“Yeah, all good. We didn’t trade blows, so I’ll take that as a win.”
“It was nice of him to drive you. And to stay over so we could look into things more, don’t you think?”
I didn’t reply.
“Did he mention anything to you about Nina?” Mom dangled.
I wasn’t exactly a fan of chitchat about Dad’s live-in girlfriend, the one he’d left Mom—and me—for.
“No,” I said. “Should he have mentioned something?”
“Of course not. I’m just wondering if something’s changed there. He’s taking more of an interest, don’t you think?” She sounded as naïve as a little girl, and I felt sorry for her. At the same time, snakes writhed in my stomach. I just didn’t want to see her hurt again. We’d both come so far.
When I spoke, my voice was soft. “Mom, you’re way better than him. Don’t waste your time anymore, please. He’s not going to come back.”
“You don’t know that! Why do you always have to say things like that?”
I’d hit a nerve. I slid the phone down my neck, blocking out Mom’s rapid switch to an ardent defense of her and Dad’s failed marriage. If I went back to Tudor England now and never returned, would she drive herself mad over this?
The thought of being cocooned inside Nick’s arms again melted my growing rigidity. I had to get back there. Not knowing whether he was safe on his mission in the north felt like torture.
“Will you be coming home?” Mom said after she’d finished her diatribe about her and Dad.
“Not right now. I was actually calling to say goodbye because I’m going away again for a bit.” My teeth pressed my bottom lip.
I could’ve sung the national anthem in the time it took for Mom to reply. Her voice had flattened. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Emmie. I am just so tired of all this.”
“You need to do something for yourself,” I realized out loud. “You know now that I’m okay, right? I’m not at the bottom of the river or in a ditch somewhere. So instead of wondering where I am every minute, why don’t you go out and do something fun, like a dance class or learning an instrument? Sewing is actually quite cool if you can believe that. I will come back and see you whenever I can. I think about you all the time.”
Mom didn’t acknowledge my suggestions, but her tight swallow made clear that she’d understood the message…she had to let me go for a while.
“Will you promise to be safe?” she said a little hoarsely.
“Always.” I thought it best to leave out the beheadings, burning, and smallpox.
“Oh, and Emmie?” she blurted before I could hang up. “You’ve always got a home to come back to, okay?”
I nodded into the phone, swallowing the urge to cry. “I love you, Mom.”
“You too, cookie.”
After hanging up, I sat in the shower chair and breathed deeply through the familiar feeling of guilt. Among other wrongs, I’d officially rekindled the firestorm between my parents—something I’d tried for years to avoid. Now I couldn’t even be here to help Mom through it.
Wedging my cell phone under my chin, I carefully dragged the vinyl armchair close to Susanna’s bed without making noise. A battle erupted in my mind about what to do with the phone. What if I brought it back to the sixteenth century with me? I could take photos and videos of one of the most famous periods of British history and its key characters. I’d be like scoring footage of Henry the Eighth!
Susanna twitched on the bed, jolting me out of my stupor. Attempting something like that would not only be a betrayal of Nick’s trust, but no one would believe the images were real without proof. It would become a conspiracy theory, like Bigfoot or the faking of the Moon landing, and I’d be a laughing stock.
All that mattered was getting back to the sixteenth century in one piece so I could make things right with Nick.
I switched off my phone and opened Susanna’s cupboard door, unsettling a mountain of toilet rolls, latex glove packets, dog-eared paperback novels, and a couple of television remotes. The rest home staff were probably unaware of how many missing items their resident hoarder was storing. I slid my phone into the back of the top shelf and shut the cupboard door. Whether someone discovered the phone before I returned was not my biggest issue right now. Susanna Grey could wake up at any minute.
The sleeping pill was beginning to take effect, and I sank into the armchair beside the bed. My breaths eased, and I felt warm and heavy all over. The call of Tudor England tickled the corners of my mind, enveloping me with a crushing urge to be back there in an instant.
I placed my hand lightly over Susanna’s, cautious not to wake her. Rhythmic breaths broke through her mouth with popping sounds. She was fast asleep. I inched my fingers beneath hers until our palms touched. Holding my friend’s mom’s hand was one for the weird book, but I focused on my relaxation, silently begging for the ring to work without a struggle.
After an imperceptible amount of time, my head crashed forward, and I woke to the soft click of my dry lips. Susanna’s hand had crept away from mine on the rest home bed, but her eyes were shut. The weight of the sleeping pill coated my bloodstream with lead. If Susanna Grey finished her afternoon snooze and got up to eat a cookie…please, please, please.
I’d done this before…I could do it again. Come on! I berated myself like a tennis player losing a match. The pep talk worked. After a yucky dream about my friend Mia calmly watching me fall out of a plane, I rolled into the comfort of silk sheets. I was no longer sleeping upright in a stiff chair, I was…my eyes flashed open.
Four walls of pearled netting surrounded me, carrying a stark silence I’d know anywhere. I clutched the sheets to my chest, the gentle scent of orange blossom clarifying that I was back at Hampton Court Palace. I could’ve kissed the mattress, the gilded ceiling, the paneled walls.
The next thought flung me upward. I’d brought Susanna Grey with me!
She stood at the leaded window, fingertips pressed to the glass like spider’s legs. Holy crap, she’s still in her hideous polyester get-up...and I’m in denim jeans.
It was evident that no one expected me back this soon—even though it was after lunch, the fireplace hadn’t been lit and the room was an icebox. I heaved open the chest stuffed with folded undergarments, hurriedly digging out a smock with a high neck for Susanna, before tearing off my clothes and slipping a plainer smock over my shoulders. I hid my remaining sleeping pill in the tiny compartment within the blue-diamond ring that concealed the miniature portrait of Queen Elizabeth the First.
When I pressed an ear to the crack between the doors, it returned only silence. Thank goodness my girls were out, but they could return at any moment. I had to think quickly.
Susanna Grey’s cheeks were paler than milk. “Hi, Lady Grey,” I said as I approached her. “You need to get changed right away.”
The urgency in my voice clearly frightened her, but she let me help her replace her shirt and trousers with the frilly smock.
I rolled my modern clothes, Susanna’s, and that effing plastic straw into a sheet and tossed the bundle into the hearth, coughing at the chalky cloud of ash it dislodged. That was the end of the seventy-two bucks still left in my pocket.