Page 139 of Disturbing the Dead
“I will stop asking,” he says, “if you truly do not want the nudge.”
I’ve written two letters for my parents and put them under that board. Both are still there.
“If they have not fetched them,” Gray says, now studiously turning his attention to his boots, “that does not mean they cannot. They do not live in Edinburgh. They will only check periodically, perhaps no more than once a year.”
“I know,” I say, which I do know… except that time seems to work differently, and they’d have needed to stay awhile to deal with my coma, and renting the Robert Street town house would be wise.
“Even if they get them, the letters would likely still remain in this time,” Gray says. “Perhaps they will pile up there until they read them in the future.” He frowns. “I truly do not understand how this time traveling works.”
I throw up my hands. “Who does? Whatever cosmic force threw me here forgot to drop off the instruction manual.”
He chuckles.
“I will continue to write letters,” I say as I put my winter boots away. “And continue to post personal ads.”
“And trust they will receive them.”
I nod. “But I’m also going to keep checking under that damned floorboard, even if it’s futile.”
“Then let us do that now.”
I shake my head, but I do walk to the stairs and begin to climb. The house is quiet. Both Jack and Alice have a half day, and Isla had an appointment and couldn’t join us for lunch. Our soft-soled boots seem to echo through the house.
“I heard Alice,” I say as we climb. “When I was here in my time. I heard Alice’s boots.”
Gray sighs behind me. “She is so loud that the very walls still echo with her steps a hundred and fifty years from now.”
I smile back at him. “That is exactly what I thought.”
We reach my room. I’ve taken to locking the door again. Not that I don’t trust Jack but… yeah, while I trust Jack not to steal my silver hairbrush, I do not trust her not to come poking about for secrets.
I head for the floorboard. I’ve moved the bed slightly, so one leg rests on that board. Yep, I’m being super careful. I’d joked to myself once that I didn’t lock my door because I had nothing to hide—it wasn’t as if I was chronicling my adventures as a time traveler. Yet that’s exactly what I’m doing with those letters.
“I know it is difficult,” Gray says as we shift the bed. “You made a very hard choice, and I would understand if there are times you regret it.”
I shake my head. “I don’t.”
A soft exhale. “Good.”
He moves to lift the floorboard but I wave him off, and he sits on the edge of the bed as I maneuver to the floor.
“I am glad to have you back, Mallory,” he says. “I have said that, more than once, but I worry that my reaction upon your return was…”
I glance up to see him rubbing his mouth. Then I turn away and pull at the board.
“I feared it was not true,” he says. “That I… wanted it too much and was imagining you waking. I dared not hope you had actually returned. I’d spent two days sitting there, hoping for some sign and telling myself that if you woke, I would tell you—” He stops short. “The letters are gone.”
I look up at him. “You would tell me that the letters are gone?”
“No.” He gets to his feet and points down. “Your letters are gone.”
He crouches to check the space, as if the letters might have slipped into some unseen hole. Then he smiles at me.
“They are gone. Your parents have the letters.”
I swallow. “But why would they be gone here? Shouldn’t they just pile up—”
He lifts a hand toward my lips. “Your parents received your letters, Mallory. Do not question and second-guess and doubt. They know you are alive and well.”
