The Day Before Forever (20 page)

Suddenly, Henley looked up. He was looking at the ceiling.

I was confused.

Henley looked back at the makeshift screen. Then at the ceiling again. Finally, he twisted his entire body and looked toward the back of the room.

A slow smile crept onto my face. Of course. Henley was trying to figure out where the projector was and how it worked. That would keep Henley engaged more than the actual movie itself.

The screen flickered. Old movie effects maybe? The camera followed an old woman being led around a garden by a young man. So far, there was only music. It was almost like watching a silent film.

My eyes drifted from the screen. I noticed the back windows of the room were taped over in dark plastic, so even though it was the middle of the day, it looked like night outside. “We're having the stereotypical date,” I whispered to Henley. “We're out watching a movie.”

“Dinner and a movie minus the dinner?”

“We're becoming normal.”

Glancing around, I took in the people around us.

There was a man up front who was completely absorbed by the movie. He had a notebook on his lap that he was scribbling notes in furiously. Film student, perhaps? Or someone who
wanted
to be?

Next, I saw a girl who was more interested in examining her own hair than watching the movie. She seemed like she was
looking for split ends. She was the first man's opposite.

For the most part, the entire middle section of the room looked like they wanted to be there watching the movie. There were nachos, pretzels, and packs of candy being passed around, but everyone's eyes were glued to the screen. The back of the room was different.

The smoke seemed denser in the back. I squinted to see outlines of faces and bodies. The people looked more squished against one another. I could hear the low murmur of their talking from where we sat.

Henley leaned over toward me, his eyes not leaving the screen. “You don't look like you're paying attention to the film,” he whispered.

“No. No, I am.”

For once, there was no cheeky reply. Henley was too busy watching.

Maybe it was because I missed the first few minutes thanks to my people watching, but the rest of the movie made no sense to me. There was no narrator and no apparent plot. The characters seemed to be doing random things. Where there wasn't any music, there were interspersed bits of dialogue between the old woman and the young man, but the lines seemed random and nonsensical.

I decided to keep drinking my beer and try to follow along as best as I could.

In the end, a character who looked like the personification of death came and took the old woman away, forcing the young man to continue his life without her. None of it made sense.

When the credits started rolling, I looked around the room.
People were clapping. Some of them were even standing up.

“Bravo!” someone shouted.

The front and middle of the room seemed to have loved the movie.

“Wondrous” was a word thrown around.

“Meaningful poetry,” I heard someone say.

The back of the room didn't seem to have even noticed the movie had finished. They still smoked and talked.

“That was superb,” Henley said. He sounded breathless.

“That good?” I asked.

“All the colors . . . And the sound was so good.”

“Amazed by the change in technology since your time?”

“Well . . . yes.”

I had to laugh. He was almost as impressed as he had been when I had shown him how the computer worked.

There was a crackle as the speaker system turned on again.

“My God was that some deep mind-twerking stuff, am I right?” It was the announcer from before. “Let's hear it again for my man Danny!”

The claps were loud and more people whistled than before.

“Danny, do you want to say some words?”

“Free beers on me!” he yelled.

There was a mad stampede toward the bar.

“My lord, that's . . . impressive,” Henley said.

“What? The rush?”

“The fact that they're still acting like children, even though they must be all adults,” he said.

“I'm not so sure about that. Those
children
seemed to understand the movie much better than I did,” I said. “Maybe I didn't
understand it because I don't understand death.”

“You know that's not true. You're probably just overthinking it.”

“Then you want to go back?” I asked.

“No, I'd like to stay a while, if you don't mind.”

“I don't mind at all.”

I looked at the other people in the room to see what they were up to. Still chatting, still smoking.

Henley stretched out on the vacated pillows around us. “Do you sometimes feel that the only place you can be alone is in a crowd?”

It was hard to put into words, but I knew that feeling. “We're doing it right now, aren't we? Having this private conversation in a room full of people. Everyone's so preoccupied with their own conversations and their own lives that we're alone.”

Henley sat up on his forearms. “Do you want another beer?”

I glanced over at the beer bottle a foot away from my arm. It was still half full. “Not beer.”

“Then something else?”

“Sure,” I said. I had very little knowledge of alcohol.

Henley left to get our drinks. The crowd by the bar had dissipated after everyone had gotten their free beer. Whoever was tending bar was probably having a good night.

When Henley came back, he carried two plastic cups.

“Plastic?”

