The Price

The pain was wretched, as it always was, hammering her skull so violently it threatened to give way. Vomit rose, but she swallowed it down. She’d experienced worse than a headache.

Despite her efforts to reassure herself, the travel persistently destroyed every ounce of control she had over her body. Spittle flew from her lips and tears escaped her clenched eyes. Her braid came loose, hair tie lost in the unknown. The puke, which she thought she swallowed, began to leak from her nostrils. Acid burned her throat.

But then, then it was over.

As quickly as it arrived, the headache disappeared. Though, the vertigo remained. Knees one with the grass and chest heaving, she paused to recover. One too many fainting spells taught her the hard way. She ran a hand down her face before smearing the mess on her jeans.

As slowly as she could tolerate, she lifted her head. Her shoulders dropped as she took in the house. It stood in all its beautiful, simple glory, with its lengthy porch and big, red oak door. Relief flooded her system.

Standing on wobbly legs, she made her way to the door and pushed it open. With a deep, big breath, she yelled, “I’m home!”

The reaction was instant, storming down the hall, bare feet slapping against the floor. Kayla knelt just in time to save herself from being tackled and embraced them.

“Mama,” they cried unanimously, squeezing her tight.

Emelia let go first, as eight was far too old to hug her mother for more than twenty seconds. Bridgette, didn’t share this desire and held on for dear life. Kayla, used to this, lifted the five year old into her arms and walked down the hall. Emelia ran in front of them, eager to be first.

Ian’s laugh rumbled through the house and she followed the sound into the kitchen. He stood before the oven, dressed in a ridiculous chicken apron Emelia bullied him into getting.

Ian gave Emelia a pat, congratulating her for winning, and turned his attention to his wife. Kayla’s heart beat wildly in her chest as he neared. He pulled Kayla and Bridgette into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to Kayla’s forehead. It was a soothing, balm to her aching chest. She was twenty-two again, meeting him for the first time at a college party.

Placing Bridgette on the floor, Kayla wrapped her arms around him. Pine, spice, and home filled her senses, and she breathed it in deep.

“Hello, my love. Back again?” He murmured softly into her hair.

Nodding her head in response, she cleared her throat and pulled away, sniffing the air. “Whatcha cooking? Smells delicious.”

“Pasta,” he said and walked to the stove, stirring the pot. “It’s about ready. It’s Alfredo though, so you’ll have to suck it up.”

Kayla snorted and sat at the island bar. “I think I’ll survive.” The girls joined her, eagerly awaiting their favorite meal, feet kicking against the metal stools.

Ian hummed to himself as he finished the food and made their plates. Atrocious apron still on, he pulled the stool out next to Kayla and climbed onto the seat with a groan. “Ohh, I’m getting old.”

Kayla stilled for a breath, before she shook her head. “I mean, I wasn’t going to say it…”

Ian’s hand flew to his chest as he gasped. “How dare you!”

Kayla couldn’t have fought her grin if she tried.

***

“And the tree was happy…the end.” Kayla shut the book, soaking in her girls. A puddle of drool stained Bridgette’s hot pink pillowcase. Her cheeks hurt from smiling too wide. They slept so peacefully.

The soft pad of footsteps came to a stop behind her and she turned to face him. Broad shoulders against the doorframe and corded arms crossed over his chest, he looked delicious enough to eat. He offered his hand in suggestion.

Dadum, dadum. Dadum, dadum. Dadum, dadum.

Kayla stood from Emelia’s bed and took it. He led her down the hall and gently pushed her into their room. Soft, full lips pressed into hers and she gasped at the contact.

“I missed you,” he said in between kisses, minty breath mingling with hers.

“I miss you,” she replied and let him consume her.

An hour later, they lay in bed, hands clasped as they faced each other in the dark. Sweat coated her body, sticking to the thin sheet. His thumb caressed her palm.

His breath shortened as if about to say something, but nothing came. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he wanted to ask.

She spoke for him.

“I still don’t know how it happens. When I think of you and the girls, I go back, I think by two years. I used to wonder if I was some kind of fucked-up mutant, or an anomoly. I don’t know. Recently, I realized I didn’t care how it happens. It’s a blessing. I get to see you guys.”

“Lucky you,” he teased into the night.

“Uh-huh, whatever. More and more, Emelia reminds me of you,” Kayla told him.

“Her perfectionism?” He teased lightly.

“That, and her eyes. They’re gold like yours. I didn’t know eye color could change at eight years old.”

“Me either. But, they may be my eyes, but that’s your soul in there. Stubborn as ever.”

Kayla shoved his shoulder. “Oh, hush. You sleep just like Bridgette, which is much worse.”

They laughed for a time, before drifting into silence.

“Kayla?” He said nothing for a moment. “Why can’t you do this in your time? See us, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but if this is the only way you can do it, I can’t lie. It scares me.”

