me around like a toy. That hadn’t been my imagination.
Or had it?
What about the girl? If I dreamed up the water, I dreamed her up, too. But where would the dream have come from?
I’d seen The Crucible in American Lit this past semester. Had images of colonial costumes been hibernating in my brain all this time, waiting to take over?
Maybe. It was hard to know.
When I reached the garage, I checked my bike, determined to blot out the past hour. It was better to focus on important things. Bike maintenance. Me maintenance. I could use some calories.
I went inside, fixed a plate of pot roast and potatoes, and then leaned against the counter to eat it. But thoughts of Susanna wouldn’t shut up.
Was it possible that she was real even if the water wasn’t?
That wasn’t such a bad idea. Susanna had been real, the water had been my imagination, and the two were merging in my memory.
Yeah. I’d go with that theory for the moment.
I’d met a strange girl. We’d had an interesting conversation. And I wouldn’t mind talking to her again, if we could get past the time warp stuff.
Of course, I would have to apologize first. Fear had flashed in her eyes when I tried to jump through Whisper Falls, and I felt really bad about that. I’d been too confused by the glittering water to consider whether she’d feel threatened.
I would’ve apologized immediately, except I was distracted. When she stumbled, the dorky cap came off, and gorgeous brown hair fell to her waist. I didn’t know many girls who wore their hair that way, which was too bad because it was really hot.
Damn. I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t crazy.
After hunting down my phone, I texted Carlton to arrange an IM session. I hadn’t heard from him since he left for his dad’s beach house a few days ago. If he had some free time tonight, we were going to talk.
With a cookie in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, I ran up two flights of stairs to the rec room. Carlton wasn’t online yet.
While I waited, I typed “Worthville” into a search engine. It pulled up a few hits. Our county had a village called Worthville in the eighteenth century. It had a wheat mill, meetinghouse, general store, and some farms. Pretty dull. The family names coming up were Worth, Pratt, and Foster. There was nobody with the name Marsh.
I wasn’t sure what to try next. This was where my sister would be useful. Marissa had a bachelor’s degree in history. She could tell me how to find out more.
Cool, she was online. I had another subject I wanted to cover with her, anyway.
ME: you owe me twenty bucks
MARISSA: memorial day isn’t over yet
ME: yeah, those last 3 hrs could be crucial
MARISSA: hehe
ME: could you call mom?
MARISSA: what does she want to talk about?
ME: grad school
MARISSA: no thanks. don’t want to be bitched at
ME: shell figure out that you’re not actually going
MARISSA: if i get a job first, she can’t complain
ME:yes she can
MARISSA: shut up
ME: why can’t you and mom leave me out of this? it’s not my problem
MARISSA: sometimes things become your problem just because you’re there
ME: i don’t believe you just said that
MARISSA: change the subject
Since asking politely hadn’t worked, I’d have to come up with another plan—as soon as I figured out what that was. Until then, I was going to put her history degree to use.
ME: how do i find out about wake county villages from the 1790s?
MARISSA: did not see that coming. anything good on the web?
ME: nope
MARISSA: try state archives or historical society. visit in person. they’re careful with artifacts
Carlton pinged me—which was a convenient excuse for saying goodbye to my sister. Plus, I needed more time to figure out another way to get Mom and Marissa talking.
ME: thanks. gotta talk to carlton. later
MARISSA: ok
I finished the last bite of cookie, washed it down, and wiped my hands. The session with Carlton might take a while.
ME: how’s the beach?
CARLTON: awesome
ME: any shark sightings?
CARLTON: no but I saw a film crew
ME: for what movie?
CARLTON: something with gabrielle stone. i hear she might be joining our senior class
ME: to be normal?
CARLTON: if you can call neuse academy normal. they rejected senator stanton’s son
ME: where do you hear this stuff?
CARLTON: around. have you talked to alexis?
Alexis? Why was he asking about her? He had to know she was the last person I wanted to think about.
ME: drop it
CARLTON: just curious
ME: don’t be
CARLTON: ok. how’d training go today?
ME: fine, but something strange happened on the greenway
CARLTON: ?
ME: a girl in colonial costume talked to me
CARLTON: there’s got to be more to this story
ME: she says it’s 1796 where she lives
CARLTON: and?
ME: what do you think?
CARLTON: you’re taking steroids and it’s screwed with your head
ME: besides that
CARLTON: she’s a ghost
ME: could be
CARLTON: probably not. even a ghost would know it isn’t 1796
ME: so why would she say it?
CARLTON: she’s crazy
ME: possibly. what else?
CARLTON: she’s messing with you
ME: why?
CARLTON: maybe halligan’s paying her to throw off your training
Did Keefe Halligan want to win the Carolina Cross-Country Challenge so badly that he’d try to throw me off with a prank?