“They ran out of real ones,” he said.

I looked into Henley's cup. It looked like he had gotten himself another gin and tonic. The drink he held out to me was tinted green.

“What did you get me?”

“A green apple martini,” he said.

Hesitantly, I took a sip. I was worried it would taste like the beer. People had always said alcohol was an acquired taste. I guess it was one thing I hadn't acquired when becoming immortal.

But it was good. The drink was actually
really
good. It smelled faintly of an apple orchard, and it tasted like it smelled. It was more similar to the wine I had at court in 1527 than that horrible beer.

I took another sip. And another.

“I'm glad you like it, but you might want to slow down,” Henley said.

“It's okay,” I said. I was already more than halfway through my cup—they hadn't filled it up all the way—and I felt fine. Completely unchanged, in fact.

My cheeks started to feel warm. It was like the feeling I got when I blushed, but instead of embarrassment, I was filled with pure radiating warmth. It felt good.

“Can I have another?” I asked Henley.

“I'll get you another if you promise to drink it much more slowly.” Henley got up to go to the bar.

I liked that Henley could guess what I would like. I wasn't a beer person, but I liked the sweetness of the martini.

I tried to remember if anyone I knew drank much. Miss Hatfield never drank. That was for certain . . . at least in front of me. I couldn't remember whether Cynthia's parents had drunk . . . maybe a glass of wine, only during holidays? Or maybe they drank all the time and I just couldn't remember it.

Henley was back with another cup. I reached out to take it from him, but he held it back.

“Slowly,” he said, before handing it to me.

“I know. I know.”

I relished the way the sweet drink warmed my throat on the way down. From the way it slowly burned, I'd have thought it would have a syrupy texture, but it was smooth and almost too easy to drink.

I tilted my head back and smiled. If I hadn't had anything else to worry about, this moment would have been perfect.

“Are you all right, Rebecca?”

I wanted to tell Henley that of course I wasn't “all right”—I had a murderer after me and I was stuck on the wrong continent—but I remembered the promise we had made not to talk about that.

So I said, “I'm fine.”

“You're looking a tad rosy there,” he said.

I rolled my head to the side to look at him. “Am I?”

“You're getting a bit tipsy, aren't you?”

“Am I?” I asked again. I looked down at my cup. It was empty. I could've sworn I hadn't drunk it all.

“Wait . . . This is your first time drinking, isn't it?”

“I've had wine before,” I said, but the word “wine” seemed to stretch out unnaturally in my mouth.

I couldn't tell if he looked concerned or if he was smirking. It's very hard to tell someone's expression when you're looking at him sideways with your head tilted.

“Do you feel like you're in control?” Henley asked.

I began to shake my head, but the room moved. I didn't like
that. I steadied myself on Henley's shoulders.

“It's nice to feel not as in control as I normally do,” I said.

“It's nice to not feel in control?”

“That's what I said . . . Can you get me another drink?”

Henley took my hands off his shoulders. “I don't think that's what you need right now. What you need right now is some water . . . I can't believe you drank those couple of drinks in a few seconds. You know there's vodka in them?”

I gave him a blank stare.

“Wait right here. And don't move.”

Henley walked away from me.

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?” Someone was tapping me on the shoulder.

“Oh, that's nice of you. An apple martini,” I said.

It was dark, but I think the man was blond.

“Sounds good. The bartender's a friend of mine, so skipping the line will be easy for me.”

He flashed a grin. His teeth were so white, they glowed in the dark.

As he walked away, I wondered if he whitened his teeth with those handheld devices they sold on television. What were they called? . . . I couldn't seem to remember. But either way, it was so nice of him to go around buying drinks for random strangers. I wondered if the host was paying him to do it, to make people have a good time.

He was back in no time with my drink.

“Thank you!” I said, taking a sip.

“So you're a martini girl?”

“I guess you could say that.” It was also the only drink I
knew, but he didn't need to know that.

I saw Henley coming toward me. I waved to show him where I was—I hadn't moved an inch since he told me not to.

“Who are you waving at?” the man asked.

“Henley,” I said.

The man looked surprised and left. I didn't understand why he didn't want to stay to say hello to Henley. Henley could've used a drink too.

“Sorry that took a while. The line was long. And all that for them only to tell me that they're out of water. Who's ever out of water and ice at a bar?” Henley said. “And who was that man?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. I lifted my new cup. “But he bought me a drink.”

“He bought you a drink?”

“An apple martini.”

