“I’ll try very hard not to.”
“Your mother needs to speak to you, and before she knocks me over with her excitement.”
Mum had half-growled, half-sobbed down the line. “I am going to tie you down the moment I see you. I miss you. We’ll head to the airport and catch the first flight home. You make sure you’re waiting for us when we arrive. If you’re not, you’re grounded.”
“I’m an adult. You haven’t grounded me since I was thirteen.”
“I’ll start again if it’s necessary. You’ve taken years off my life with that letter and your sudden—oh my goodness, what am I saying? You saved our lives, and we love you for it.”
“Just hurry home, Mum.”
“We will. We got your letter days before the fire. We had the heater in our bedroom removed then checked over. The wiring was far below grade. We didn’t even know it was a hazard waiting to explode.”
“I wasn’t home that night. I’d gone for a sleepover at Jane’s place.”
“I remember that part, and as soon as we disposed of the heater, it was suddenly two-thousand and fourteen. Three years had passed and your opened letter was still on the table. We called the police and discovered you had a new address. Then we met Annie, and she told us of her wish and the two of you trading places in time. It seemed Annie’s arrival here triggered whatever was needed to move us back fully into time.”
“Annie told me what happened, that fairy magic must have been at work.”
“Yes. The last I recalled at the time was wondering why you’d send your father and me a letter on such old parchment. It was sealed inside a courier envelope with another letter addressed to you. The paper was so brittle but it held your handwriting.”
“Hold on. One addressed to me?”
“Yes, I have it with me. It has the name Alex MacDonald on the outside under yours.”
“Alex never wrote me a—” Oh, unless he had right after she’d last left. “What does it say?”
“I haven’t opened it, but I’ll give it to you once we’re home. I can’t believe we’ve lost three years. All of them gone.”
“We’ll be back together soon.”
“Yes, very soon.”
“Hurry home, Mum. I love you.”
“I love—”
“Anne, how do they make this sheet of glass so wide?” Annie tapped the massive window pane then pressed her cheek against its cool surface. “I mean look at this. I don’t see any joins and ’tis so long and in one piece.”
“The joins are so well flushed together you can’t see them. If you step back though, you might.”
“How does it no’ cave in?” Her frown deepened.
“It’s reinforced.”
“Reinforced?” She shook her head. “Nay, I dinnae see this reinforcing.”
“It’s inside the glass. Its strength comes from how it’s forged.”
“But—”
She clasped Annie’s shoulders. “We should go and check the board and make sure my parents’ flight remains on time.”
“Aye, we should. That device with all those red letters and numbers constantly changes without anyone’s hand upon it. It has a mind of its own.” They walked toward the stairs. “How does that happen? Oh, and look there, that lady is still selling chocolate. I cannae believe she has such an endless supply, or so many people wander past and no’ partake of the delicacy.”
“Neither can I.” She giggled.
“You’re making fun of me. Shame on you.” Annie nabbed her hand, veered left and raced them toward the woman wearing a bright purple, ruffled fairy dress. Annie stopped and Anne bumped into her. “Miss, allow us to unburden you of bar or two of your chocolate.”
“Certainly.” The sales lady dipped her head.
Annie dug into the pocket of her red jeans and removed the card she called a thing of great magic. “Take what you need from here.”
“Actually”—Anne looped her arm through Annie’s—“we’ll take four bars.”
“We will?” Annie’s eyes widened and she clapped. “Of course we will. Your parents must have one each too. Why didnae I think of that? My apologies.” Annie paid for the chocolate.
“You’re forgiven.”
The flight information screen showed her parents’ flight was a mere ten minutes away. She needed to see them so desperately. It had been far too long.
She rubbed her arms, wrinkling up the long sleeves of her sheer butter-yellow blouse. For the past two days, even as much as she’d longed to return to Alex, she’d longed equally to see her parents. Each morning she’d awoken and stared at the framed print she’d removed from the wall and propped beside her bed. She wanted them back now.
“Here you go.” Annie passed her a bar of chocolate then frowned. “Oh dear, you look just as you did this morn, very pensive.”
Annie had slept beside her in the spare bed, although they’d shoved the two beds together to make one, neither wanting any great distance between them in case the other was taken. “I’m nervous.”