Kayla’s heart kickstarted and she broke out in sweat for a completely different reason. “No, no. It’s not because of anything bad. But, I wasn’t with you guys now. I left, and I was selfish and stupid. This is my way of getting it back.”

Though she couldn’t see him, she felt the relief leak from his body. It ate at her, picking her nerves. Lies, lies, always lies. Salt burned her eyes.

She eventually lost the fight to sleep.

***

She woke up in a different bed. Dizziness accompanied her bloodcurdling wail that bounced off the walls. She curled her knees into her chest, failing to create the same comfort Ian offered. There was no thumb caress, no forehead kisses, no hugs. There was nothing.

Because Ian was dead. Emelia was dead. Bridgette was dead.

Kayla once believed–when she was still very new to this–that things could be changed. Events could be erased, and that she could be the one to stop them. She knew now that time, although bent, could never be changed.

There was no bringing them back.

The only thing that Kayla was capable of, except for uselessness, was traveling to them. The first time she went back, covered in vomit and tears, Ian found her strewn across the backyard. She still remembered his shout of fear as he sprinted to her.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she told him.

It’d been hard to convince him otherwise, but eventually he calmed and listened to what she had to say. At the time she traveled, that Kayla left Ian and filed for divorce. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he let her leave.

Ian was a practical man, a non-religious one who didn’t believe in anything, let alone magic. Yet, when she told him she came from the future, he never doubted it. He admitted that even if she didn’t look different and wasn’t two years older, he knew she wasn’t that Kayla.

“You’re different.”

Ian and Kayla married young, only four months after their meeting. Due to it, she felt like she missed out on life, like she lost time. Kayla blamed Ian and determined leaving him was the solution.

Self-loathing burned in her gut. Not for the first time, she wished she was capable of body hopping into that Kayla to change everything. To just see the treasure she held in her hands and stay.

If she stayed, maybe they wouldn’t be dead. Maybe she’d be with them.

Sobs wracked her body so viciously, Kayla wondered if she’d tear a muscle. But they were more than likely used to the abuse.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she looked at the bedside alarm clock that sat on the tv dresser.

7:43

Kayla preferred using her phone for an alarm, but Ian, a terrible heavy sleeper, needed the alarm out of reach so he had to get out of bed. After their deaths, she bought one that looked the most similar to his.

The alarm blared and blared. Crushing it with a hammer suddenly seemed very tempting. Why was it even going off? She didn’t need to do anything today. It was Saturday.

The damned alarm continued to assault her eardrums. Hissing, she tore the blanket from her legs and halfway launched off the bed. With two or three slaps of her palm, it finally quieted, leaving her with nothing but silence. She sighed, crawled back into bed, and pulled the comforter over her head. Sleep came again.

Some time later, her phone rang then went to voicemail.

It rang again.

She blindly reached for her phone and answered without checking the caller ID. “Hello!”

“Kayla, where are you?” Frankie’s shrill voice shouted down the line. Kayla rolled her eyes. Always with the dramatics.

“In bed. I was trying to sleep.”

“Kayla! It is 9:30!”

Kayla looked at the clock. Frankie was the next Einstein. “Yep.”

“You can’t just not show up. Minnie asked about you and I don’t know how long I can keep making excuses for you.”

“It’s Saturday, why would I be at work?”

Frankie went silent.

“Kay, it’s Tuesday,” Her sister’s words were soft now.

“What? No, it’s not.” Kayla blinked, pulled her phone from her ear, and checked the date. She sat up fast. “I could have sworn it was Saturday.” Kayla pinched the bridge of her nose.

A sharp inhale answered her. “Uh, you know what, I’ll tell Minnie you’re just not having a good day. Hey, I-” A pause. “I’ll see you later, I’m going to stop by.”

Kayla groaned, recognizing the worry in her sister's voice. Frustration became irritation in a heartbeat. “No, oh my God, Frankie, I’ll be fine. I don’t need you to babysit me. I’m not a baby!”

“I know, I know, but I miss you. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Fine.”

“I lo-” Kayla hung up and shook her head. So she missed one day of work, she was grieving. It was her right to miss a few days. Her family had just died, only months ago! Frankie always did this, always made things something they didn’t need to be.

She just missed her girls. That’s where she needed to be. Kayla closed her eyes, wishing for them.

***

The headache split her head in two. She knelt outside her precious white home, with the red oak door. Ian built it when Emelia was an infant, and Kayla loved it more than anything. Living in her parents basement for thirteen months had been more than worth the wait.

Ian came outside, dressed in his button up shirt and briefcase in his hand. When those eyes landed on her, he stilled and then grinned. “Always fainting at the sight of me, aren’t you, baby?” He helped her from the grass.

Calloused hands kept her steady, but she leaned into his body for support anyways. Although, more than capable of standing on her own now, she couldn’t deny the urge to breathe him in.

“The girls are inside, Gran came to watch them,” Ian said as he released her, she–reluctantly–allowed him. “I’ll be back later.”

