he drive from our farm to Eamon’s was only a fewT minutes, but in that time, I’d managed to run through a hundred different scenarios in my head.
I’d been gone from my own timeline in 2023 for more than twenty-four hours now. It wouldn’t have taken long for someone to come along and find the Bronco, door open and engine running on the side of the road. When I was nowhere to be found, they’d call the sheriff.
Minutes later, Birdie’s phone would ring. Then Mason’s.
They’d be asked when they last saw me. If they knew where I was headed or if they had any clue where I could be. Mason would be terrified. He was probably out combing that field for me right now. Walking the riverbank and calling my name out into the woods. But Birdie…Birdie would know exactly where I was.
There was no way for me to be sure just how much she knew, and now I regretted storming out of the house instead of pressing her. If I had, would I have still walked through that door? I didn’t know.
The bigger problem was how I would explain myself when I got back. What kind of excuse could I give for leaving my truck in the middle of the road and just disappearing? Would I
ever be able to tell Mason the truth? Would he even believe me?
My hands nervously smoothed the soft fabric of the dress Esther had given me as she turned onto Hayward Gap Road. I broke out in a sweat when I saw Eamon walking the edge of the tobacco fields. We pulled into the drive, and he glanced up for only a moment, but I could see the set of his shoulders change. The look in his eyes hardened before he climbed the back steps to the house.
My hand searched beneath my shirt until I found the locket watch. The metal was warmed by my skin, the small clasp familiar to my fingers. I was already scanning the fields, looking for any sign of that faded red paint that covered the door. But there was nothing. No sign of that glint of sunlight on the bronze knob or hinges amid the green.
The engine cut off, and Esther let out what sounded like an exhausted breath. “Let me talk to him first.”
“I told you he doesn’t want me here.”
“Yes, well, want and need are two different things.”
She was opening the door and climbing out a moment later.
I watched from the passenger seat as she walked up to the porch and disappeared inside the house. It was beautiful against the fields and the hills that gave way to that perfect view of the mountains in the distance.
Here, in 1951, it was a modest but working farm, its roof the shelter to a family. My family. Everything about it was tranquil and serene, but in my mind, I could still see the broken skeleton that existed in 2023. The heaviness of it had settled in my bones, as if I could feel the precarious weight of those bowed, sagging beams that wanted so badly to come crashing down on the earth. It was a place that wanted to take its last breaths.
The mare behind the fence paced its length, head shaking and mane flipping as it watched me with that one glistening black eye. The farm was quiet except for the stamp of her feet and the soft tinkle of what sounded like wind chimes.
Slowly, my gaze moved to the porch, skipping over the rafters until I saw them. The sunlight sparkled as it glinted off a string of silver rods suspended from a wooden frame. My hand found the handle of the truck’s door and I opened it, feet touching the dirt as I stared.
That tingling at the nape of my neck was back. It was the same sound I’d heard in the kitchen that day. The one that had split my head open with its ringing. And that wasn’t the only time I’d heard it, either.
Another wind picked up and the chimes knocked together, sending another throng of high-pitched peals into the air. I walked up the porch steps, until I was standing beneath them.
I was only beginning to work out how the things I’d written in my notebook connected to this place. I could hear the wind chimes just as clearly now as I had when I was in our house on Bishop Street. That moment had been real, but when had it taken place?
What Esther had said about the fraying rope made sense where there had never been any before. The things I’d seen— the things that had happened to me—weren’t hallucinations or delusions or any of the things that Dr. Jennings had written in his notes. They were actual, real events bleeding through from another time.
Voices sounded at my back and I blinked, tearing my eyes away from the chimes. Eamon stood in the kitchen with his shirtsleeves pulled up to his elbows, where the muscles of his arms were corded under the skin. His hair was damp and falling into his eyes as he looked at Esther, but I couldn’t read the expression on his face.
I took a step closer to the window, listening.
“…much choice here.” It was Esther’s voice.
“He’s not just going to let this go. You know that.”
The rumble of a car on the road drowned out the next words, and I caught only the end.
“…she’ll be gone.”
They stared at each other another moment before Esther finally made her way back to the door. When it opened, she seemed surprised to find me there.
Her chin jerked toward the house. “Come on, then.”
Again, I looked to Eamon through the window. He was watching me now, in a way that felt both wary and threatening.
He was tense. On alert, as if he were ready to protect this place from me.
“Well?” Esther waited.
I took a steadying breath before I gathered the will to step inside. Esther gave me an encouraging smile as I passed, letting the door close behind me.
I found a place to stand beside the fireplace, studying the little trinkets on the mantel. A speckled feather, a seashell. A small bronze box with an engraved lid. Across the room, a curtain half hid a small nook with what appeared to be a bed, where a little rag doll was tossed on top of the blanket. I hadn’t noticed it before, maybe because the curtain had been closed. It had to belong to the little girl I’d seen in Eamon’s arms yesterday. I’d been careful not to think too much about her.
