Turn Back Time (The Full Circle Series Book 1) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The views expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s opinions.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

  Copyright TURN BACK TIME © 2020 by Annette G. Anders.

  Email: [email protected]

  First Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-7350261-1-4 (E-book)

  ISBN: 978-1-7350261-0-7 (Paperback)

  To those I love.

  Forever in my heart.

  When I had to leave you,

  I believed

  We would meet again.

  When I saw time passing by,

  I felt the loss of you.

  When I could spend the day without you,

  I was afraid of meeting you again.

  (author unknown)

  CHAPTER 1

  David—July 2015

  H

  e heard her before he saw her.

  Hoping to avoid the oppressive midday heat, David walked under the shelter of old trees in Independence National Historic Park, sipping his iced tea—and winced.

  Her off-key singing insulted his ears, although he knew not everyone was gifted with an angelic voice. Yet he had tremendous respect for people who didn’t let this little misfortune keep them from doing something they enjoyed.

  At the next missed note, he winced again and checked out his surroundings, oblivious to the condensation from his cold drink running down his fingers.

  A slender brunette in a red sundress sat on one of the benches under a canopy of lush green trees. Her upper body swayed rhythmically.

  Are those wretched sounds coming from her?

  She dug through her oversized purse—what women carried around in their bags would forever remain a mystery to him—and pulled out a book, still crooning about ghosts in the neighborhood.

  He knew because of firsthand experience how important privacy and personal space were—but couldn’t stop himself.

  His vocal cords responded to the challenge, his feet developed a mind of their own, and he approached her bench, singing along much more harmoniously. He leaned closer to her and intoned just one word.

  “Ghostbusters.”

  She dropped the book and whipped off her enormous sunglasses. The biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen glared at him. “You… You scared me!”

  He guessed her to be around his sister’s age, which made her a few years younger than his own thirty-two. Her high cheekbones were free of makeup, and he admired her natural look.

  David swallowed several times. His voice deserted him. Man, she was beautiful in her fury.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He picked up the book and held it out to her.

  “Then why did you do it?” She snatched back the book and dusted it off.

  Think, Danvers, and fast. “Would you believe me if I said it was an impulse?” Not great, but honesty is always a good start.

  She still stared at him as if he had two heads or his nose was crooked. He was tempted to touch his face just to make sure everything was in its proper place.

  “Why don’t you follow your impulse somewhere else?” Her fingers fluttered between them.

  Whoa, did she just dismiss him with a flick of her hand? Well, he couldn’t blame her. But he enjoyed the situation too much to just walk away.

  “Mind if I sit down?” he asked.

  Without waiting for her reply, he moved her Frappuccino and settled on the bench, pretending to take in the surrounding of the park. The golden weathervane on top of Carpenter’s Hall swayed in a light breeze, and he looked around for the heirloom roses with their intoxicating smell, but his eyes kept circling back to her.

  “I’m curious; why did you sing about ghosts on this beautiful day? Halloween is more than three months away.”

  She stuck her sunglasses on top of her head and pointed to her right. He looked where she pointed, across the lawn, and saw a black-caped young woman with white face paint and a shaved head swinging an old-fashioned lantern and talking to a group of people.

  “I don’t know why I’m explaining myself to you, but I overheard the woman advertising ghost tours,” she said.

  He turned his attention back to her. She seemed a little calmer. At least she was no longer clutching the poor book as if she wanted to smack him over the head with it. Which you would have deserved, Danvers.

  “What are you reading?”

  “Oh.” She showed him the cover. “The book is called Miracle at Philadelphia.”

  “Never heard of it. What is it about?”

  “It’s an account of the constitutional convention in the summer of 1787.”

  “Sounds like heavy reading.” David mostly listened to audiobooks, and he preferred legal thrillers or mysteries, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

  “True, but it gives me a different perspective about time and place. To me, it’s a way to take me back in time, to let me experience history. By reading this, I’m right there with these brilliant men, in a summer as hot as ours this year. And when I’m walking through our beautiful city, I imagine them next to me, arguing or tossing ideas around.” She wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead before slurping her iced coffee. “I just think books are a wonderful way to connect the past and the present.”

  She sounded more relaxed when she talked about books, and David wanted to hear more of her warm voice and watch her eyes light up when she got excited. He was intrigued, and wanted to get to know her.

  “Can I buy you lunch?” he blurted out without thinking.

  Are you serious, Danvers? What’s wrong with you? He mentally slapped his forehead. First, he scared the living daylights out of her, and now he was asking her to have lunch?

  “To make up for startling you earlier,” he hastened to add.

  He could almost see the wheels turning in her pretty head while she considered his invitation. She’d be a lousy poker player—but a cute one—and he was disappointed when she didn’t agree right away. Who do you think you are, man?

