“The dress is lovely,” I tell her. “It’s just . . . I’m not used to wearing one, so it’ll take me a while to get the hang of it, but I think it’ll work out.”
She smiles and nods her head in understanding. “Of course, dear. And since ye want to fit in, ye will have to look the part, including having thy hair fixed.” Toying with my hair once more, she gives off this vibe like she already has a few ideas in mind.
“Okay,” I say. “Show me.”
Fiona lightly grasps my shoulders between her hands and glances at my reflection. “Most women wear low buns, but I am sure we can style thy locks without bother. Mayhap something a little more suitable to thy method?”
“Perfect,” I say, smiling.
“It shall have to wait, I am afraid,” says Fiona. “I have more customers to attend to this day. Perhaps tonight will do?”
I nod, and she shoos Ben and me out of the store. He and I return to Fiona’s home to rid ourselves of our twenty-first century clothing, and find Francine knitting away in the corner of the room, alone in a chair.
“Hey, Francine, it’s just us,” I say.
Her wooden needles stop clicking for a moment, and then she resumes weaving again. I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to speak with her, even if she doesn’t want to listen, or talk. Call me crazy, but I have the distinct impression that she doesn’t like us very much, or maybe it’s that she just doesn’t trust us.
I pull one of the chairs from the dining table over in front of Francine. Her knitting slows down, but doesn’t fully stop. “I know you probably think it’s weird to have strangers in your house, but I want you to know that we don’t mean any harm to you or your mother.” Her eyes are vacant as I speak, so I press onward with my speech. “If you need anything from Ben or me, don’t hesitate to ask us. We’ll be more than happy to help.”
It’s as if I was never here, and never spoke a word to her. She ignores me completely. Reaching a dead-end, I slide the chair back where it belongs and motion for Ben to follow me into the bedroom. We toss our normal clothing onto the guest bed and awkwardly stand in place for what feels like eternity.
“What was that about?” Ben whispers. “We can’t become attached to anybody in this time period, Candra; it’ll make it harder for us when we have to leave.”
I puff out a heavy breath. “I know, but she seems suspicious of us, and I don’t want her to feel like we’re intruding on their personal space. I mean, think about it . . . What if we couldn’t see the people who entered our lives? What if they were just phantoms to us, shadows at the edge of our vision? Wouldn’t we express the same emotions toward them?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Exactly. But the point is: would they take the time to get to know us if we were in that situation? Would they take time out of their day to make us feel like they’re trustworthy?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay, so we have to step up and be friendlier, so she will trust us, and so she won’t visualize us as deceitful guests who are impeding her and her mother’s lives. I’m not saying it’ll happen overnight, but maybe over the next few weeks she’ll actually have friends in us, which is better than no friends at all.”
The corner of Ben’s mouth curves into a fond smile. He lifts his hand and tenderly runs two fingers down my cheek. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
My entire body hardens to marble. My heart, instead of steadily pounding against my chest, decides to take a flying leap into the depths of my stomach. And a tickly-static sensation starts at the top of my head and flows through my limbs, all the way down to the tips of my toes. “Um . . . I . . . Y-you’ve never told me that before.”
He frowns, not confusedly, or mockingly, but in a way that’s caring and open. “Oh, Candra,” he says, “I thought you already knew.”
Why am I crying? The tears won’t stop puddling in my eyes, or spilling over and running down my cheeks. Each time I lose a fresh droplet, Ben softly wipes it away. “I love you, too,” I say, once I recover