I made sure to show him the drink, but he took it from me.

“Go get your own,” I said. “Besides, I've already drank most of it anyway, so you're not getting much out of that cup.”

“You're not supposed to take drinks from strangers,” he said. He actually looked mad.

“Like Miss Hatfield. Oops.” I covered my mouth, but it was too late.

“It's dangerous.” Henley didn't seem to notice my slipup. “And what did I say about slowing down on the alcohol? We should probably start walking back to get you some water.”

“Hydrating is good,” I said, taking his arm. “You're not going to miss the party?”

“No. I don't need that,” he said.

When we stepped outside, the cooler air hit us in the face
and the light blinded us. The sound—the music and the voices—escaped through the door with us and leaked out onto the street. Once the door was closed, it was amazing how soundproof it was. Or maybe it just seemed that way because our ears were ringing.

“I didn't realize it was
that
loud in there,” Henley said. “I'm yelling just to hear myself now.”

“Shh, there are probably other people on the street. It's still the middle of the day.”

Henley said something.

I shook my head. I couldn't hear it.

“How are you feeling?” he said, much louder. “I don't care that I'm yelling in the streets. You're the one who's drunk in the middle of the day.”

He linked arms with me, and I leaned my head toward him as we walked.

The sun was warm on our backs. It felt like the same warmth I had drunk earlier. It felt good. Everything felt good.

“You know something?” I tilted my head up at Henley.

He was patient with me. “What?”

“We're going to be okay.”

“I hope so.”

Henley wheeled me in through the hostel lobby past a baffled Aaron. “She's drunk? It's still daytime,” I think I heard him say. He was laughing.

Henley stood me outside our door.

“You forget the key?” I asked.

“No, but I did think we'd end this stereotypical date in a stereotypical way.”

I was confused.

But then his lips were on mine. It was the first time he had kissed me since 1904. It was worth a century. Even through the haze in my mind, he tasted sweeter than any drink. He made my cheeks warmer—all the way down to the base of my neck. And there was something else, something I felt with my whole body.

He pulled away. “Had to end our first proper date with a proper kiss on the doorstep.” Henley unlocked the door and held it open. “Ladies first.”

I ducked under his arm and made a beeline directly for the bed. I didn't know what to think, but I did know my martinis were something I needed to sleep off.

TWELVE

THE BED MOVED
beside me, and I opened my eyes.

“Had a nice nap?” Henley asked.

I realized I had fallen asleep on my stomach. As I slowly turned over, I became aware of how sore my body felt. Finally on my back, I rolled my shoulders.

“You slept pretty soundly,” Henley said. “You didn't move at all. At one point, I thought I should make sure you were still breathing.”

I probably also slept strangely on my arm. That was probably why I was so sore and stiff.

“You even snored.”

That got my attention. “I did?”

“Yes, you did. A lot.”

Now that was embarrassing. Especially in front of Henley.

“It was probably from the alcohol. At least you know now what it does to you.”

“Makes me feel warm and good?” I said.

“And able to sleep through the end of the world.” Henley propped himself up with his pillow.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Just a few hours,” Henley said.

“Why didn't you wake me?”

“You looked like you needed it,” he said. “Besides, it's not as if there's anything we need to do urgently now. I did take the opportunity to talk to Alanna and Peter, though.”

“You talked to them? Without me?”

He poked me. “Don't look so shocked. I like having friends and socializing too. Anyway, they invited us out for drinks.”

I groaned into my pillow. “Ugh, drinks.” I liked green apple martinis, but I felt so tired after drinking. I just wanted to lie down.

“Exactly. I thought you'd have that reaction,” Henley said. “Which is why I got them to do breakfast tomorrow instead.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

I didn't even have to look at Henley to know that he was smirking.

The next morning started off rushed.

“We were supposed to be in the lobby to meet Alanna and Peter ten minutes ago!”

“I know, I know.” I was struggling to get my shoes on.

“You grabbed the backpack?” Henley asked, standing by the door.

“Yes. Look, it's right here.” I dangled the backpack in front of me.

Henley pushed me out of the door to lock it behind me.

I ran down the hallway, not caring who I woke. It was time to get up anyway.

“There you guys are!” Alanna rose to give me a big hug.

A week or so ago, that would have scared me, but I was used to it enough to remember to hug her back.

Henley caught up to us.

“Peter.” Henley gave him a nod.

“Why is it that men don't hug as much?” Alanna wondered. “You know, it's not unmanly to hug it out.”

