The Edge of Forever (27 page)

“I’m not finished yet,” Alora says. “Are you ready to head back, Bridger?”

“No. I kind of like it out here.”

“I was hoping y’all would keep me company, but if you want to be like that.” Grace winks, but grows serious as she focuses on me. “Don’t leave her alone, okay?”

“You know I won’t,” I say.

At the same time, Alora lets out an exasperated, “Really, Aunt Grace?”

“Sweetie, you can’t be by yourself. Not under the circumstances.”

After Grace leaves, Alora huffs and rolls her eyes. “I wish she’d stop treating me like a baby.”

“She’s just worried about you.”

“Don’t start that.”

“Start what?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

“Defending her. She’s smothering me. Besides, didn’t you tell me your mom does the same thing?”

“Yes, but the difference is my mother is only looking out for herself.”

Alora sets the sketchbook on her lap. “How do you know that?”

“I just know.” I stare at the ripples and small waves lapping against the shore. That’s just how Mom is with me. Her criticisms come in short, steady streams, never stopping.

“Maybe that’s true, but what if you’re wrong? What if your mom’s trying to protect you?”

I snort. “Yeah, right. If there’s one thing I know about Morgan Creed, it’s that she’s only interested in protecting herself or my brother.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Alora says, arching an eyebrow.

“If you ever met my mother you wouldn’t say that.”

Alora gets this funny look on her face, all dreamy-like. “I’d like that.”

“What?”

“Meeting your mom. She sounds interesting.”

My mouth goes dry. Alora will never get to meet my mom. It’s another reminder I’m not where I belong.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say. I’m not sure how we got on the subject of my mother, but I have to change it. Now. I lean over and peer at Alora’s book. “Can I see what you’re drawing?”

She bites her lip. “I suppose so, but promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise,” I say, taking the book from her.

I’d figured she was drawing the river. So I’m surprised to find myself looking at a half-finished sketch of me. “Wow.”

Her face turns pink. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked first. Do you want me to stop?”

“No, it’s okay. I like it,” I say, grinning.

I know she wants to finish, but I need to pretend to see those sketches of the two women for the first time. So I act all smooth and skim through the pages. “Nice,” I say. When I get to the ones I’m looking for, I stop. “These are really good. Who are they?”

Alora’s expression grows somber. “I don’t know.”

“Wait . . . I thought you could only draw people you’ve seen before.”

She crosses her arms against her chest. “What I meant is I
have
seen them. I dream about them sometimes. I figured one is my mom, but I don’t have a clue which one.”

And as if lightning has struck me, an answer materializes in my mind. Adrenaline rushes through my body. Of course! Vika doesn’t look like her mother at all, yet she bears a strong resemblance to Alora and Alora’s father. Plus, there is the fact that Alora is a Space Bender. What if Alora and Vika are sisters? Vika was always a little jealous of my relationship with Dad—she was the product of a sperm donation. What if the donor was Alora’s father? What if Vika and Alora share the same mother? But how, and more importantly, why would Colonel Fairbanks want to have a child with someone who lived in the past? With someone who was probably a natural-born Space Bender?

I’m missing something. But what?

“What’s wrong?” Alora asks, jerking my attention back to her.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Whatever it was, it must be good. You look happy.”

“You have no idea.” I grin. The surge of excitement shooting through my veins is intoxicating.

For the first time since that whole mess on Monday, Alora really smiles. It’s beautiful, lighting up her whole face. I love it. I stare at her lips.

I want to kiss her more than anything.

Before I can stop myself, I cup her cheek and hold her gaze. I shouldn’t do this. My mind’s screaming at me to stop. I’m not supposed to mess around with a ghost. But I can’t stop. My lips brush against hers, silencing the screams. This feels so right. So perfect.

Alora’s body tenses before relaxing. She wraps her arms around my neck and presses her body closer to mine. And when her mouth parts . . . oh hell, I nearly lose it.

Then I remember what I’m doing. Who I’m kissing.

I can’t do this.

I pull away from her. Instantly, I miss the warmth of her body against mine. From the startled look on her face, she’s feeling the same way.

“What’s wrong?” she asks in a breathless voice.

