Free The Time Seekers (The Soul Seekers Book 2) by Amy Saia Page B

warnings in between the sixties pop music he loved so much. “Sure you don’t want me to go in there and kill him for ya?”
    “Yeah, I’m sure.” I leaned across to give Max a kiss on the cheek and saw him glance away with a sadness I couldn’t understand.
    “Your work looked good up there. I want you to do a million more shows, baby or not. Husband or not. I’ll help you, hell, I’ll . . . I’ll stay around if I have to. You hear?”
    “Yeah. And that’s real sweet of you.”
    His fingers tapped on the steering wheel. “I love you, Bennett. No one’s ever given themselves to me before like you have, no sex or anything, just pure heart. You worked real hard to help me out and I can’t thank you enough.”
    He grabbed my hand and squeezed for an eternity. Finally, I broke away and threw my arms around him. “Oh Max! You softie! I love you too.” We laughed and hugged each other, rocking back and forth.
    “Hey now, let’s not crush that cigarette.”
    I patted its sacred location and gave one last lingering hug of gratitude. “See you on Monday, Max. Drive safe.”
    On the porch, I shivered and watched as he drove away. The Volkswagen’s taillights faded into a swirl of white flakes. My feet were like ice blocks in the stupid gold pumps, and I couldn’t wait to get inside and warm my toes by the radiator. I had no idea what I was going to say to William, but tonight he would find out about the pregnancy. He could forget about me, and the art show, but fatherhood was something he would have to face.
    I opened the door to a pitch-black living room. The kitchen held a soft glow from the light above the sink, but this alone made no indication of life, as neither of us ever turned it off. I removed my jacket and stuck it on our rickety old coat hanger, then dropped a gold pump from each foot. They clattered to the floor, and then all was quiet. “Will?” My voice echoed through the house with no response. “Are you home?”
    His coat was gone, as was his fedora. The boots gone, too. The car was in the driveway. But surely he wouldn’t have walked in the blizzard? I’d gone to school in my sneakers earlier, when it was still mild enough to do so, but anyone walking at this hour would become frozen in an instant.
    I called his name before heading upstairs. The hallway was dark, but a light beamed out from under the door. A turn of the knob, and the door yielded against my prodding hand.
    Inside it was warm; it smelled of his scent, but he wasn’t there. Many weeks had passed since I’d last visited the room, and I felt a shock upon seeing all the new items he’d accumulated: more radios, trinkets, piles of magazines, shoes, a cane, books, food tins, and glass Coca-Cola bottles. I picked up an antique canister of Ovaltine and opened its lid. The contents were half used. Why would he spend his money on something so stupid? I placed it back on the desk. A mug sat next to it with remnants of the chocolate powdery drink inside. It smelled fresh. The mug was still warm.
    I dropped into his chair and swiveled around. A paper sat half-typed in the old hammer-key typewriter, but I had vowed never to read his work unless he asked me to. So far, I’d never been asked. It was a little insulting. But I wouldn’t do it. I turned away.
    A Life magazine stared at me. Marked 1956, it was perfect, with a front cover so glossy and void of flaws I had to lean in to make sure it wasn’t a fake. The paper wasn’t dingy, or yellowed, and it didn’t crinkle against my fingers. I opened the cover and read a color advertisement for Lark cigarettes. A very tanned man in his forties leaned back with a red packet in his hands and one cigarette sticking out in seduction.
    Flipping through, I saw more advertisements; mostly black and white with descriptions of how each product would make one’s life easier to live. In between this was the current news, opinions, politics, slice-of-life stories, and large spreads on the arts and