Then he was gone and Kayla went inside. She greeted Ian’s grandmother as Bridgette curled up against Kayla’s lap on the couch. It was a movie day for the girls, as nearly every day in the summer was. Gran knew Ian and Kayla were separated, but believed they were working things out. Technically, Ian hadn’t told Gran a lie. They were separated. Just by time.

All day, the four of them watched movies, ranging from Tinkerbell to Barbie to How to Train Your Dragon. Kayla made fried chicken and potatoes. Kayla longed to do it all the time. But traveling had unspoken rules. Kayla could travel as much as she wished, but she could never remain for more than 24 hours. Even then, it rarely let her stay that long.

At 7:00, Ian walked through the door, inhaling dramatically. “Mmm, this is how I know my wife is home.”

“Daddy!” Emelia hopped from Kayla’s lap, followed by Bridge. It seemed roles were reversed tonight.

Typically no food was allowed in the TV room, but it was a movie night and Kayla wasn’t ready to cut it short.

Kayla padded to the kitchen, throwing an, “Emelia, come help!” over her shoulder.

Em’s groan traveled down the hall, followed by reluctant stomps. Definitely my kid. Together, they prepared plates for the family and carried them in. Dinner was over in a blink.

Dishes covered the surface of the coffee table, and Kayla knew the dinner was a rare success.. She stood, kissed the girls on their heads, and patted Ian’s shoulder as she went to the bathroom, wondering if she’d remembered to turn the oven off.

Before she could check, the world whirled violently and her mouth grew sour with vomit.

A fist pounded on her front door.

“Kayla! Open the door, I know you’re in there.”

Why was Frankie here? And why in the world was she kneeling on the floor?

Huffing, she stood. And immediately fell back down. Ringing filled her ears and she felt like she was outside of her own body. Then it faded and she was okay.

Now trusting herself to stand on her own two feet, Kayla opened the door.

Frankie barged in, followed by their father, Callum.

“Okayyyy,” Kayla said, “just come on in, I guess.”

Callum sat on the couch, but Frankie made it a mission to burn a hole through Kayla’s carpet.

“Kayla, honey, your sister said you’ve been missing work a lot lately.”

Eyes narrowed on her pacing sister, Kayla shook her head. “That’s not at all true, I was there yesterday and today.” Frankie stopped trying to ruin her carpet. “She always does this, Dad, I really don’t understand why you always take her side.”

Frankie gaped at Kayla, and then at her father. “See, I told you. I think it’s happening again.” Before Kayla’s own disbelieving eyes, Frankie started tearing up. Callum seemed less surprised and reached for his eldest daughter’s hand.

“It’s okay, Frank.” He met Kayla’s gaze. “Kayla, honey, this happened around the same time your mother passed.”

“My mother? What are you talking about?”

Frankie sucked in a breath and collapsed onto the couch, holding her forehead in her palm. “Dad, you can’t just say that.”

Callum nodded solemnly. “Okay. Around seventeen years ago, something happened to our family. Afterwards, maybe a year or two after, your memory started to…waver. You forgot appointments, classes, and even what day it was. We didn’t realize how bad it’d gotten until you forgot something entirely.”

Kayla barked a laugh, but found nothing funny. “I don’t understand.”

“You forgot about mom, Kay. You forgot she existed entirely. You remember nothing about her,” Frankie wasn’t yelling, but Kayla still flinched.

“How could I forget something like that?”

“Your psychiatrist told us it was grief. He believed it was your own way of coping or ignoring the pain. I’m honestly not sure. All I know is that you remember nothing about Monica.” Callum wouldn’t meet Kayla’s eyes.

Kayla shook her head. That couldn’t be true. Who forgets having a mother? But…Kayla couldn’t remember a mother. Only Frankie and Callum. Only them, her whole life.

“It’s been two years since the fire an-”

Kayla cut her sister off, “I thought you said the fire was seventeen years ago!”

Frankie and Callum’s heads jerked up in sync, reminding Kayla of puppets.

“What?” Frankie’s question was soft as silk, lathered with quiet panic.

“You said that was sev-”

“Oh, my God!” Frankie jerked from the couch, hand to her mouth as she looked between sister and father. The father, who seemed as if he, too, was at a loss for words.

“Kayla, do you remember Ian and the girls?”

They stared at her and she stared back, slowly shaking her head. “What girls?”

“Your husband and your daughters! Your family, who you've been grieving for two years!” This time, Frankie did yell, but there was no panic. “Please, please, Kayla, please! You can’t have forgotten your babies.”

Kayla had children? A husband? “They…they died in a fire?” The words came out in a hoarse croak.

“A grease fire. Ian’s—-your husband’s grandmother died, too. They weren’t fast enough to stop it. Ian was in the kitchen when it exploded. The fire extinguisher was in his hands…he’d been so close.”