Well, sure, although this one seemed pretty weird.
ME: what’s the point of the colonial costume?
CARLTON: ask him. seems stupid to me
ME: why now? we don’t race til july 30
CARLTON: better expect this kind of shit for two more months
ME: maybe
CARLTON: damn, lewis. figure it out for yourself. gotta go
ME: later
Carlton hadn’t helped. Even though I had no trouble believing Keefe might try something psycho, I didn’t see how he could’ve talked Susanna into the plan. It was easier to believe she’d escaped from some brain-washing cult than that she worked for Keefe.
Okay, it was more than that. I didn’t want Susanna to be a fake.
* * *
Morning bike rides were the best. I left the house around dawn and sped through Umstead Park on a bike trail. Totally alone. Totally quiet.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t totally quiet. There were some sounds, like gears shifting. Wind whooshing. My own breathing. They were good sounds, the kind that drove me to train even harder.
Three miles later, I left the park to head for the trails around Lake Crabtree. As I crossed the bike bridge over I-40, the noise of the highway intruded on my solitude. Below me, a few white headlights traveled east. In the opposite direction, hundreds of red taillights flashed on and off as westbound traffic thickened even at this early hour.
The trail dipped down an incline, briefly hugged a ridge, and then swooped into a grassy bowl of land. The sounds of the interstate faded.
The trails along the northeastern corner of Lake Crabtree were relatively easy. I rode through that part first. It’d be good to test my body against the tougher sections when I was no longer fresh.
When I reached the south side of the lake, there were other cyclists ahead of me, racing through its hills and past its wetlands. Crabtree trails were usually a fun, fast ride, but the crowd forced me to take this section slowly. I circled back north, completing my intended distance but without the speed I wanted. Tonight’s ride would need to be harder.
When I got home, my mother sat at the table, her eyes tracking me across the kitchen. Even when she was quiet, she was noisy.
Her nose wrinkled at my sweaty clothes. I nodded but didn’t stop, just continued with my summer morning routine. Shower. Work clothes. Back downstairs. She sat in the same spot, cradling a coffee mug and watching me through narrowed eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was mad, so I made my breakfast and wondered how long the silent treatment would last.
“Mark?”
Not long. “Yeah?” I bit into a toasted bagel.
“Did you talk with Marissa last night?”
Every muscle in my body tensed. “We IM-ed.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because I didn’t know I was supposed to. I shrugged and hoped she would drop the subject. I didn’t want to be late for Mrs. Joffrey.
“Does she know I want her to call me?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Mom went into auto-pilot cleanup mode. She slipped off her chair, rummaged in a drawer for a rag, and mopped up bagel crumbs. With an exaggerated sigh, she threw the rag in the sink. “Does she ever complain about me?”
I reflected on the wisdom of being honest. “Possibly.”
“Like what?”
“Really, Mom.” I edged closer to the garage door. No way was I repeating what Marissa had said. “She’s my sister. Our conversations are private.”
Mom’s nostrils flared. “I deserve to know what she says.”
“You’ll have to ask her.” What had gotten into my mother? She acted like she was about to explode. “Why don’t the two of you work this out—and leave me alone?”
“I can’t if she won’t speak to me.”
Mom stormed from the room. I grabbed a ball cap and shades, and ran out the door before she could return with more questions I didn’t want to answer.
After hitching the equipment trailer to my mountain bike, I rode two blocks over to my first yard of the day, arriving a couple of minutes behind schedule. Mrs. Joffrey stood on her veranda in an orange dress and heels, swinging a ring of keys around her finger.
“Morning, ma’am,” I said, pushing the mower up the circular driveway.
She glared, her mouth a red slash across her face, her keys going round and round like a hula hoop.
I stopped at the top of the driveway and considered my next move. This was the second woman today who was pissed in my general direction. And, for the second time, I hadn’t earned it. But nothing was happening and I had five yards to mow, which meant I’d be the one to move things along. “Sorry.”
“Fine, Mark. Don’t be late again.” She caught the keys in her palm and gestured toward a wicker table. “Your check’s over there.”
Cool. Back on safe ground. “Thanks.”
She clopped down the wooden stairs and crooked her finger. “I have some instructions we didn’t cover yesterday. Follow me.”
She headed into the garage and pointed at a grungy broom. “I don’t want you using a leaf blower. Sweep the driveway before bagging the waste.”
“Okay.” Holy shit. Why?
“Also, when you trim the holly bushes…”
Trimming bushes wasn’t part of the deal.
“.use those hand clippers.”
Hand clippers?
She tapped her watch. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“I’ll still be here.” And I’d be ready to explain how to make special requests.
She walked around me and slid into her Volvo.
