Timebound(33)

I sighed. He was being logical, and I knew on some level that he was right, but… “I can’t call Katherine. I don’t have her number. It was in my phone, which was in my backpack, which was stolen. The number would be brand-new, and I can guarantee it’s unlisted anyway, since she’s worried about being tracked down by my grandfather.”

As I said this, I pushed away the nagging fear that the CHRONOS keys had, for some reason, not protected Katherine and Connor. I had to focus first on finding Dad. “Maybe we should go there first, but I think she’d try to stop me from contacting Dad. And I need to see him, Trey. Even if he doesn’t know me, I’ll convince him. I need to see that he’s real, that he exists. I can’t… I can’t do that with my mom. She’s not here… I don’t think she’s anywhere.”

Maybe it was the rising panic in my voice. I’m pretty sure I didn’t convince him with the strength of my argument because the reasons didn’t even sound logical to me. All I knew was that I needed my Dad, that he was only two hours away, and Trey had offered to take me to him.

“Okay.” He gave me a sad smile and took my hand, pulling me up from the bench. “We go to Delaware. I don’t think it is going to help, but I’ve known you—what?—right at four hours, now. I’m willing to admit I could be wrong.”





Trey’s family lived in a three-story house perhaps a bit smaller than the one Katherine had bought in Bethesda. It was in a quaint neighborhood, with row houses, the occasional single-family home, and a few small embassy buildings. Trey said it had belonged to his grandparents, but they had retired to Florida years ago, and he’d lived in the house for most of his life—at least during the times his family had been in the States.

We entered through a side door that opened into a large kitchen with pale yellow walls. “Estella?” Trey called as he opened the door. “It’s me.” A large gray cat who had been sleeping in the afternoon sunlight stretched and slinked over to Trey for a greeting. “Hi, Dmitri. Where’s Estella?”

I bent down to stroke the cat’s ears and he purred in response, rubbing against my legs.

“Hmm. Estella’s usually here. She must have stepped out to the market. Probably just as well, since she would have a thousand questions about you, even if I just said we were going to the movies. She’s a bit… overprotective.” Trey left a note on the desk for his father, telling him he was helping out a friend, and attached another note to the fridge, explaining to Estella that he wouldn’t be home for dinner.

At Trey’s suggestion, we found my dad’s number through directory assistance and called to be sure he wasn’t away on vacation or something. It was Dad’s voice that answered the phone, and it was all I could do to keep from talking to him, but Trey pulled the phone from my hand and said he’d dialed the wrong number.

Trey’s car was parked in a garage behind the house. It was an older model Lexus, dark blue, parked next to a much newer, similar Lexus in black. “This one is Mom’s hand-me-down,” he explained, “but Dad added the Bluetooth for my phone and music.” He grinned. “I convinced him that it was a safety issue—so that I can focus on the road and still call home—but I really wanted it because this car only had a CD player. It needed a serious music upgrade.”

The ride to Delaware was uneventful. Traffic wasn’t bad once we got out of the city. I kept my hand on Trey’s shoulder, so he could have both hands free to drive. Although my seventeenth birthday was fast approaching, I hadn’t yet gotten my own license—there seemed little need since the Metro went most places I wanted to go and the only car to which I had access was an old clunker that Dad used almost exclusively for trips to the grocery. Trey had apparently been driving for a while, however, and seemed very comfortable behind the wheel.

He was hungry, so we stopped to grab some food at a McDonald’s near Annapolis. We were through the door and halfway to the counter before we realized, simultaneously, that Trey had dropped my hand to open the door.

“Trey?” I said. No response. He was looking at me quizzically, his head tipped to the side.

I waited a moment and then grabbed his hand again, and practically screamed his name. “Trey?”

“Exactly who are you?” he said. “And why are you holding my hand?”

He broke into a grin before the last words were out, and squeezed my hand. “Joking!” I tried to pull my hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”