“Yes, you do! I saw you, Al! I saw the way you looked at him. The way you touched him.” His voice grows quieter. “I’ve never seen you look at someone like that.”
He’s right, though. Charlie makes me feel something that I can’t explain. I am careful, calculated, and consistent. But right now, I’m reckless. I’m heading down a dangerous road without a map. And the scariest thing about it is that it doesn’t scare me at all. Something feels right. It feels as though I’ve just been searching for Charlie. And as much as I realize it’s dangerous, or even perhaps stupid, I can’t stop myself from wanting to be near him.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s not what you think, Ben.” I decide to cave in a little and admit to some flirtation, but not to the extent of what I feel. If Ben knows everything, he’ll feel the need to be overprotective. I don’t want to stop seeing Charlie, so for now, it's better to keep him in the dark. I also can’t give Ben the answers he wants, because I don’t even fully understand what I’m feeling. All I know for certain is that I feel drawn to Charlie.
“Al, I’m not mad. I promise. A little attraction is normal. Maybe not what you’re used to, but it’s normal. You’re allowed to have some fun. Flirt all you want, I don’t care. Just be careful, okay? You know why we’re here. Remember what’s going to happen.”
My eyes go cold, as if the light has been snuffed out from them. At this moment, I realize I’ve been avoiding that significant detail: what’s going to happen. Whether I’ve been actively avoiding it or too distracted to think about it, I’m not sure. But now that Ben has planted the seed in my brain, it’s consuming me. I know the ship sinks. I know there is a significant loss of life. Why did it never occur to me to wonder what becomes of Charlie? Am I really that lost in a haze, or did I just notwantto know? Even if he makes it off the ship, we still live in two different centuries. Where did I think this was going? I can’t believe I let myself get caught up in this. It's as though I know the ending of the book but won’t read the last chapter, just in case something could magically change.
Ben walks into his room to change and shuts the door. The moment it latches shut, I run over to my trunk. Besides the small locked box, I have a stack of papers, blueprints of the ship, photos, and the item I’m looking for—the list of crew and passengers. I frantically rifle through the papers, my eyes rapidly scrolling for his name. Finally, I see what I’ve been avoiding. Right before me are the words that feel like a stab to my heart.
Hughes, Charles Frederick- Deceased
I collapse down to the floor, crumpled paper in hand, and weep.
Chapter Fourteen
How Long by Suffs
April 12, 1912
I lay awake in the morning after a sleepless night, my pillow still damp from guilt-ridden tears. I am not the girl who cries over a boy, especially one she doesn’t even have. This show of emotions feels foreign to me. I want to just stay in bed and wallow in self-pity, but I know I need to go through the motions and do the work we came here to do. Perhaps if I occupy my time with our work, I can avoid whatever it is I’m feeling.
I look in the mirror and see my eyes are red and swollen. I go to my trunk and pull out the vial of concealer I have hidden. It should cover enough that I look halfway normal.
I put on a pale blue silk dress with a lace cover that has long sleeves and begin pulling back my hair. I’m hoping to spend most of my day in the Reading and Writing Room and escape into a book from my intrusive thoughts.
Truthfully, I also want to hide from Charlie. I somehow find this ruse easier to maintain if I don’t have to look into his eyes and continue lying. Maybe I can get through the next few days if I just cut off whatever this is right now before it has the chance to root itself into me.
Ben knocks at the adjoining door and enters my room. He is fresh-faced, clearly having had a much better night's sleep than I have. He looks ready to greet me energetically until his gaze sets upon the reflection of my face in the mirror.
“Geez, Al. You look like shit.”
“Why, thank you,” I say dryly. I can’t even muster up a retort. Ben looks at me, puzzled. He can tell I’m not myself, but I can see in his face he’s debating whether to press the issue. Is it safe to engage or am I a bomb just waiting to detonate? He is used to me being his calm and consistent friend and not the curveball of chaos I seem to have become over the last few days.
He tilts his head at me. “Al, I can tell when something’s wrong.”
“Ben, please. I don’t—”
“But I also know you enough to know when you’re not in the headspace to talk.” Ben cuts me off before I become defensive. “Take the morning to yourself. I’ll come and find you later. We’ve been invited to dinner again with Mr. Harrison’s party,” he says nonchalantly as he turns to leave, as if he was hoping I wouldn’t notice the last added detail.
I curl my nose at the thought of another forced outing with Edward. Two evenings were bad enough, but now more? Ben catches me without even looking at me. He just knows me that well.
“Don’t even make that face, Al. It’s not getting you out of it.” He stops himself, walks back over to me, and plants a gentle kiss on my cheek. His eyes scan the emptiness in mine with concern. “I’ll come get you later.”
One thing I’ve always loved about Ben is that he never pushes me to talk when I don’t want to, or better yet, can’t find the words to convey my feelings. He always gives me time and space to process and think. He knows I need to analyze an issue from every angle and just really chew on it for a while. However, judging by the look of concern on his face, even he hasn’t seen me in this much of a rut before. What I wouldn’t give for a session with Dr. Kassen right now to untangle the myriad of feelings I’m having, though I’m not sure that even she is equipped to deal with this situation. The image of me sitting in her office telling her about how I time-traveled to the Titanic and got sad because I met a cute boy that I couldn't have grants me a brief moment of levity.
I walk to the Reading and Writing room with my book and sink into a settee and lose myself in my thoughts.
Suddenly, Violet’s familiar voice jolts me back to reality. “How is the book?”
Startled, I fumble the pages in my hands, losing my spot. “Oh, um… It’s good.”
Violet laughs. “Really? You’ve been on the same page for ten minutes.” She’s caught me there. I guess I didn’t realize how much I’d spaced out.
“Oh, it’s quite a good book, but I think I’ve done enough reading for today. I’m finding it hard to focus.” I try to regain composure. I don’t want to incur questioning from BenandViolet about why I seem so melancholy and withdrawn.
She smiles at me sweetly. “Perhaps you need some air. Would you care to walk on deck with me?” I’m grateful she doesn’t press me further. I don’t know how to convey the mixture of feelings brewing inside me in a 20th-century socially acceptable way right now. I can barely make heads or tails of them myself.