Once I had the backyard mowed and edged, I focused on the front yard and tried not to think about how badly the extra chores screwed up my schedule. Fortunately, my other Tuesday clients had jobs, so they wouldn’t care when I arrived.
I was nearly done with the mowing when I noticed a car roaring down the street, a familiar—and unwelcome—green Mini-Cooper. It squealed to a stop behind my trailer.
Not cool. Alexis knew better than to track me down at work.
The car door slammed. “Mark?”
I shut off the mower, rolled my shoulders, and ignored the tightness in my chest.
She studied the fresh grass clippings, not so good for her white, sequined sneakers. Too bad. I wasn’t going any closer.
She stayed at the curb. “Did you get my texts?”
I took off my shades, wiped my dripping face on the tail of my T-shirt, then put the shades back on. Yes, I had seen her eight texts come in. No, I hadn’t read them. “What did you need?”
“I miss you. I thought maybe you could come over tonight.” She smiled slowly. “My parents won’t be home.”
Damn.
I had the odd sensation I got whenever I hit an obstacle on a trail. The bike was going down. It would hurt when I landed. There would be bruises and scratches for days. But for just a moment, I was suspended in midair, dreading the inevitable impact, feeling only detachment.
“You broke up with me, Alexis. What’s the point?”
“I want us to talk.”
Right. Talk wasn’t all she wanted. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Her tongue flicked over her lips, shiny and pink with strawberry gloss. I remembered exactly how they tasted.
“I made a mistake, Mark. I want us back together.”
Really? She dumped me in the middle of the dance floor at prom, and it was a mistake? Watching her stalk away from me had to rank among the worst moments of my life. I’d stood there, dying inside, in front of a frickin’ ballroom full of classmates.
“We’re not getting back together.”
“Mark, could you please come over here? It’d be easier to discuss this if I didn’t have to yell.”
I shook my head. No way was I getting within reach of her.
“Fine. I’ll tell you from here.”
She bent down to brush a speck of nothing from her leg. I had a clear view of what her cami was barely covering. It was embarrassing to think that might’ve worked on me a couple of weeks ago.
She straightened and crossed her arms. “I’ve thought it over, and it’s okay about the vacation in July. You don’t have to go with us for a whole week.”
“Thanks, since I already said no.”
“It’ll be enough if you fly down to Florida for the weekend.” She nodded as if everything were all set.
“No.”
This conversation was so weird. Didn’t she get that we were over? It wasn’t as if she would be alone for long. She was hot and popular. All the guys at Neuse Academy wanted her. She’d find someone else before our senior year started in the fall.
In the two weeks since prom, I’d dealt with the breakup. I’d refocused my energy on mountain biking. Placing well in my age division wasn’t a sure thing. I had to train hard every single day. It had been a relief to take off whenever I wanted without feeling guilty about neglecting her. If dating meant I had to choose between girls and cycling, maybe I shouldn’t date.
“Please, Mark. I’m okay with your training schedule. Don’t worry about the rest of the summer. If you share your calendar with me, I’ll work around your races.” Her smile was wide and determined and strawberry-pink.
“Stop, Alexis.”
Between my training and my job, I didn’t have a lot of free time. Maybe she thought it would get better later on in the summer. But my schedule wouldn’t lighten up until after the Carolina Challenge. If I placed high enough in that race, I’d advance a category. Then training for fall competitions would start.
Why wouldn’t she just let it go? She would never be happy unless she was number one in my life, and that wasn’t going to happen. “We can’t get back together.”
Her perky expression finally slipped. “Why not?”
I shook my head. She knew why not. She’d given me an ultimatum in front of everyone. We’d made our choices on the dance floor. Repeating the argument was just painful.
She wilted, her butt landing on the hood of the car. Shaky hands went for her hair, ruffling it into golden spikes. “I can’t believe you’re picking your bike over me.”
My breathing grew even and disciplined, as if I were riding up the last, long incline at the end of a race. As awkward as this scene had been, it was almost over. “We can’t fix this, Alexis. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” She whipped off her shades. Her eyes were wet. She dabbed at them with her fingertips. “I’ll make sure the next guy doesn’t play year-round sports.”
“Nice.” Just when I was starting to feel bad for her, she said something bitchy. I should be grateful, though. Being angry was a much easier way to end the drama. I wrapped my fingers around the mower’s handle, gripping it so hard it should’ve bent.
“Bye, Alexis.”
“Wait, if we could just—”
I checked my watch and swore. Mrs. Joffrey would be home any minute. The last thing I needed was for her to find me talking instead of working. I flipped the power switch. The mower drowned out the rest of what Alexis said.
When I turned the corner on the next row, she was still standing at the curb, hands over her mouth, sneakers sparkling. When I turned the corner on the last row, her Mini Cooper had disappeared.