  But the million-dollar question was… Had he lost his damn mind? He hadn’t asked a woman out in years, and he alone knew the reason why.

  So why her?

  CHAPTER 2

  Stella—July 2015

  S

  tella gave her book another quick shake before slipping it in her purse, then hoisted her bag on her shoulder. “By the way, I’m Stella.”

  “I’m David. Nice to meet you, Stella.” He bowed and tipped an invisible hat.

  Stella bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a grin. Is this guy for real?

  They fell in step and walked past Carpenter’s Hall, crossed Chestnut Street, and entered a sunny courtyard planted with trees and perennials.

  He pointed to a low building with a long glass front. “Ah, now I know where we are. Last time I came in from the other end of the yard. I have to come back later to buy a birthday gift for my sister.”

  She didn’t even think before she offered, “We can go in now, since we’re here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yup.” Inside the little gift shop, she said, “I’ll check out the postcards. Take your time.” She skimmed through a few cards with quotes until she read, “The person who deserves most pity is a lon
esome one on a rainy day who doesn’t know how to read.” Stella was tempted to buy it and use as a bookmark, but decided against it.

  Being a library curator, she agreed one hundred percent with the popular Ben Franklin saying. How empty would the world be without books?

  Letting David poke around by himself gave her the perfect opportunity to take a closer look at him.

  He was a little taller than her brother, maybe 6’4”. His black, curly hair was closely cropped, and the stubble of a five o’clock shadow covered his chin, even though it was only noon. There was something familiar about him, but she knew they’d never met. Must be one of those ‘I’ve seen you before’ faces.

  His black polo shirt showed well-toned arms and hinted at an athletic body, and the way his jeans hugged his hips… Stop ogling, Stella!

  “Stella,” he beckoned her over to a display of glass vases and matching bowls. “Do you think I should get the blue or the green?”

  “Without knowing anything about your sister, it’s difficult for me to choose. What’s her taste in tableware?”

  David looked sheepish. “I’m a guy and don’t pay attention. As long as a glass is clean, I’m good.” Luca would’ve said the same, Stella thought of her brother.

  “What’s her furniture like?”

  He scratched his chin, then said, “Lots of black and white.”

  “Then I’d go with clear glass. Your sister can dress it up with colorful flowers and fresh fruit or candy in the bowl.”

  “Great! Give me a few more minutes to pay and get it wrapped.”

  She walked back to the postcards but glanced to him. It was hard to believe that she’d accepted a total stranger’s invitation to lunch. Yes, he startled her in the park. But his voice was so melodious, and as soon as her heart rate came down, she wanted to hear more of it. And the twinkle in his dark brown eyes told her he was only teasing her.

  Her best friend, Naomi, often accused her of being too trusting, but Stella disagreed. She believed in the good in people and listened to her gut feeling.

  Another thing Naomi often told her was to take off her thinking cap and to have a little fun. Which is exactly what she just did!

  Hours later, Stella stood dithering in front of her closet. Naomi bought them tickets to the touring Broadway production of The Phantom of The Opera as a birthday gift, and Stella couldn’t decide what to wear. Images of her handsome lunch companion kept popping up in her head—as they had all afternoon, together with snippets of their conversation.

  He had asked lots questions about her, and she told him about growing up in Philadelphia, then about living in Boston while attending college and grad school, and about moving back only a few months ago for her dream job as curator at the Library Company of Philadelphia. She was almost embarrassed at how much she rattled on about working at America’s first successful lending library and oldest cultural institution.

  What did she find out about him? He said he was from Chicago and traveled a lot for work. But whenever she asked for more details, he managed to reroute the conversation back to her.

  She narrowed down her dress choices to three, then decided on her new emerald green maxi-dress. At the last minute, she added a lightweight sweater in case the air-conditioning was set to arctic temperatures.

  After getting dressed, she went to the kitchen and munched on a few crackers with cheese, since she and Naomi were going out to eat later.

  While she ate, her thoughts circled back to David again. Stella was surprised how at ease she was with him, as if they’d known each other for a long time. To any passerby, they might have looked like old friends catching up. But it didn’t explain why some people stopped and stared. A few even took photos, which she thought was very rude, but he didn’t seem bothered. Sometimes he even smiled at them, but mostly he focused on her.

  When they parted ways, he said, “Thank you for a wonderful time, Stella.”

  There was no hugging, no cheek kissing, no handshaking. A smile, a nod, and a wave was all.

  Washing down the last crumbs of a cracker with a sip of water, she regretted one thing. She should’ve mustered the courage to ask for his phone number. She had felt a connection she couldn’t describe.

  But it was too late; she’d never see him again.

