TIme After Time

same place I’ve arrived off and on all summer to surprise her during her morning runs. I lean in close to get a better look. “This is incredible. How did you find a print of the exact spot?”

“It’s not a print,” she says as she rests her hands on her hips. “I took it.”

I know nothing about photography, but it looks pretty impressive to me. I can see every tiny crack in the rock face, and the tall cliff is perfectly mirrored in the water below. “You took this?”

“Senora Moreno helped me.” I remember her telling me that her host mom in La Paz was also a local photographer. “I thought you could hang it on your bedroom wall.” She doesn’t clarify which bedroom and I decide not to ask.

“But wait…get this,” she says, holding up a finger. Anna undoes the Velcro on a black canvas bag and removes a 35-millimeter camera. Her thumb glides along the back and over the buttons. “Look what she gave me. I guess it’s pretty old, but I don’t care.” It looks ancient. I watch her twist the long lens, remove it from the body, and replace it with a fatter, stubbier one. She brings the camera to her face, and I can’t see anything but her mouth. I hear the shutter snap and a weird, motorized sound.

Throwing the strap over her shoulder, she reaches under the bed again and returns holding a large envelope. She plops down on the floor and motions for me to join her. We sit close together, our hips touching, and she shakes a pile of images onto the shag rug and tells me the backstory on each one. There are lots of beaches and rocks and vista point views, but my eye goes straight to a close-up photo of a man with dark, wrinkled skin, holding a guitar and wearing the warmest smile.

“These are really good,” I tell her. “Really good.” I watch the flush creep into her cheeks.

“They have this darkroom in their basement. I spent hours in there with Senora Moreno and her daughter, learning how to develop film. It was incredible.” She shrugs. “When I told Dad, he said he might be able to build one for me in that old shed in the backyard.” She reaches for her camera and aims it at my face. “Until then, it’s one-hour photo. Smile. I don’t have a single picture of you.”

I reach around her waist and pull her down onto the rug next to me. “There’s no reason for a picture of me if you’re not in it.”

She laughs as she extends her arm as high in the air as she can and aims the lens at us. Click. She kisses me on the cheek. Click. She sticks out her tongue and I crack up. Click. And then, in one fluid series of motions, I take the camera out of her hands, set it on the floor, and roll over on top of her, kissing her like I’ve wanted to all night.

But the longer we kiss, the guiltier I feel. I promised I wouldn’t keep secrets from her any longer. “Anna,” I say. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

The knock is soft, but startling enough to send us scampering in opposite directions. The door was ajar as instructed and we didn’t have much time, but we move so quickly that by the time Mrs. Greene’s head pops in, Anna and I are already sitting up, a generous amount of shag rug between the two of us.

“Your dad and I are going to bed,” she says.

“Okay. Good night,” Anna says brightly.

Her mom clears her throat. “That means that Bennett needs to leave now.”

“Mom—” Anna huffs.

“It’s okay.” I stand up quickly and cross the room toward my backpack. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say to Anna. I squeeze past Mrs. Greene and into the hallway, heading for the front door.

I’m just about to turn the knob when I hear Anna’s voice behind me. “Wait a sec!” I turn around and find her halfway down the stairs. “Where are you going?” she whispers.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ll probably just go home and come back in the morning.”

She looks around to be sure her dad’s out of earshot. “What, like, home-home? San Francisco home?” She doesn’t add 2012 home, but I know that’s what she means.

“Yeah, it’s too late to go to Maggie’s now. Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll go over to her house and then we can go do something together.”

She shakes her head hard. “No. I mean, you’re here. You can’t just…leave.”

I don’t want to leave, but I picture the look on Mrs. Greene’s face a minute ago and think it’s probably better not to push my luck tonight. I go could back to San Francisco, to the tiny garage, and crash in the Jeep. Or I could go back to my room and hope my parents don’t walk in and find me. Come to think of it, maybe Anna’s right. I might be better off staying put. I could always sleep on the couch in the back room of the bookstore.

Anna holds up a finger. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Before I can say another word, she’s gone, flying back up the stairs.

I stand in the foyer and look around. On my left, I see the built-in bench, and on the wall above it, a row of empty coat hooks. It reminds me of the first time I came to this house. Anna had stayed home from school, and when I showed up, she took my jacket and hung it there. Then I told her my secret, showed her what I could do. Took her somewhere warm and far away. I consider doing it again tonight.

I hear her bare feet padding down the stairs. She’s holding an armful of bedding. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

My eyes dart to her parents’ bedroom door at the top of the stairs. “No way.” I rub my forehead hard with my fingertips and think about the idea. “Your parents actually said I could sleep on your couch?”

Anna nods. “Just for tonight. They agreed that it was too late for you to walk home in the dark. I told them you’d call Maggie and tell her not to expect you until tomorrow.”

“I can’t call Maggie,” I whisper in her ear.

“I know. Just pretend to do it.” She gestures toward the kitchen and I see the phone hanging on the wall next to the microwave. I cover my face with my hand. I wish I’d just said good night, gone outside, and poof, appeared back in her bedroom ten minutes later like I originally planned to.

“You can change in the downstairs bathroom.” She points to a door I’ve never noticed before. “I’ll go get you set up.”

5

I fluff up the pillow and twist around in the blankets. For possibly the tenth time in the last hour, I sit up, resting my hands on my knees and staring out the sliding glass door and into the Greenes’ backyard. According to the clock on the mantel, it’s a quarter after midnight.

The last time I sat on this couch, Anna and I were wrapped up in this exact corner while Justin and Emma curled up on the opposite side. We watched a movie and took turns reaching into an enormous bowl of buttered popcorn that her mom made for us.

I throw my feet onto the floor and stand up. I walk through the kitchen and into the hallway, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Her parents’ door is open a crack. Anna’s is completely shut. I’m about to close my eyes and bring myself to her bedroom, when I think of the look on her parents’ faces tonight. Sure, if they caught me in their daughter’s room, I could just go back five minutes, ten minutes, and do it all over. But going up there at all feels like a violation of their trust and I’m already on thin ice here.

There’s no reason to rush things. I have plenty of time to see her tomorrow, the next day. I turn around, shuffle back to the couch, and collapse with my head in my hands. After a while, I settle into the pillow again and close my eyes, attempting to empty my mind. I finally feel like I’m about to drift off when I hear something that sounds like breathing.

I crack my eyes open, lift my head up, and see a silhouette in the doorway. “Oh, God. I’m sorry,” Anna whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.… I wasn’t sleeping.” I sit up a little bit and gesture for her to come closer. She sits across from me on the coffee table. The sight of her, the sound of her voice in this room, fills me with relief. “What are you doing down here? What about your parents?”

“I checked. They’re asleep. Trust me, once they’re out, they’re out.”

She sweeps her hair away from her face and twists it around a finger, holding it against the back of her