“Ouch.” His expression shifts a bit, like he’s thought of something he didn’t particularly want to remember. He can’t be remembering our close call at the temple, since that’s simply not possible.
“It could have been much worse, believe me.”
“Oh, I do,” he says.
I don’t really know what he means by that, so I just look out the window as the big estates give way to smaller lots and then, after we cross the Beltway, to a mélange of strip malls and apartment buildings. A gray sky forms the backdrop, with a few patches of orange-and-purple twilight peeking through.
Trey puts on some music—I think it’s The Shins—and we ride along for a while in silence. Not the companionable kind of silence. More the I-have-no-idea-what-to-say-next kind of silence, and it’s miserable.
Apparently Trey feels the same way, because after a few minutes, he blurts out, “God, Kate. What are you in the middle of? Do you have any idea how much power those people have? The president is Cyrist! Tilson is an old man in a wheelchair, so everyone thinks he’s just a grumpy old jerk who wants kids to get the hell off his lawn. But you’re talking about overthrowing them. Do you think they’ll just sit still for that?”
I’m stunned by his outburst, and it’s a moment before I’m able to respond. “No, Trey. I’m not talking about overthrowing them, at least not to anyone other than you. The only thing I told Tilson is that I’m not a fan of the Cyrists, and that could just as easily be me not wanting to further upset an already angry old man. You said the same thing. And if I’d known it was Eve freaking Conwell’s house, I would never have agreed to go.”
His brow creases further, but he doesn’t say anything. After a minute, I remember the other thing I wanted to ask him. “You said your dad has some questions. How much have you told him?”
He shoots me an incredulous look. “Um . . . everything? I mean, I didn’t let him watch the videos that I recorded of the two of us in the other timeline. That was . . . private. Between us. But the one I made for myself . . . yeah, he watched that. I don’t know if he’s showed it to Mom or not, but I can tell she’s worried about me, and I don’t think it’s just that I’m starting a new school. I’ve done that every couple of years since kindergarten.”
“But . . . why, Trey?” It hadn’t even occurred to me that he might talk to his parents about this, probably because he hadn’t in the other timeline.
“You really need to ask that? If a guy you’d never met showed up on your doorstep with something like that, are you telling me you wouldn’t have talked to your parents or someone?”
Okay, he’s got a point. I’m silent for a few seconds and then say, “You’re right. I would have. It’s just . . . you didn’t tell them last time, so I guess I thought . . .”
We drive past the restaurant, which has a big neon cactus in the window. There’s no parking near the front, so Trey goes down a few blocks and pulls into a garage.
I don’t say anything until he switches off the car, and then I turn toward him. “So, your dad, does he believe any of this?”
“I’m not sure, Kate. I think the fact that the DVD included a file of his he’s never shared with anyone, not even me, may have convinced him. But he won’t admit it. The one thing I can tell you is he doesn’t want me involved in any of this. In fact, he’s made me promise that I won’t get involved in it. I’ve had to hide or face an argument with him each time I’ve called you. He says the Cyrists have friends in very high places—”
“Yeah, he said that last time. Before we went to the temple. You told him we were just checking on Charlayne. That’s when he mentioned the spreadsheet he was keeping. The one you put on the DVD. He was . . . nice. So was Estella.”
I can hear the note of regret in my voice. I’m guessing neither of them will be so eager to meet me in this timeline. My eyes start to water, so I look down to detach my seat belt and start to get out.
I’m about to close the door when I remember to grab my clutch from the floorboard. It still has the stupid Hello sticker on the front. I yank it off a little too forcefully and fling the sticker back on the seat.
Trey is behind me, and he grabs my hand as I turn around. “Kate . . .”
I don’t bother to hide the hurt in my eyes. “What, Trey?”
He just whispers my name again. And then his arm is around my waist, and there isn’t even a fraction of an inch between our bodies, and I can barely breathe, but who cares? He wraps his other hand in my hair and pulls my lips toward his, the kiss hungry, with an undertone of despair.
It feels like a very specific kiss, one I’ve thought of every day since I went back in time to save Katherine.
I don’t know how long we stand there. I just know that I don’t want the kiss to end. Ever. Because when it does, we’re going to walk into the restaurant and he’s going to tell me that we need to step back and keep things light or maybe end it altogether. And that conversation isn’t us. This is us. This is my Trey, right here, right now.
But eventually he pulls away and rests his hands against the side of the car. He stares at me for a long time before finally smiling. It’s a little bit haunted, however, and it doesn’t light up his face in the usual way. “We should get inside before they give our table away.”
He reaches down for my hand, but I pull it back. “Trey, maybe you should just take me home. I think I know where this is going, and I don’t want to have that conversation in a restaurant.”
“What conversation?”
“The one where you tell me all the reasons this isn’t going to work.”
He looks confused. “Um . . . Kate? Was I the only person here a minute ago? Because I’m pretty sure you were here with me.”
“No,” I say, fighting down the urge to just grab him and kiss him again. “I was definitely here. But . . . that kiss . . . it felt like our very last kiss that day at Katherine’s, before I left you behind. It felt like goodbye.”
My voice breaks on the last word, and he pulls me to his chest. After a minute, he tilts my face upward until our eyes meet. “I can’t remember that other kiss, so I’ll have to take your word on whether they were the same. But I have watched the DVD I made, Kate. Quite a few times. And I can promise you that other kiss wasn’t me telling you goodbye. It was me saying that we have to find some way to make this work, because I don’t want to lose you.”
The restaurant is noisy and crowded, but given that it’s Saturday night, we’re probably lucky to have a table. Mexican movie posters line the walls near the entrance, and the waitress leads us to a small table near the emergency exit, just beneath a tall, colorful painting of a cowboy, his hat pulled down low to hide his face. Trey and I make several attempts to talk over the music, the party of twelve next to us, and the couple behind us with two grouchy toddlers, but we finally give up on conversation and just settle for entwining our feet under the little table while we eat our fajitas.
The rain slacks off a bit by the time we finish, and Trey suggests we find someplace quieter to talk. We seem to have landed on one of the few blocks in the DC area without a Starbucks in sight, so we duck into a little café and order coffee and cobbler à la mode, supposedly to share. I think the dessert is going to be all Trey, because I just pigged out on fajitas. But it’s blackberry, and it smells really good when the waiter slides it in front of us, so I give in and try a bite.
When the cobbler is history and the waiter has topped off our mugs, Trey grabs my hand across the table, lacing our fingers together. “Okay, what I said back there in the garage? I meant it. We have to find some way to make this work. And I think doing that is going to require complete honesty and openness on both sides. Shall I start?”