Chapter 93

“Really?” My heart kicks up a notch. “Why… Why do you want to take me on a date?”

“Because you wanted me to,” he says. “Remember?”

There’s a lump in my throat as we walk down the sidewalk together.

We stop at a cafe. He holds the door for me. I pause just inside, marveling, wide-eyed at the very 1970’s Americana-style diner.

I’m in a fringed, suede miniskirt and blouse. Ansel seems to appreciate the skirt. He raises his eyebrows and smiles.

He’s wearing an orange, short-sleeve shirt and mustard-colored pants with flared legs.

“Think I can pull this off?” He looks down at his clothes.

I think he could pull off a flour-sack, but I’m not going to tell him that.

We sit down at a table. The booth is vinyl green and the table is brown laminate. The Eiffel Tower is out the window.

“How’d this happen,” Ansel asks, as a waitress walks over to bring us strawberry milkshakes.

“I think some of my stuff got mixed in. It reminds me of this show Joy and I’ve been watching.” I sip some of the milkshake with my straw.

Above us, the cold draft of air that’s blowing through the vent abruptly shuts off.

“Well, I like it,” Ansel says, looking up at the ceiling vent. “Although, I don’t know if that’s a good sign.”

“Before we get any further,” I say. “I know this is a date and all, but I have to talk to you.”

“I allow talking on dates,” Ansel says, winking.

I sigh. “I haven’t known whether or not to tell you.” My fingertips trace the base of the glass. “Because you’re sort of a sitting duck right now.”

Ansel’s brow wrinkles. “Do me a favor. Never call me that again.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry to hurt your alpha ego.”

He scowls at me and aggressively jabs at his milkshake with his straw.

“You are comatose, you know.”

He waves his hand, the inherent meaning clear - “Whatever. Who gives a shit?”

The air in the diner starts to feel warm and humid.

“It’s about Henry.”

Ansel’s expression changes instantly. “I should have told you to stay clear of him.” His eyes are stern. “Promise me you will.” His voice has a jagged edge.

I blink. “What do you already know?”

Ansel looks down and shakes his head. “It’s for me to handle.”

“Ansel.”

I want to smack him. Instead, I fan my face with my hand, trying to fight the growing heat. “You can’t do anything about anything right now. You -”

“Do not say the ‘duck’ thing again.”

“I wasn’t going to. You’re in the hospital, Ansel. You -”

“I will take care of it.” His eyes are fierce.

“Oh yeah,” I say. “And what if he hurts someone before you and Jeff are back in fighting shape?”

Ansel runs his fingers through his hair, now damp with perspiration. The muggy air sits on us like elephants.

“What do you know,” he says.

“I know what Charles told me.”

Ansel looks over at the window and then back at me. He looks like he’s upset, although I don’t know why. His face is lined in frustration.

The back of my legs are sweaty and stick to the vinyl. I shift my weight and it makes a puckering sound as I peel my legs off the vinyl.

Ansel stares at me angrily while I tell him what Charles told me. He looks angrier, still, when I catch him up to speed on the rest - Doc, me getting barred from the hospital, the pending arrest, and Queen Abigail.

I shouldn’t tell him any of it. I should let him focus on healing, but it just begins to tumble out, and I can’t stop. Maybe it’s something to do with the subconscious brain. Less of a filter. Or maybe it’s just selfish, because it takes some of the weight of it off, to share it with him.

Ansel wipes the sweat from his brow. “There’s a lot shit to fix,” he says. “I need to get out of this goddamned hospital.”

I look across the room. The dinette booth is sitting in the middle of a swamp, filled with the sounds of croaking frogs and the trills of birds.

We both jerk our legs up out of the green, murky water.

Ansel climbs on top of the table. His trousers are soaked up to his knee. He yanks off his black leather shoes and dumps out pools of water.

I pull off my sandals and shake out some water and debris. My wet legs slide across the vinyl as I slip them back on.

“I should leave the dream conjuring to you,” Ansel says. He reaches out his hand to me. “Hop up here.”

A cuckoo bird calls through the low-hanging trees.

“I’d rather you not get snapped up by an alligator,” he says.

I shudder and clamber up. We stare out at the still water. There are only a few ripples of disturbance from the fish underneath. I startle when a splash suddenly comes from nearby.

“Just a turtle,” Ansel said, pointing to the log where it had plopped off.

“Ansel,” I say. “I know it wasn’t fair to tell you so much.” I push back my bangs. They’re still plastered to my forehead with sweat.

“I don’t want to be coddled,” Ansel says. “So, I’d rather you tell me.” He’s eyeing the water, looking in the direction of, what looks to be, a log that’s floated up some twenty yards away. “Can you get us out of here?”

“I’ll try. I think I need to be careful to conserve some energy, though.”

He looks at her. “Should you be doing this at all, then? I know last night was probably overtaxing.”

