“Only if you can free me from this beast of a chair,” I said, wiggling as I tried to get some leverage. “What do you feed this thing? Customers?”
“Relax.” Lily let her hair fall around her shoulders and grinned at me. “I kind of like having a captive audience. How’s it going with Thomas and Dru?”
Since I wasn’t going anywhere without help, I took a sip of my espresso, sighing with pleasure. Rumor had it Murphy’s Law was the best place in the States besides Miami to get a Cubano, an espresso shot sweetened with sugar while brewed. “Better than I expected. They’re pregnant.”
“Pregnant? That’s great,” she said before tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at me. “Or is it?”
“It is. Dru threatened to put me under house arrest if I tried to move out. She said she knows somebody at the police department who can get her one of those ankle bracelets.”
Lily’s voice turned wistful as she leaned back in her chair. She’d never get stuck. “Family is important.”
The two of us shared the no-parent thing. Her parents were alive, but her father’s involvement with the government hadn’t allowed him or her mother to escape Cuba with Lily and her grandmother. Except for some extremely distant cousins in South Florida, she had fewer family members than I did.
“Any news from your parents?” I asked.
“No. Not since last Christmas.” Her eyes filled with sorrow I recognized. She changed the subject quickly, the way she always did whenever her family came up. “You never gave me details about the restaurant opening. Spill it—any developments on the social front?”
“Nope.”
She gave me a look that clearly indicated she didn’t believe me. “That was an awfully quick answer.”
“When did y’all start selling your own brand?” I hedged, squinting up at the sign announcing the price for freshly roasted coffee beans.
“Last spring. Dish. Now.” She perched on the edge of her seat, eager for the details. “You did meet someone.”
“It’s true.” Lily knew me too well. She wouldn’t stop until she got it out of me. “But there’s no point talking about it. He’s off-limits.”
“Why?” She pulled her head back in dismay. “Don’t tell me there’s a girlfriend?”
“It’s one of Thomas’s rules—the guy sort of works for us. Plus he’s older than me, but only by a couple of years. Thomas thinks a high school diploma puts the guy in the speed-pass line for the nursing home. The thing is, every time we’re together there’s all this crazy …” Unable to come up with a solid description, I made wordless circles with my hands. I guess I could’ve told her we almost made the circuits blow at the Phone Company, but figured I should probably keep that to myself. “I feel this … pull toward him.”
And it scares the bejeezus out of me.
“Em, that’s a big deal for you,” Lily said softly. She knew how hard it was for me to relate to people sometimes. “If there’s really a connection there, don’t you think Thomas would understand, make an exception?”
“I don’t know if it’s mutual. Besides, I think Michael agrees with Thomas. He’s the one who told me about the no-mixing business-with-pleasure rule.”
“Michael,” Lily said in a sultry voice before she giggled. “Nice name. You could always go all Romeo and Juliet if you had to. Keep your love a secret.”
“Yeah, because that worked out so well. There’s no love there, Lily.” And for me there probably never would be. No matter how much Dru protested, I didn’t think I had anything to offer.
“Abi’s back. Let’s go talk to her. I bet you won’t even have to fill out an app.”
“I don’t see her.” I craned my neck to look toward the kitchen door. She walked in two seconds later. I looked back at Lily. “Okay.”
She laughed uncomfortably and pushed herself out of her chair, but stopped in her tracks when I called out to her.
“Lily?” She turned back to face me. I gestured to the chair. “Help?”
Chapter 13
Thomas wanted to watch The Godfather. Again. I refused to surrender.
“But The Philadelphia Story is my favorite.” When he started to protest, I switched tactics. “Your wife is with child; you’re supposed to be catering to her every need.”
“She’s right, Thomas.” Dru nodded wisely. “And violence isn’t good for the baby.”
“The baby hasn’t even grown fingernails yet—how is he going to know we’re watching a mafia movie?”
“She is going to be sensitive just like her mother.” Dru looked up at him with wide eyes. “Surely you don’t want to take the risk?”
As the music that accompanied the title credits to The Philadelphia Story started, the doorbell rang. On my way back from the kitchen, snack bowl in hand, I called, “I’ve got it,” into the living room, and shuffled to answer the front door. Probably the pizza.
I opened the door to Michael, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, a look of misery on his face.
“Hey.” I hadn’t heard a peep from him in two days, and I felt supremely awkward. I pulled my robe closed over my purple striped sleep pants and tank top, putting the bowl of popcorn between us. “Did you need something?”
He eyed my bunny slippers. “Just you. Can we talk? Please, Emerson?”
“Give me a few minutes,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
The small lobby was deserted except for Michael when I found him there ten minutes later. I’d exchanged my robe for a sweat jacket, brushed my teeth, and at the last second sprayed on some perfume.
I left my bunny slippers on. Just to be cheeky.
I led Michael to the patio on the side of the building. It shared the same street view as the restaurant patio, as well as the same type of wrought-iron fence. Sitting down across from him at a glass-topped table, I waited for him to speak.
“I was wrong.”
Not exactly what I expected.
“Noble of you to apologize,” I said, inwardly cringing at the sarcasm in my voice, even though in my experience it was always best to run the defensive.
Michael leaned back heavily in the chair. “Listen, if you don’t want to work with me, I can try to find someone else to help—”
“No. No, I want you.” The words were out before I could stop myself. Michael’s smile was so wide, it exposed a dimple in his left cheek that I hadn’t noticed before. “To work with me.”
“Good. I promise from now on to keep any feelings I might have to myself.”
Feelings? What kind of feelings?
“There was another reason I wanted to talk to you.” He hesitated, drawing a deep breath. “You said you wanted the truth, and I want to tell you everything I can. Seeing time ripples from the past is only part of your gift.”
Gift was a really subjective term.
“There’s more?” I asked.
“This is going to sound impossible. Just hang with me. You’ve seen people from the past. Have you ever seen anyone … from the future?”