“Oh, we know, honey,” Peter said. “Just let us do our own thing.”

Alanna rolled her eyes, muttering “stubborn men” under her breath.

“So I heard you and Henley had a fun day yesterday?” Alanna pulled me along, out the door.

“Yes we did . . .” I was hesitant, not knowing how much Henley had told her. Had he mentioned how I had been tipsy for the first time?

“I also heard that you found a new drink that you liked.” She nudged me.

“Yes. A green apple martini,” I said.

“Very good. I like mine extra dry. I like that it's sweet, but not too sweet that you can't have it with appetizers.”

“I don't drink that often,” I said. And it was true.

“I can imagine . . .”

I gave her a look. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

“Henley mentioned you got a little drunk yesterday. It wasn't even dinner yet.” Alanna giggled.

“I'm not going to live that down for a while, am I?”

Alanna pretended to think for a moment. “Um . . . nope.”

“So where exactly are we going?”

Her steps were quickening. “There's this
marvelous
crepe place we found. It's just
divine
.”

“That good?” I said.

Alanna paused at a crosswalk. She looked both ways and even over her shoulder once before crossing. “We're already heading toward it, and ‘good' doesn't even begin to describe it,” Alanna said, walking faster.

“She's not kidding when she says it's out of this world,” Peter said, rushing to keep up with her. “Not that Alanna would actually know . . . ,” he muttered.

“See! If Peter says it's good, you know it has to be,” Alanna said.

“You two are walking so fast, it's like you think this place will run out of food!” Henley said.

Alanna looked at him with a serious expression. “It's so fantastic, I wouldn't be surprised if it did.”

I grinned. “I guess we'll have to put it to the test then, right, Henley? You do know that New York has some of the best breakfast places.”

“Oh, I agree. We need to see if it's all that it's cracked up to be,” Henley said.

“I'm sure you'll love it as much as we do. You have to.”

We ended up walking into a restaurant that looked like a kitchen from a home-improvement magazine. The floor was tiled in black-and-white symmetrical patterns. The lights hung from upside-down brass cups that swung ever so slightly with
the air conditioning. The room was full of light, reflecting off the silverware and white dishes.

“Four for brunch,” Alanna told the hostess.

We were led to a table with a view of the street. I squeezed myself beside the window and Peter since Henley and Alanna had taken the other side.

“Here are your menus,” our waitress said. “Could I start you off with something to drink? Coffee or tea, perhaps?”

“Waters for all of us, please,” Henley said.

Alanna put up a hand. I noticed it looked freshly manicured—I wondered when she'd had time for that. “A mimosa for me . . . because I'm not Rebecca.”

Alanna smiled at me, causing the confused waitress to look my way.

“A coffee for me, please,” I said.

It didn't take our waitress long to get us our drinks. I plopped two sugars into my coffee, trying hard not to splash.

“Looks like someone has a sweet tooth,” Peter said. “Don't worry. I won't tell Alanna . . . or else she'd make you eat kale or something dreadful like that.”

“Kale?”

“Yeah, she's a health freak. Or haven't you noticed?”

I glanced at Alanna, who was busy scanning her menu.

“She told you the crepes are amazing here, right?” Peter said.

“Yeah . . .”

“Well she only knows that because I order them,” Peter said. “She'll order the healthiest thing she can find on there. Like plain steamed broccoli or a boring salad sans dressing.”

“And you? You're not into health?”

“Am I a health freak? Oh no. Thank God. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

The waitress came up to us. “Are you all ready to order?”

I had forgotten to look at the menu. I started furiously scanning it, hoping to find something before the waitress got to me.

“I'll have the salmon crepe,” Henley said.

There was a pause as our waitress wrote that down. “And you, miss?”

I looked up. Thankfully, she was talking to Alanna.

“Oh, could I have the house salad?” she said. “But without the dressing?”

“Told you . . . ,” Peter whispered next to me.

“And you, sir?”

“The chocolate, banana, and strawberry crepe,” Peter said. To me, he said, “I have a sweet tooth too.”

I saw Alanna momentarily wrinkle her nose at Peter's order.

“And you, miss?”

“The mushroom and poached egg crepe, please.”

When the waitress left, Alanna looked carefully at Peter.

“Here comes the lecture,” he murmured.