I pull a wet leaf off of Ansel’s pants. “It is exhausting to do this and I wasn’t sure if I could do it two nights in a row, but I had to see you.”

The wind blows through the reeds.

Tiny fairies appear, hoovering in the air above them. Ansel laughs. “Your contribution, I’m sure.”

I nod, blushing. The swamp begins to sparkle with silvery moonbeams.

“Your head is a vastly different place from my own,” he says.

“It’s not all rainbows.” I purse my lips.

“No,” he says, sympathetically. “I know.”

We lean back against a wicker porch swing. We’re in a field of fireflies.

“Karin,” he says. “Why did you try to kill yourself?” There’s a haunted look in his eyes. “You got damn near close.”

I look away. My cheeks feel hot. “It sounds dumb to say it out loud.”

“Was it to be with Ethan?”

I look back up at him. “No.”

His forehead is wrinkled. “Cherry said that’s why you - I didn’t believe her at first, but then I… I wondered.”

“Cherry promised to help you and my father. She said she could help turn things around with the investigation and could make sure you’d be okay.”

Ansel’s jaw stiffens. “And you believed her?”

“I told you it would sound dumb.”

“No, it - yes - but not in the way you think I’m thinking. There was enough evidence to know she took you from Joy’s house. Her and that goon she was with. I don’t know how that older woman got involved.”

“It’s a long story,” I say.

“Try me.”

Shadows appear at the edges of the meadow.

Ansel takes my hand and holds it in his, lacing his fingers with mine.

“She’s manipulative,” Ansel says. “I’m sure she made a great case. That’s not what I’m upset about.”

I focus my eyes on the twinkling stars.

“Karin, this was the second time you’ve almost died to do something for me. Cherry had already very nearly killed you before. You let her - all because you thought she was my fiancé.”

It hurts to see the pain on his face. The shadows begin to spread.

“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me,” he says. “I’d rather die.”

He looks away from me. The moonlight illuminates his face. I memorize all the angles and lines of it.

Ansel turns his head back to me. “Fated mates or not, you get to break up with me if you want to. Once, or a thousand times. I forgive you,” he says. “You have to forgive yourself.”

My eyes are wet with tears. He takes me into his arms. I didn’t know I needed to hear it, but I did. I sob into his chest.

We’re in the middle of a gray hospital room. Gray walls. Gray floor. Silvery moonbeams spilling through the window. He’s in jeans and I’m in a red dress.

A song is playing softly. Ansel looks at me in a way that makes my knees want to buckle. Then he put his arms around my waist. I’m jittery, with the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. I wrap my arms around his neck.

After a few moments of hesitation, I lay my head against his chest. I listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat. It’s as though I can finally relax. I let myself lean into him.

The moonbeams become blinding.

I squint into the light. It dulls, and then I can see.

Ansel and I are at the river’s edge, where a crowd of people has gathered. Ethan’s lying on the ground, surrounded by first responders.

“Is that - him?”

I nod.

Ansel watches in silence with me, as they try to revive Ethan. Slowly, he puts an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says.

My stomach lurches. I remember.

I swivel to find the boy. His shirt is streaked with dirt. His bicycle is lying flat on the ground, with the wheel spokes still spinning.

“Look.”

“I see,” says Ansel. “Do you know him?”

“I keep thinking about him. I remember seeing him there that day, and in the news footage after. I think we need to find him.”

“Why?”

“Look at him,” I say. “He looks like he’s been thrown off his bike, doesn’t he?”

“Like he fell off at least,” Ansel says.

I spin around to Ansel. “There’s something bothering me. I have to figure this out.”

Ansel scratches his chin. “You said the boy was in the news footage?”

“Yeah.”

“Get hold of my PR rep. Her name’s Zara Mitchell.”

“How do I find her?”

“Charles can point you to her.”

We’re in Ansel’s office, standing together, watching him sit at his desk. He’s in his usual suit and tie. A pretty woman sits across from him. I can see his dimples as he smiles at her.

Next to me, the real Ansel clears his throat. “That’s Zara,” he says. He snaps his fingers, but nothing happens.

“Let’s move on,” he says, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“Wait.”

Ansel ignores me and snaps again. “Why isn’t this working?”

Dream Ansel is getting up from his desk. Zara gets up, too, and they’re standing close.

“Because I don’t want it to work,” I say. “Ansel, you like her.”

My Ansel shifts uncomfortably, while Zara leans in to fix his doppleganger’s tie.

“There was a flirtation,” he says, pulling at his collar. “Nothing much happened.”

“Why are you trying to hide this, then?”

The other Ansel sits on the edge of his desk next to Zara. I can practically feel the heat coming off of them.

“It’s none of my business,” I say. My chest feels tight. “We can go.”

“You can watch,” he says. “It’s fine.”

“I shouldn’t -” But I can’t turn away.