Page 22 of The Girl Out of Time
“Don’t I know it.” Emily smirked. “I believe in your time, that’s a forced marriage waiting to happen.”
“I don’t want her to get hurt, to be forced to marry someone who might be all pleasantries on the surface, but underneath, he’s someone like Ross.”
“Just because Sylvia had bad luck with her first husband doesn’t mean any man that approaches your daughter is a crazy, murderous psychopath,” Emily said.
“Of course not. But I still worry.”
“You’re a dad.” She shrugged. “From what I know, dads always worry.”
“Then what do I do?”
“First off, tell me what happened with this boy.”
He leaned back on the sofa. Revisiting the story might help him gain some clarity.
“His name is Leon. I’m not sure when Emmeline met him; I’m not even sure in which port he boarded, since nobody seems to know him. I believe he’s traveling third class—”
Emily arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t figure you for a classist, Gramps.”
“I’m not! The problem is that the sections on the ship are separated by class, and we’re not allowed to mingle. Which means if he’s on the first class promenade, fraternizing with my daughter—”
“He’s a bit of a bad boy. Hmm. I might like him.”
“Emily …”
“Okay, okay, go on.”
“It means he’s breakingthe rules. And she might be, too. Iknowshe did, because they went to the gymnasium while it was closed—which, by the way, also has separate schedules for men and women. They’ve been doing all sorts of things together. God knows how many of them were rule-breaking or inappropriate.” Even thinking about it made heat rush to his head.
“What things?”
“Playing games on deck, sneaking around the ship, dancing together—”
Emily burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
She fanned her face. “Rich girl and poor boy, sneaking around the ship to the disapproval of her family, dancing and partying, having the time of their lives …” She shook her head, still clearly amused. “What are they doing, reenactingTitanic?”
Will frowned. “How do you know the name of the ship?”
“What ship?”
“The ship we’re on. It’s called theTitanic.” He hadn’t told her—he couldn’t have. His last conversation with Emily had occurred before he and Sylvia decided they’d return home sooner.
Emily’s laugh was cut in an instant. “But you said you were coming back on theLusitania.”
“We changed our plans.”
“B-but, you’re going back to New York, right? What year is it, again?” She flashed a brief smile—one that looked more like she was trying to reassure herself.
“1912.”
“No, it was—I thought Emmeline was seventeen.”
“Yes. She was born in 1894. She’s going to be eighteen in a few months.”
“Oh, foot.” Something clanked, and the screen went blank as Emily dropped the tablet. When she picked it up again, her face was fraught with worry. “That damn family tree has the wrong date. I thought it was 1911 for you.” She reached a hand to her forehead as if she was dizzy. “What is the exact day?”
