“What?”
“I got a note last night. It’s from me but addressed to you.”
Zack wasn’t lucid enough to handle Mia’s temporal juju, or the furtive grins of both women. “What are you two up to?”
“Just read it!”
He blinked several times until his vision came into focus, then took the sheet from Mia.
Dearest Zachary, brother of my heart,
A clever man once told me that there’s no speed trophy waiting for us in Brooklyn. He was right. Now follow your own damn wisdom and slow down. This second Cataclysm isn’t happening for another four to five years. For your own sakes, it’s much more important to get here in a strong state of mind than it is to get here fast.
My advice is to take Amanda’s advice, and then some. Find a ridiculously expensive hotel and hole up there for a week. Treat yourselves on comforts until you’re all ready to pop. Don’t worry about blowing the cash you have. Peter’s filthy rich, just like all his people. Money’s one of the few things you’ll never have to worry about again.
Zack, if you trust me, then listen to me now. This is the note we wish we’d gotten. This is your chance to avoid one of our biggest regrets. Slow it down. Live it up. Heal your weary minds. Enjoy the simple pleasures of life, before life becomes less simple.
With love, always,
Mia
A cynical voice in Zack’s head suggested that Mia was pulling a clever ruse, forging a note from her future self in order to keep him from souring Amanda’s plans. His theory dissolved when he saw his own handwriting at the bottom of the page.
I’m Zack Trillinger and I approve this message.
He couldn’t help but laugh in the wake of his self-correction. He could just picture the canny smirk on Future Zack’s face as he scribbled his authentication. He’ll need this. Trust me. I know the guy.
Amanda leaned against the doorframe and sneered with vindication. “Get the message?”
He reskimmed Mia’s words. Her last line struck an ominous chord, a dark complement to Theo’s grim portent. Fortunately for Amanda, the note instilled Zack with just the right amount of fear. The future could wait a little while longer.
TWENTY-TWO
The Piranda Five Towers was a sparkling jewel of the Midwest, a gleam in the “I” of Indiana. Amanda found a brochure at a chargery kiosk and fell in love with the photos. A quintet of tall glass spires loomed like fingers around a great palm grotto. At night, each building glowed with heavenly lumis while a great floating ghostbox provided a kaleidoscopic light show for anyone willing to crane their neck. The rooms were gorgeous and the resort had enough amenities to keep guests busy around the clock.
As the sun set on Saturday, the Silvers entered their new accommodations on the tenth floor of Tower Five. The Baronessa Suite was a 3,800-square-foot palace with two levels, three bathrooms, a full-size kitchen, and a hot tub veranda.
Hannah dropped her knapsack and forged a gawking path into the living room. She was the only one who’d taken issue with Amanda’s choice of hotel, only because it was located in the ominously named city of Evansville. She was glad no one listened to her.
“Oh my God. This is . . .”
“Incredible,” Mia finished. “How much did this cost for the week?”
“A fraction of what we have,” Zack told her. “No worries.”
Giddy with pleasure, Amanda threw her arms around Zack’s neck. “Say it.”
“Smugness doesn’t become you, Given.”
“Say it!”
“Fine. Yes. This was a brilliant idea. You’re the goddess of gratification. I bow to you.”
David returned from his walk-around inspection. “There are six beds, but only three bedrooms. If no one has a problem with a coed arrangement—”
“Theo and I can share,” said Hannah, with an arch grin. “Easy breezy. Problem solved.”
Mia wasn’t sure whether to thank or slap Hannah for cutting off David’s thought. Theo nodded in shaky accord.
“That’s fine. Whatever works.”
Zack flipped through the elaborate room service menu and stopped at the page of lobster options.
“Oh, this works. This really, really works.”
—
Their stay in the Baronessa Suite was one of the nicest weeks of their lives, with an asterisk. The events of checkout morning would forever mar their recollection, though the healing distance of time would eventually allow them to catalog the week as “mostly lovely,” or “perfect until. . . .”
When stored in their own bottle, the first six and a half days shined from every angle. The Silvers enjoyed a level of carefree comfort that had eluded them on two worlds. They lived without worrying about finances or federal agents, sword-wielding killers or citywide Cataclysms. For 156 hours, they existed in the sweet haze of the moment. They coddled themselves in manners both shallow and deep, conventional and strange.