I can’t speak for a moment. My heart is hammering too hard. When I’m able to think again, I say, “Maybe we should go back to the house.”

Alora’s brow crinkles, but she doesn’t say anything. She picks up the forgotten sketchbook and shoves it back in her bag. When she stands, she glares at me. “You know, you can’t kiss somebody then pull back and pretend nothing’s wrong. Did I do something?”

I jump up and grab her hands. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I felt bad. I thought I was taking advantage of you.”

“You weren’t,” she snaps.

I’ve got to be smart about this. She thinks something is wrong with her and that’s not it. “Alora, you’ve been through a lot in the past few days. And you’re about to go to another doc and go through who knows how many tests.” I take a deep breath as the guilt spikes. “So I don’t feel right doing this. Not now.”

She snatches her hands back. “You know what? I need a friend. I need someone who likes me and wants to be with me. Not another protector. Aunt Grace has that area covered.”

She turns and stomps away, leaving me gaping at her.

I should follow Alora, but I stay put. I could kick myself for kissing her. I acted like Zed. No, I’m worse. He just leers at the hot ghosts and talks a lot of junk, but he’s never acted on it. Me kissing Alora, now that was stupid.

And what if she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore? Grace is putting all her faith in letting docs find the answers, but they won’t. It’s impossible for them to detect the space-bending gene. Alora is going to be subjected to test after test. It’s going to torment her. I don’t want her to go through that.

But what if she’s supposed to go through those tests? I’m not supposed to change things.

This is so damn hard to figure out. Things would be so much simpler if I could flip a switch and make her memories of why her parents abandoned her all those years ago come back.

Something clicks with that thought. I’d already wondered if Alora’s memories were deliberately erased. That could have been what happened, especially if Colonel Fairbanks is involved. Or Alora could have just forgotten because it happened so long ago. Either way, I can help her regain her memories. A Mind Redeemer can reverse the effects of a memory erasure or help suppressed memories resurface.

The problem is I’d have to shift back to 2146 to get one.

34

ALORA

MAY 16, 2013

“Y
ou need to finish your lunch,” Aunt Grace says, glancing at the half-eaten cheeseburger I wrapped and tossed on the truck’s dashboard.

We’re back in Willow Creek after spending most of the morning at the medical imaging center in Athens. It took forever for someone to call me to the back, and another hour to perform the scan. I wonder if they’ll find a tumor. Then again, finding nothing won’t be much comfort, either, but I won’t know for a few more days. Just what I wanted, more waiting and wondering.

“Worrying won’t help. You need to keep your strength up.”

I ignore her. Arguing with Aunt Grace is pointless. She doesn’t understand forcing food down my throat will probably make me puke. She’s old school—eating always solves problems. Or at least lessens them.

I wish I could talk to Sela, but we’re still on the outs. Despite everything that’s happened to me, she walks right by me at school as if I’m invisible. Just like everyone else. Even though the police investigated and declared that I’m not to blame for Trevor’s accident, everyone still thinks I’m responsible. They’ve been saying that it’s really convenient that I can’t remember Trevor supposedly stopping and letting me out somewhere, which is what the police chief concluded. If Trevor said I’m to blame, then that
must
be the truth.

I stare out the window and frown. It’s too bright and cheerful for my mood. I bet if I rolled the window down, birds would be chirping a Disney tune.

Aunt Grace slows and pulls into the parking lot of The Gingerbread House.

“Why are you stopping here?” I ask.

Aunt Grace gives me one of her
are you serious
looks. “Because I’m tired of your moping.”

“Aunt Grace, I don’t . . .”

She holds up a hand. “Let me finish.” She sighs and her face softens. “I know you don’t want to go through all those tests, but if something’s wrong, we need to know so we can get it fixed. You’re all I’ve got left in the world and I’m gonna do what it takes to make sure you’re all right.”

“But what about the bills?”

“Don’t worry about that. You’re more important.”

I open my mouth, ready to argue, but instead a choked sob slips out. She leans over and holds me close, stroking my hair. When I’m done crying, I look up, hiccuping.

“Now, don’t you feel better?” she asks, smiling.