“Eighty, twenty,” she said. “You're supposed to eat healthy eighty percent of the time and eat what you want twenty percent of the time. We both had those fish and chips a few days ago.
And
gelato. You need to eat healthier, Peter.” Alanna was almost yelling over the loud music and bustle in the restaurant.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Alanna huffed, but luckily Henley distracted her with some question.

“She means well,” Peter said. “She does it because she loves
me. And by ‘it,' I mean drive me raving mad. That's why I chose to spend the rest of my life with her and not someone else.”

I smiled at that.

“You saw the ring, right?” Peter tilted his head at Alanna. “It's pretty good, isn't it?” He looked proud.

“Yes, I've noticed it before.” I turned to look closely at it now.

The oval diamond lay glittering on her finger. It looked like a rose-gold band. Simple, with something a little unique.

“It's beautiful,” I said.

“Well, it should be. It took me forever to save up for it. So many odd jobs to scrape the money together . . . You know, I once was even a substitute teacher? Me. A teacher. Can you believe that? They wanted me to cut my dreads, but I put my foot down.”

I told him that I couldn't believe it.

“But it was worth it. Alanna likes it. And she's worth everything. I can't wait to make it all official.”

“Official?”

“You know . . . marriage. The real deal,” he said.

That brought a smile to my face. Even a modern, slightly unconventional couple like Alanna and Peter were traditional enough to want to get married and have the bond between them validated by society. Yes, even a man who refused to cut his dreads.

He leaned in. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Alanna wants me to cut my dreadlocks for the wedding, but I probably won't.” He smirked. “If she loves me, she'll take
me as I am. Dreads and all.”

I could imagine Alanna throwing a fit. “Not sure how happy she'll be at that,” I said. “But hopefully she'll warm up to the idea.”

“Oh no. I'm thinking of just not telling her until I show up on the day of the ceremony with my dreads.”

It was lucky for Peter that the restaurant was too loud for Alanna to hear him right now. I couldn't imagine that going over well at all.

The food came, and Alanna's face lit up.

“I can't wait to dig in,” Henley said.

I raised my fork.

“Stop!”

We both looked up at Alanna, since she had been the one to bark at us.

“You can't eat yet,” she said. “I need to take a few photos. Put that fork down!”

I obeyed, as Alanna pulled out a phone and stood up over the table to begin taking photos.

Henley's eyes met mine. There was something urgent in them. He wanted to tell me something, but not in front of them. “Later,” he mouthed.

“Alanna always takes photos of her food before she eats it,” Peter said. “And if you're eating with her, she'll photo yours too. That's like a cardinal rule of Alanna.”

“So . . . what does she do with all these photos of her food?”

“She posts them online. Sometimes to her blog, but definitely to Instagram,” Peter said.

I had never heard of Instagram.

Alanna sat down once she was done. “You guys can go ahead and eat now.”

“Blog?” I asked Peter as I picked up my fork again. I had to keep talking to keep my mind off worrying about what Henley wanted to tell me.

“Yeah, Alanna blogs. She didn't tell you that?” Peter looked surprised, and then looked at Alanna across from him. “You didn't tell them that you blog?”

“I must have mentioned it sometime,” she said. She gestured at the restaurant around us. “You know it's not all my parents' money.” Alanna laughed.

“Give them one of your business cards,” Peter said.

“Let's see if I have one . . .” Alanna dug into the black cross-body bag she was carrying. “Here we go.”

She slid it across the table to me. I picked it up.

Alanna Santelli—Blogger of Colorful Plate and Dress

“So what do you write about?”

“The three Fs: food, fashion, fun. And basically anything else that comes to mind,” she said.

“And recently travel,” Peter added. “You can't forget that.”

“Right. My blog's been getting loads more hits from the outfit posts I've been doing at each place we travel to. And more hits mean more sponsors.”

“And what do the sponsors do?” Henley asked.

“Sponsors do everything, from donating stuff for free giveaways to providing me with clothing. Sometimes restaurants in the cities we visit sponsor me, and we'll have a free meal provided I blog about it.”

“Interesting . . .” The gears in Henley's mind seemed like
they were churning. “Sounds strangely profitable, if you do it the right way.”

He was ever the businessman.

“Peter takes care of the finances for me,” Alanna said. “Not to mention, he also takes the photos for the outfit posts and the other photos I'm in.” She leaned across the table to touch Peter's arm. “He's incredibly helpful.”

Peter looked at me. “It's how I earn my keep.” He chuckled. “Practically the only way I got her to say yes when I got down on one knee.”