Almost like he can sense my worry, he calls down, “Coffee is in the cabinet above the coffee maker. Eight scoops—the scoop is in the canister—and fill the pot to the eight line. One scoop per cup. Your creamer is in the fridge. I’ll have some too.” After a few more seconds, he yells down once more. “Thanks, Lucy.” I get the sense that thank you has more to do with what just happened than with me making him coffee.
“You’re welcome. Now, go shower!”
I get to work making the coffee for us. Grabbing the scoop, I mutter out the steps while attempting to make it as good as he does. “Five, six, seven, and eight.” Placing the scoop back in the container, I clap my hands together. “Good job, Lucy.” I click the button at the bottom, and the green light illuminates.
As I’m about to praise myself, it starts to make an angry sputtering sound. “What the…” I turn around and realize my mistake. “Ah, the water!” I quickly flip the button back off and pull out the pot, rushing over to the sink.
I fill it to the eight line like he instructed and pour the water in the container at the back of the machine, flipping the button once more. Green. I stand and wait while I watch it brew, just to make sure there’s not some other step I’ve somehow missed.I feel very embarrassed to say I work at a coffee shop right now.It makes a small sputtering sound, and I start to panic, but then the coffee begins to pour down into the pot, the rich and bitter cocoa smell taking over the space around me.
“Yes!” I silently cheer as I go over to the cupboard and pull out two cups, one chipped and one not, along with the ceramic sugar bowl. “Two scoops of sugar in his,” I say to myself. Once the coffee beeps, I listen to see if the shower is still on. Silence other than footsteps above. I pour us each a cup and grab the creamer out of the fridge and top up our cups with the sweet, cinnamony liquid gold.
He makes his way downstairs as I’m stirring our drinks. When he walks over to me, I place the chipped mug in his hand. “Perfect timing.”
He grins and takes a sip, keeping his eyes on me as he tries my coffee. “This is great, Luce.”Luce.I like that.
“Coffee is pretty easy to make.” I shrug, keeping my little mistake a secret all to myself. “Idowork at a coffee shop, remember.”
“I do. I’ll have to stop by one day when you’re working.” He grins, and I hold back a flinch. “Okay, let’s go sit. Then we can talk.” He motions toward the couch, and we sit side by side. He pulls the fleece blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over us.
“Okay, first,” I start as I take a sip of the delicious coffee before continuing. “Tell me what happened outside.”
He places his cup down on the dark wooden end table beside him and turns to face me. “We had a bad storm last night, so I went to check on the foghorn this morning. To make sure the wind and rain didn’t cause any damage.”
I tilt my head, unsure what he means byfoghorn. He laughs. “Sorry, I forget the average person doesn’t know everything there is to know about lighthouses. It’s, ah, for when fog rolls in and the light up top is useless. The horn kicks in and emits a long blast that shakes the ground, so any ships know to steer clear. On my way down there, I slipped on a wet spot, lost my balance, and fell over the edge—thankfully, there was a piece of rock that was jutting out, and I was able to grab it and hold on to it when I slipped down.”
His hands are shaking, and he takes a deep, calming breath. “Lucy, you saved my life. Thank you. I don’t think I could have gotten up without you. I can’t believe I almost died.” He leans forward over his legs and places his head in his hands, trying to slow his breathing and stop the shaking. I put my hand on his knee and give it a light squeeze, giving him space to work through these emotions, but also letting him know that I’m here for him.
A thought creeps into my mind. I wonder if this is what happened to him in the storm thatactuallytakes his life. One of the boys said he pushed them up after they fell, but something happened. He fell again and couldn’t pull himself back up. The amount of strength and energy exertion it would take to get those kids up was probably too much for him. And no one was around to help him. I wonder if he even called for help or if he knew his fate as it was happening. I shudder, thinking about how scared he must have felt. How helpless. Like he knew he was going to die. The way he’s feeling right now, it doesn’t seem right to tell him about that night. Not yet, at least. I store that information away for a later time. I know it’s not right to withhold something like this, but it doesn’t seem fair for someone to know their death is imminent. Maybe I can figure out a way to save him so he never has to know.
You can’t change the past, my dear.
We’ll see about that, Iris.
Chapter Eighteen
He takes a few more minutes to calm down, and we sip our coffees together, side by side on the couch. It’s nice. For a moment, I forget that we’re from two different times. Instead, we’re just two people, hanging out, without any other cares in the world.
Wouldn’t that be nice.
When I can see his body loosen and start to relax a bit more, I decide it’s time to broach the whole “I’m actually from the year 2025” subject. How fun this will be.
“I do have one more thing I want to talk to you about,” I say as I place my empty cup down on the coffee table. He does the same, and I pull my legs up to cross them underneath me and face him on the couch.
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Are you getting ready to tell me you came to your senses about what year it is?”
Iris, you better not be full of shit. I can’t unsay these next things.
“So, yes. You’re right.In here, for you and me, it’s 1993.”
“That’s a strange way to word it.” He scratches at some scruff on his jaw while he waits for me tocontinue. Normally, he’s clean-shaven, but today, he has a very light dusting of scruff on his face, like he didn’t shave this morning.
I’m distracted once again by him.
“Okay.” I shake my head, getting back to the present. Ha, present! “This is the part that’s going to sound a bit unbelievable. But I need you to promise me you’ll let me get all of this out. And please keep an open mind.”
“Okay… I promise.”
“So yes, in here, it’s the year 1993. But forme, I am actually from the year 2025.”