  CHAPTER 3

  Stella—July 2015

  S

  tella and Naomi still sat in their seats at the Kimmel Center. The performance was over, the curtains remained closed, and the audience was leaving the theater. All lights in the auditorium were lit at their brightest, a stark contrast to the darkened room of a few minutes ago.

  Back to reality…

  “Do you need a tissue?” Naomi asked and handed her a small package.

  “N-no…Yes… I’m such a mess. Here I am again, feeling sorry for the Phantom. He loves Christine so much, but he just…let her…walk away.” Stella hiccupped. Sometimes it was embarrassing, how easily she cried.

  “I’ll always be Team Phantom, never Team Raoul.” She dabbed her eyes, then blew her nose in rather unladylike fashion.

  “I know. And you’d rewrite half the book if you could.” Naomi hugged Stella. “Come on, let’s go to Betty’s. I’m starving! Ooh, I can almost taste my first sip of a Riverhorse.”

  “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.” She shuddered at the thought of draft beer and tucked the playbill inside her purse. “But I’m sure they have a glass of pinot noir with my name on it! And wait until I tell you what happened to me today.”

  “Let me guess. You went on another one of your creepy tours. Aren’t you getting tired of listening to high school kids making up stories about weird sightings?” Naomi asked as they headed up the aisle and out of the building.

  “I told you, I haven’t gone on even one ghost tour yet. Maybe in October. And maybe I’ll make you come with me.”

  “I don’t think so. Then what did you do for fun?”

  “I’m not telling… You have to wait until we’re at the restaurant.” She knew Naomi wasn’t good at waiting and would try to wheedle it out of her on the way. Making her wait was part of the fun.

  Once out of the theater, they turned left, and spotted a crowd gathered at the side exit, holding up pieces of paper or snapping photos.

  “Look, some actors are giving autographs. I want one.” Naomi hauled on her arm. “Come on, hurry, or they’re gone!”

  “I thought you were hungry and thirsty,” Stella said. Wasn’t it just typical of her friend to change plans on a whim? “I don’t need an autograph. I want a glass of wine and something to eat!”

  “Don’t be such a pooper and stop whining. Come on, where’s your precious playbill? Remember…” Naomi almost sang it, “…it’s the Phantom!”

  Deciding it was easier to give in than to argue, Stella groped in her purse. She’d just hold paper and pen in front of whichever actor was closest to her.

  “Stella?”

  The voice! She looked up—into a familiar pair of eyes.

  “What are you…?” she stammered. Someone shoved a piece of paper into David’s hand, which he signed and returned with a half-smile.

  “Why…who…?” She still couldn’t get a coherent sentence out.

  David covered the front of his face, leaving only his left eye and cheekbone visible and said in a dramatic voice, “I go by many names. Some call me…Erik.”

  A woman squeezed past her and leaned closer to him. “Can you do it again so my friend can take a photo?” He repeated the gesture.

  Now I know why he wasn’t too bothered when people snapped his photo at lunch. How could she not have made the connection? Maybe because the mask covers most of his face in all the billboards?

  Somewhere in the crowd, another woman announced for all to hear, “I’m so glad they found someone who gives the role the classical elements it deserves. Not just some actor who took a few voice lessons.”

  Stella recalled an interview i
n which the composer said he had a non-operatic voice in mind for the phantom when he wrote the musical. But she had appreciated David’s rich, baritone voice and dynamic star performance tonight. With a voice like his, he should be singing on the biggest stages in the world.

  He still stood close to her, giving autographs and posing for photos, then waved to the crowd and said, “Sorry, we’re done for tonight. Thank you all for coming.”

  The theatergoers scattered in all directions, many humming tunes from the musical.

  “Look, I’ve got two autographs,” Naomi said in a peppy voice and elbowed Stella. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Wait a second, Nam,” she turned to David, “Do you…umm…want to join us for drinks and something to eat?”

  Goose bumps battled with the heat spreading through her belly when he rested his hand on her lower back and said close to her ear, “How could I say no to you?”

  CHAPTER 4

  Stella—July 2018

  S

  tella groped for the tissue box on the side table.

  Empty, of course.

  “Why is it always empty when you need one?” she muttered and wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks with her hand. She leaned back in the soft leather chair and read the last sentences of her cherished book. The ending always got to her.

  And, now, what do they mean to do with that skeleton? Surely they will not bury it in the common grave!... I say that the place of the skeleton of the Opera ghost is in the archives of the National Academy of Music. It is no ordinary skeleton.

  Following her tradition, she wrote the current date on the back of the final page, where it joined entries from previous years. July 2015, July 2016, July 2017.

  She held the book close to her heart and remembered David’s voice when he gave it to her, “When you read this book, it’s like turning back time to when we met. Remember our dreams and let them guide us into our future.”