“Now,” Esther began. “The best thing we can do is to act as normal as possible. June, you’ve been in Norfolk taking care of your mother after a stroke. She’s doing much better, so you’re home for good.”
I stiffened. “For good?”
“As far as the town’s concerned, yes.”
Eamon watched me, dark eyes moving over my face in a way that made me shift on my feet.
“People will be curious.” She continued, “They’ll ask questions. So, it’s important that you’re careful with your words. Don’t embellish, don’t share details. Do you understand?”
I gave her a small nod. I did understand, but I didn’t like the feeling that filled the room. I didn’t have any idea what had taken place here in the last five years. The choices I’d made.
The people I’d hurt. All of this felt like being dropped into a stranger’s life and it was clear I wasn’t welcome here.
“I’ll take Annie for the night. Give you two a chance to…”
She paused. “Talk.”
She gave me one last, long look before she went out the back door. Seconds after I heard her call Annie’s name, the little girl was standing in the open doorway of the barn. The remains of a half-eaten apple were clutched in her small hands as she followed on Esther’s heels toward the truck.
Across the kitchen, Eamon hadn’t moved, but the coldness in his eyes seemed to thaw just a little. He looked more curious now. Appraising. Like he was just beginning to let himself take in the sight of me.
“I don’t have to stay,” I said, my attention dropping to his hands. They were darkened, streaked with something black that had been only half-heartedly wiped off.
“That might have been true if you listened to me yesterday and stayed out of sight.” The words were buried beneath the deep tenor of his voice. The accent was easier to pick out now, a dim Irish lilt that had lost its most recognizable traits. “But
everyone in town will know by now that you’re here. There’s no getting around that.”
I folded my hands together, unsure of what to do with them.
He wasn’t trying to make me more comfortable or put me at ease, the way Esther had. This man was angry, and he didn’t care if I knew it.
“You’ll stay here until…” He didn’t finish, as if he couldn’t even bring himself to say it.
“The door,” I murmured.
He nodded. “When it comes back, you’ll leave, and we can all get back to our lives.”
My whole body went rigid at the thought that followed.
“And if it doesn’t?”
“It will. It always comes back.” He dropped his gaze from mine. It sounded like there was more meaning to the words than I knew. “You can take the bedroom. I’ll sleep out here.”
My eyes went to the door off the kitchen. Behind it, the remnants of a life I didn’t remember were preserved like a tomb. The thought of going back in there made my stomach turn.
The light in the house changed suddenly as the clouds drifted in, and outside, the wind caught the leaves of the tobacco, making a sound that reminded me of the ocean.
Eamon’s eyes found the window, a distracted concern surfacing in his expression.
“What were you searching for yesterday,” I asked, “when you looked at my arm?”
He considered the question, taking his time with the answer.
“I was checking for something.”
“What?”
The muscle in his jaw clenched. “A scar. A couple of years ago, June burned herself on the stove.” He glanced to the kitchen, like he was remembering it. “It left a scar on the inside of her wrist.”
That was how he’d figured it out. I’d never been burned because I’d never been here. But the fact that he’d known my body that well made my pulse race. For a fleeting moment, I thought I could feel the remnants of heat there, below my palm. A faded, throbbing pain.
“Why did you come here?” His tone was flat, but there was a strained sound beneath it, like he’d been biting back the words since I’d walked through the door.
It was a question that didn’t have an easy answer. I wasn’t sure I even knew what it was. How had I ended up here, exactly? Gran’s photograph? My mother’s disappearance? The episodes? They’d all converged into a woven thread that had been pulling tighter and tighter until I opened that door.
“It’s not that simple,” I said.
“Then explain it to me, June. I’m not an idiot.”
Again, I shivered at the sound of him saying my name, the way the u stretched deep in his faded accent. It was, impossibly, both familiar and foreign at the same time. My hands tightened into fists every time I heard it.
“I didn’t mean—”
“What did you mean, then?”
“I was trying to find out what was happening to me. What happened to my mother.” My voice rose, defensive now. “I don’t know anything about you or…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the little girl’s name.
“Annie.” He enunciated the word.
My mouth opened before it clenched shut again. I couldn’t say it. I didn’t want to. “So, she’s…?”
“Mine. And June’s.”
I could feel the dress pulling tight across my chest as my breaths deepened. “If she’s mine, then why doesn’t she seem to recognize me?” I asked, grasping for any thread I could.
“She’d only just turned three when you disappeared, but children aren’t the fools we are. She knows you’re not her mother. Not really.”
I wasn’t sure if he’d meant to, but that last sentence felt like a line drawn in the sand. A boundary and a warning not to cross it.
“I just don’t see how any of this is possible.” I said.
“It is. I’ve lived it.”
“You don’t understand, none of this makes sense. I never—”
“Your plans changed,” he snapped.
I stilled. “My plans?”
“To never marry. To never have a family. To be the last Farrow.”
