Fable wondered what kind of sixth sense he possessed that he could dream such things. And was it a coincidence that he dreamed of the area where her angel, Bernadette worked?
She looked at him while they walked. Something about his profile and strong, straight nose reminded her of Ben. Is thatwhy she was helping him? She had to believe he was telling the truth and the sooner he found his wife, the sooner Fable could return to Ben.
“Wait,” she said, stopping. “You can’t meet the woman you love and haven’t seen in seventeen years looking likethat.”
He lifted a hesitant hand to his hair.
“Let’s just get you fixed up a little. Look,” she pointed across the street, “there’s a barbershop. I also need some new clothes. There are cheap places close-by. It won't take me long to find something.”
It took her ten minutes to make twenty-seven dollars. He needed a shave as well as a haircut, so she panhandled for another quarter of an hour asking people politely if they could spare some change and made another thirty.
“Now, come on, let’s make you presentable.”
The barber had to stop four times when he tried to turn on the electric razor to shave the traveler’s nape, and the warrior nearly jumped out of his seat.
Fable almost couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the traveler cleaned and pruned. His hair was closely cropped in back and a bit longer in front. Instead of giving him a clean shave, the barber trimmed his mustache and beard and made him look like a nobleman.
When she saw him, Fable couldn’t help but smile at his awkward discomfort at her appraisal.
“Wow! That’s a huge difference.”
“I hope she remembers me,” he said quietly.
“Of course she will.”
She meant to encourage him–though she owed him nothing and if he tried to double-cross her and leave before he returned her, she’d kill him.
When he tilted his head to look at her from a certain angle, she stopped breathing for an instant. Without all the fur, he looked very much like…Ben.
“Come,” he said, pulling her along again, “Let’s get you new clothes and find my wife.”
She nodded and followed him out then hurried to a nearby thrift store. Thankfully, there was a dressing room that was more of a curtained closet. She tried on three pairs of jeans with shirts in different colors to go with them and had to step out from behind the curtains to look at herself in the mirror. While she took a moment to think about it, the traveler cleared his throat. She looked at him through the mirror. He stood tall beside a rack of clothes appraising her.
“You look most appealing in the second showing–”
Showing?Fable had the urge to laugh and blush.
– “though I do not know why I should tell you.”
She wasn’t sure why he would withhold a compliment from her and shrugged as she disappeared behind the curtain again. “Mister?” she called out, pricked by his cryptic response. “Why shouldn’t you tell me?”
“You wish to appear appealing to the man you care for–even though you must know that a beggar does not belong with a man of his status. Therefore I should not aid you in your quest.”
Fable’s blood fired through her, scalding her temper. What? She was the one helping him! Why, that–
“However,” he continued, “I would have you know that if we were in my time I would make certain you had something fine to wear.”
She popped her head through the slit in the curtain and stared at him. Should she thank him? Smile? She thought she saw him smile as she closed the curtain again. Hmm, maybe the wicked time traveler wasn’t so wicked.
“How do you know you can trust a dream?” Fable asked him after she paid for the clothes. She bought the first outfit. It was the cheapest.
“Because I don’t know what these streets are called, but they are in my thoughts. They are real.”
When they reached 96th and Madison, Fable almost felt sorry for the man getting ready to see the woman he’d been searching for for almost two decades. His hands shook, he was breathing harder than if he’d just finished running up a hill. They looked around at the four corners. On the western side were apartment buildings. On the north-east corner stood a parking lot and on the south-east, the diner where Bernadette waited tables.
“We should go to the diner,” she told him. She wasn’t sure why she suggested they check the diner first except that she didn’t believe in coincidences. She wondered about Richard and Dorothea’s story. How had he held onto the hope of finding his wife? Did his Dorethea feel the same way?
He looked toward the diner and started toward it without another word. Entering behind him, Fable stayed close in case he thought to grab his wife and leave Fable and the twenty-first century behind.
