The Day Before Forever (17 page)

I squeezed his knee. “Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you.”

“You deserve far more,” he said. He seemed sure of that too.

NINE

WE WOKE UP
late the next morning. I swear I had celery and kidney-bean breath, as that was what I'd had for “dinner” last night, if you could call it that. We had bought enough of each item so we weren't technically hungry, but it had been a while since we had felt contentedly full. Henley had cereal to go along with his beans. Not the best combination.

I poked him.

He opened one eye, still half asleep. “What was that for?”

“Should we go buy food?” I said. “
Real
food?”

Henley smirked. “Hungry?”

“Not technically, but not satisfied either.”

“We have money and it seems like a lot, but you know we still have to save up. There's no telling what problems we might run into.”

Henley was right. We might need the money if we ever ran into issues.

I turned over. “But we do need to eat . . .”

I sighed and got up, walking toward the food.

I took one bite of the bread. It was horrible, but I had to satisfy my stomach.

I looked back at the bed, expecting to see Henley fast asleep again, but he was up.

Henley was standing there doing absolutely nothing, but he didn't seem to hear me.

“Are you all right?” I said, going closer to him. “Henley?”

“Sorry. Pardon?”

“Are you all right?” I repeated.

“Yes. Um . . . fine.”

But Henley shuffled his feet. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He crossed and uncrossed his arms.

“What is it?” I asked.

“No, nothing.”

I tried to take what he said as the truth, but I saw him pace a few steps to the left and then turn to his right and do the same thing. He kept stretching his hands out and then balling them up into fists.

“It's obviously not nothing,” I finally said.

Henley turned to me, and his eyes searched my face. “You're not going to like this . . .”

“What am I not going to like?” I hated him not spitting it out.

“I need meat,” he said slowly. “I need
hot
food.”

I froze, looking up at him, and a laugh burst out. That single laugh turned into howls. I couldn't stand straight anymore, and I bent over, clutching at my sides.

“It's not that funny,” Henley said, standing over me with his hands planted on his hips. “I'm serious.”

That only got me cackling even more. He waited in that pose until my laughter died down enough for me to speak.

“You . . . you looked
so
serious,” I said. “I was worried you were going to tell me something absolutely horrible.”

“Your face is red.”

“I know you want hot food, but you were just telling me that we need to continue to save money. We have leftover bread and kidney beans.”

“I don't
want
hot food. I
need
hot food.” Henley's face was grave. “I can't eat another meal of cold canned kidney beans. This is a matter of survival. Doesn't meat sound good? Besides, we can call it a slightly early celebratory lunch—we're getting the money today.”

I had to agree with him—meat did sound good. Since he'd mentioned it, a plate of chicken was all I could think of. And we were getting the money soon anyway.

“What's one little meal?” Henley said. “We'll go to the cheapest place in the area. We could ask Aaron.”

“You want this really badly, don't you?”

Henley nodded like a bobblehead.

My stomach gurgled. I couldn't argue.

We made our way directly to the front desk after that. Henley was quick to ring the desk bell.

“Oh it's you two.” Aaron smiled as he came in. “What can I do for you?”

“We're looking for meat,” Henley said.

I giggled. “A place that serves meat, he means. A
cheap
place.”

“If you really want cheap, the cheapest you can get around here is McDonald's. But I understand if you don't want that. We also have—”

“That's the cheapest?” I asked.

“Well, yeah . . .” Aaron looked confused. “You could get chicken nuggets for about three pounds.”

I didn't know much about McDonald's, except that they often ran advertisements in New York. I would see posters on bus stops. Miss Hatfield never ordered from there and we never went. But I was sold as soon as Aaron mentioned chicken.

“McDonald's would be perfect.”

“It's only three blocks down the street that way.” Aaron waved his arm to his left.

We barely heard the end of his sentence as we dashed toward the door.

I hadn't realized how much I had missed food served hot and also how much I'd missed meat. I tried to remember the last time I'd had any—was it at the court feast in 1527? No, I did have that hot dog with Henley, but that was so little food.

Henley pointed out the lighted “M” sign and began to jog toward it. I caught up with him in front of the restaurant counter.

“What are you going to get?” he asked me.

“Chicken.”

“Chicken nuggets? What are nuggets? Just little pieces of chicken?”

I was so looking forward to warm food that I couldn't even take enjoyment out of Henley figuring out chicken nuggets.

“I guess that makes a little sense,” Henley was saying.
“Chicken nuggets are little nuggets of chicken. How clever. I'll get that too. They look good in that photo.”

We stood behind a woman who was ordering until it was our turn to walk up to the counter.

“How may I help you today?” A girl with braces and a red visor tilted her head at us.

“Chicken nuggets, please,” I said.

“The Chicken McNuggets? How many pieces?”

“How much is a good amount for two people?” I asked.

The girl looked bored with my question. “You could get the Chicken McNuggets share box.”

“How much is that?”

“Three pounds, ninety-nine pence,” she said, reciting from memory.

“We'll get two of those,” Henley said.

I gave him a look but didn't argue.

“To go or for here?”

“For here,” I said. Why not? The place was mostly empty anyway.

“That'll be seven pounds and ninety-eight pence.”

Henley pulled out the amount and received a receipt. We followed the woman who had been in front of us in line to wait for our food. She had chosen to stand by the trash can, so we stood on the other side.

The smell of food was thick in the air. I could almost feel the texture of chicken in my mouth. I couldn't wait.