I bristled, stung by how bitterly he’d said it. Almost mocking. And the way he’d plucked the thought from my head was unnerving, because he was right.
“Yes.” He swallowed. “I know you.”
“You don’t.”
He leveled his eyes on me, his expression darkening.
“There’s a diamond-shaped window in your bedroom—the one you grew up in. It’s in the house that hasn’t even been built yet,” he began. “You drink too much coffee. You kept that notebook beneath your bed. In a few weeks, once the summer’s come, you’ll have freckles just here.” He gestured to
the rise of his own cheekbones, and immediately, I felt myself blush. “Your neighbor’s name is Ida and your friend Mason will be looking for you, right?”
It was the mention of Mason that made my stomach drop.
What else did he know about me? What else had I told him?
Everything, I realized. If I’d been married to this man for four years, if I’d trusted him enough to tie my own life to his, then I’d told him all of it.
He exhaled. “Believe me, I wish it wasn’t true, too.”
“I just…I don’t understand….”
“Why you would come here and make a life with me? Why you would choose this?” He looked around us, to the house.
“That’s what you’re thinking, right?”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying.”
He laughed, but it was a tight, coiled thing in his chest.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m only saying that if I was here and then I left, there has to be a reason.”
“There’s no reason good enough. Not for what we’ve been through.” The word hardened that line. I stood on one side, he and Annie on the other. “You swore to me that you would never go back through that door.”
He went quiet, and for a flicker of a moment I could see that heartbreak Esther mentioned. It was rolling off of him like heat, filling the room around us.
I’d left him and Annie. I’d broken a multitude of promises.
But I had no idea how I’d gotten there or what I could say that would make any of it better.
“Why did I leave?” I asked, my voice barely rising above a whisper.
“I don’t know.”
Like Esther, he wasn’t telling me everything. Of that, I was sure. But if I was going to understand what happened here, how I ended up in this place, I needed them to talk to me.
“You have to at least have a guess. A theory.”
“You had secrets. You could have trusted me with them, but you didn’t.”
“I’m not her!” The words finally broke, my whole body trembling.
I was desperate for them to be true, but they weren’t. I’d been here. These people knew me. That June, the one who’d married this man and had his child, was me. The space between the two was narrowing fast, like a crashing wave seconds from hitting the sand.
Eamon stared at me, his eyes widening just enough for me to see something else behind that hard, stony look. Like that fracture in me had sharpened his focus.
“You have to know something,” I whispered.
His arms dropped from where they were crossed over his chest, and he closed the space between us. I’d forgotten how tall he was. How he towered over me when he looked down into my face. His eyes jumped back and forth on mine, like he was searching for something there.
“The only thing I really know about you, June—”
My fingernails bit my palms.
“Is that I never really knew you at all.”
He stood there, waiting for me to speak, but no words came to my lips. Those few seconds felt like hours, the invisible rope between us cinching until I could almost feel its pull at my center. When he finally took a step back, it took every ounce of will I had not to let out the breath I was holding.
He stalked out of the house, pushing through the back door, and then he was disappearing into the field. But the breeze that poured in before the door closed was colder than it had been moments ago, carrying with it the scent of winter jasmine. It curled around me, making me shiver.
The prickle was sharp and painful on my skin, making me wince, and the familiarity of it made me go still. I unclenched my fists, trying to focus. It was happening again, my consciousness splitting in two.
I didn’t move, trying to control my breathing as I leaned in to the feeling instead of instinctively pushing it away. It was like pressing into air so thick that I could taste it on my tongue —the bite of woodsmoke and the churn of river water. The little farmhouse dissolved around me, and I held out a hand, propping myself against the counter as it all came into view.
A starry sky breaks through the branches of a dark canopy of trees. I’m outside somewhere, the night beetles buzzing in the silence.
“Are you getting in?” Mason’s voice rings out around me, so clear and close that I turn.
He’s standing waist-deep, his pale skin stark against the black water. He’s missing his shirt, his hair swept to one side. His beard is darker. Thicker. He’s smiling at me.
The sound of the water grows louder, and I look down to see river water running over my bare feet. I can feel the wind on me, every inch of my skin, and I realize I’m in my underwear. My clothes are tossed to the rocks, where a small fire is burning in a makeshift ring of stones.
When I look back to Mason, he’s watching me. One of his hands lifts up, out of the water, reaching in my direction.
But the moment I moved, the image was already pulling from my mind, fading fast. The sounds melted into silence, the
bright sunlight of the house returning, and the image of my bare feet in the water was replaced by the view of my boots standing on Eamon’s wooden floor.
I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, where my heart was beating so hard I was almost sure it would stop. I’d been standing by the Adeline River, a fire glowing on the bank and the moonlight dancing on the water. And Mason was there. It had the sharp detail and nostalgic echo of a…memory. That was the only thing I could think to call it, but I was sure that it had never, ever happened.
