Hourglass (Hourglass 1)

Michael’s voice was cautious. “Em, it’s okay.”

“Don’t call me Em.” The nickname suggested way too much familiarity, which made sense, considering he knew me before I met him. Placing my forehead on the glass tabletop, I banged it a couple of times, mumbling under my breath.

I convinced myself not to run from the patio screaming, mostly because I would have to come back eventually. I did live upstairs. I was also pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to run in my bunny slippers. The fact that he saw the jazz trio at the party gave him some validity. Just a little. But now he was talking about people from the future, specifically me. I raised my head, trying not to whimper.

“I should’ve broken that more gently,” Michael said. “It’s just that when you found me you told me to—”

“Stop! Please don’t talk about anything I’ve said to you unless the words have been uttered in the past twenty-four hours. By me.” I pointed to myself for emphasis. “This me. If this is true”—I emitted a hysterical giggle—“how did you know who I was? Why did you believe me?”

“You were very convincing. You knew things about me, kind of like I know things about you now.”

“Like what?” The thought was intriguing enough for me to forget we were talking about the impossible.

“Let’s see. You’re a baseball junkie, an out-of-place Red Sox fan like me, but you think designated hitters are a joke,” he explained, watching my face for my reaction, clearly enjoying the upper hand even in the midst of my breakdown. “You listen to bluegrass when you’re alone because you don’t want anyone to know you like it. You had a belly ring, but you took it out before you came home and Thomas found out.” He grinned and cut his eyes to my middle. I forced myself not to squirm. “And …”

He was dead on so far. I wondered why he stopped.

“What?”

“I’m not ready to give up all my secrets. Have I been wrong about anything?”

“No.” I sniffed. “Although the designated-hitter opinion is still in development.”

“You don’t have to think about it anymore. Now you know what you decided.”

“Whatever. So, when me from the future found you”—that just sounded insane—“what did I know about you?”

“Why should I tell you?” He was having a little too much fun.

“What if this is the only chance you get?” I pointed out. “What if the information you give me right now, in this conversation, is the only time you ever tell me what it is I eventually tell you to get you to believe me?” I hoped he would answer without making me explain that again because I was having a hard time keeping up with myself.

Michael’s grin grew wider, and I had the feeling he was on to me. “You told me that my favorite ice cream is spumoni, that I got stitches when I was seven and my scar is in a really interesting place—you knew where—that I had a teddy bear named Rupert I wouldn’t part with when I was little, and that the first time I saw you, now, in the present, you would … take my breath away.”

“Well.” Heat crept up my chest to my face.

He looked up at the night sky, speaking his next words so softly I almost couldn’t hear them. “You were right.”

Deep, slow breathing, Em. Deep, slow breathing.

“When I found you … was I a time ripple?” I asked after a quiet moment.

“That’s a little complicated,” he said, drumming his fingertips on the glass tabletop again.

“Why is that your favorite answer for everything?”

He didn’t respond.

Dealing with my own anxiety, I found I couldn’t keep my legs still underneath the table. I wished urgently it wasn’t see-through. I took a breath to steady myself, knowing what I was about to ask meant either I was truly crazy or my world was about to be turned upside down.

“You said I came to you from the future. I can only think of one way that could happen if I didn’t appear to you as a rip.” Another hysterical laugh escaped from my lips, this time for a really good reason. Or a really bad reason. “Christopher Reeve and self-hypnosis? Doctor Who and his phone booth? Hermione and the Time Turner?”

“Doctor Who had a police box.” He kept his gaze level. “But I’m glad to hear it’s not a foreign concept.”

“Holy crap. You really expect me to just buy this?” I leaned over to put my head between my knees, shaking so hard my chair rattled. I vaguely wondered if I saved any of my medication or if I’d flushed it all. Michael could put it to good use.

“You asked me the question—”

“I know!” I sat up, closing my eyes. Before I spoke again, I lowered my voice. “Can you do me a favor and lay all the information on me now? I don’t need any bonus material to throw me over the edge later.”