“I guess so.”

“That’s my girl. Keeping that stuff bottled inside is toxic. You could give yourself an ulcer, worrying about things all the time.”

“That would be better than a brain tumor.”

“Not funny,” she answers in a flat voice. “Now come on. There’s nothing some cupcakes won’t fix.”

When we walk in the store, Mrs. Randolph gasps. “Well, well, look who’s decided to grace me with her presence.”

Normally I’d have a retort, but my mind is blank, thanks to the tumor I more than likely have. “I know,” is all I can think to say.

Aunt Grace goes straight to Mrs. Randolph and begins to chat with her. Aunt Grace is probably spilling my business while Mrs. Randolph shares the latest gossip. The joys of small-town life.

I wander around the shop, inspecting the spread. The smell of fresh bread, warm cookies, and cakes welcomes me like an old friend. My traitorous stomach doesn’t care. It churns and protests. Sweat beads on my face.

Aunt Grace and Mrs. Randolph don’t even notice as I slip away to the restroom. I close the door and prop my hands on the sink, taking in huge gulps of air. Then I splash my face with cold water. When I feel stronger, I straighten and lean back against the door.

My hand creeps up and cups my necklace. Now that I know most of the truth about my father, it’s been a comfort, like a long lost gift from him. I hate that I have to hide it under my shirt. Squeezing it, I close my eyes. I wish everything was different.

Things began to fall apart when Trevor first hit on me. I wish there was some way I could go back in time and refuse to even meet with him that Wednesday. Then maybe he wouldn’t be in ICU, near death, and Naomi would still be alive. And I wouldn’t have this heavy guilt on top of the whole blackout business.

A too-familiar wave of dizziness washes over me. Crap, this had to happen again. I force myself to hold still and breathe slowly, but it doesn’t work. Panicked, I crack open my eyes, but everything is going black.

When I come to, I’m still leaning against the door. Maybe I wasn’t out too long this time. That would be nice for a change, instead of being unconscious for hours.

I check my appearance in the mirror. My face is colorless and dark smudges line my eyes. My hair is a mess. I try to quickly smooth down the flyaway strands and frown. It’s funny how this light makes my skin look shimmery. Or I could be imagining it. That’s possible if I have a brain tumor, right?

The air in the bakery is cooler than it was in the restroom. As I hurry to the front of the store, I expect to hear Aunt Grace and Mrs. Randolph still yapping, but all I can make out is the faint sounds of a television set.

The moment I get to the end of the hallway I freeze, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

It’s
me
, standing on the other side of the room at the cash register.

When I’m able to catch my breath, I take a few hesitant steps forward, thinking the other me will disappear. It has to be a hallucination.

It
has
to be.

The other Alora finishes talking with Mrs. Randolph and heads toward the door. She’s wearing a pink T-shirt and faded denim capris—the same outfit I wore when Trevor first asked me out right after detention.

Oh my God. What’s happening to me?

I’m drawn to her like a magnet. I watch as she slows before reaching the door and studies the shop. I remember doing that, thinking someone was watching me. Then someone touched me. I’m standing so close I could touch
her
, but I’m afraid.

I look down at myself. I’m still here, but the other Alora can’t see me. She has to be a hallucination or I’m here in spirit form. I almost laugh, thinking how some of Aunt Grace’s guests would love that.

The other Alora’s face pinches as she turns back to the door. Before I can change my mind, I reach out my hand. I’m not sure what I expect, but when my fingers brush against warm flesh, a chill shoots through my body.

She yells and Mrs. Randolph rushes around the counter, asking what’s wrong. I don’t hang around. I’m pretty certain I’m going to puke.

I make it back to the bathroom and lean over the toilet for a few moments, expecting to hurl. I never do. My stomach still churns, though.

How was that possible? I keep replaying the episode in my head. Maybe I imagined it. But I remember it happening weeks ago. How the touch seemed to sear into my skin. I thought I was going nuts then, but now it’s worse. The other me felt so
real
.

Pressure settles over my chest and I gasp for air. Not again. I drop the lid to the toilet and sit, while lowering my head between my knees. Breathe in. Breathe out.