I grabbed ketchup in the meantime. They came in little pouches like the soy sauce Miss Hatfield used to get with our Chinese takeout.

“I'm excited,” Henley whispered.

“I can see that.”

His face was flushed, and his eyes were glued to the people we could see making french fries in the kitchen.

“Classic burger. No bacon.” A loud voice came onto the intercom, making me inadvertently jump.

I watched as the woman next to us walked up to the counter and grabbed her paper bag of food. Even though it hadn't been sitting on the counter long, the bag already had grease soaking through the bottom and sides.

“I think we're next then,” Henley said.

Sure enough, only a few minutes went by before the voice came back on the intercom. “Chicken McNuggets share box.”

Henley was already by the counter and took the tray of food directly from the man who dropped it off from the back kitchen.

We sat down at the first table we saw, though all the tables were empty. I guessed we were eating early compared to most people. I sat by the window, and Henley sat across from me. He was already opening the first box of chicken nuggets.

Henley popped a chicken nugget into his mouth before I could get the ketchup packet open.

“Don't eat all of them just yet!” I said.

“Heavenly,” Henley said. He took a second nugget. “Your loss if you're slow.”

I carefully dipped my chicken nugget into the pool of ketchup I had made in the corner of the paper carton. The piece of chicken was hot to the touch.

“This is how you do it,” I said as I took my first bite.

Henley was right, it was heavenly.

“I haven't had chicken—or really any meat—since . . . since I had my old body!” Henley said between mouthfuls.

I was glad no one was within earshot to hear him. They would have thought he was a lunatic.

“You had that corn dog,” I said.

“That's sausage. That doesn't count.”

I had absolutely no idea why that supposedly didn't count, but I didn't question his logic.

When was the last time I had had nuggets? Maybe it was with Miss Hatfield in New York. Did I ever have any before then? Before—when I was called Cynthia and it was still 1954 and I was still mortal . . . Before, when I hadn't yet adopted Miss Hatfield's name because I hadn't met her yet. Before she moved into the neighborhood and changed everything.

I could vaguely remember my mother—Cynthia's mother. Did she pack me chicken nuggets in a lunchbox for school? Did we have chicken nuggets then? Were they invented? I didn't remember.

What did Cynthia's mother look like? I scanned my memories and remembered the beautiful pastel dresses she used to wear, but in each memory her face was blank, as if washed over and grayed out. Try as I might, it wasn't there in my memory anymore. It was frustrating, so I stopped trying. Cynthia wasn't me anymore.

“Doesn't it feel good? This warmth with each bite?” Henley went on. “That's what you miss with a diet of bread and kidney beans.”

“You're forgetting the cheese and celery,” I teased through a mouthful of chicken.

Henley waved a nugget in my face. “Doesn't this beat cheese?”

When we had scarfed down the first box of chicken, Henley went to get us water. I watched from my seat as he asked an employee how to use the soda machine. I hadn't ever used one myself, but apparently there was a button for water.

Henley was beaming when he brought the cups over to the table.

“You look so smug,” I said.

“I'm proud of myself. Those contraptions are no match for me.”

I rolled my eyes and imagined Henley being bested by a soda machine. “Whatever you say . . .”

I don't think Henley heard me, as he was busy opening the second box of chicken nuggets.

We spent a good hour at McDonald's. Henley was in better cheer after warm food. I felt happier after satisfying my strange craving for chicken. Soon enough, it was time to head over to the auction house for our meeting.

When Henley and I walked into the tall, imposing building the second time, it wasn't as tall and imposing as I had remembered. Yes, the green tile floor still made the clicking sound as Henley walked across it, but it felt different, knowing what to expect. Since it was the second time around, we also knew to go directly to the elevator.

The elevator man was there again.

“Fourth floor. Carter House,” Henley said.

He looked as smooth as he had before, but this time was different. This time, he gave me a reassuring smile when we got
into the elevator. It made all the difference.

The elevator doors parted, and we walked into the second lobby. I didn't feel as awkward as I had the first time, following Henley's footsteps while lugging around a neon-green backpack.

“Hello, Hilary.” Henley greeted her first.

Hilary's face perked up. I wondered if it wasn't common for a client to remember her name.

“Let me buzz Tabitha to let them know you're here,” she said. “Please take a seat. Coffee or tea?”

Henley sat down on the green leather couch. He sprawled his arms out, hooking his elbows around the couch back. “Coffee, please.”

I took my seat beside him. Maybe this time I would spend my time perusing the magazines that were on the table in front of us while I waited.

“And for you, Mrs. Beauford?” Hilary looked at me.

A smirk materialized on Henley's face, though neither of us corrected her.

“Coffee for me as well, please,” I managed to get out.

Hilary left the room, presumably to brew the coffee.

“I quite like the sound of that,” Henley said.

I blushed so hard my cheeks burned.

“I'm going to take that as a sign that you like it too.”

I didn't answer him. “You're so comfortable in these grand rooms and situations—was your business like this?”

“You mean was it conducted like this? Well, yes, it was a lot of sitting around doing nothing and waiting for people to show up.” His eyes had a mischievous gleam. “Business is one of those occupations that doesn't change that much. It'll always be about
people. It's a job where you work with people. Where you work to understand people. That's all it really is.”

“So you were ‘working with people' and ‘working to understand people' in luxurious settings like this?” I threw my hands up, gesturing to the room we were sitting in. “I don't even want to think about how much the couch we're sitting on costs.”