The Ripple Read online

  What the heck! He'd never seen anything like this. It was like an evacuation had been issued or something. There were still a few diners finishing up their meals but they weren't taking their time.

  The waitress set their plates down, directing his attention away from the weirdness going on behind him and back to the wife who stared at her Chicken Alfredo like it was the most interesting thing she'd seen all day. Great. Another silent meal.

  It didn't surprise him, when they were nearly finished eating, to see the man who had prepared their meal step out from the kitchen. But for him, Tessa, and the waitresses, the dining room was completely empty now so this was probably his first chance to relax in a few hours. After pouring himself a cup of coffee, he leaned back against the counter, glancing from one side of the room to the other before his eyes settled on Wyatt.

  "New to town?" His voice was so deep it felt like Wyatt's insides vibrated a little as he spoke.

  "Uh- Yeah," Wyatt said, not sure why he felt the need to say anything else, but he did. "Hemisphere looked like an interesting town to stop over in."

  "Interesting… Yeah. That's one way to put it. If you're going to be around a while, you should stop in tomorrow night. Most popular night of the week."

  "More popular than tonight?" Tessa asked, finally looking up from her book, a curious smile on her lips.

  "Yup. People come for miles around for Saturday's special." He waited a moment, then grinned when he said, "I make the best pot roast, potatoes, carrots, and gravy you've ever had the pleasure of eating. Guaranteed or your money back. And so far, no one has ever asked for a refund."

  "What Big Ed's not telling you," their waitress said, coming over to stand beside her boss, "is that we donate all profits from the special to the county orphan's home. But he does make the best pot roast around so you really don't want to miss it." For the first time since they'd arrived, she smiled.

  "Good thing it's not the special on Monday," Tessa muttered, casting a sidelong glare at Wyatt. He closed his eyes for a moment.

  "Not sticking around long then?" Big Ed asked.

  "Not as long as we'd planned. Duty calls."

  Thanks to another call from Richard shortly after they'd checked in, their already too short vacation was being cut by a day. Instead of checking out Tuesday morning, they would be leaving first thing Monday. Because without bothering to see if it was all right, Richard had moved everything ahead a day.

  Tessa couldn't completely hide the resentment in her tone and Wyatt didn't blame her. He'd always jumped when Richard gave an order because the job paid too good to say no. At least he'd never asked, "How high?" though. At least he could say that.

  CHAPTER 3

  He hadn't believed it the first time it happened. He hadn't even believed it several times later, just thought it was a dream and he'd wake up and laugh to himself over how stupid it had been. The problem was, no matter what time he went to bed, no matter what time he woke up, it was always Saturday. The same Saturday.

  So he wasn't sure how long they'd been in Hemisphere. Fifteen or twenty days maybe. At least two weeks spent living an old Bill Murray movie, complete with the bed and breakfast. The only difference was, his day reset at midnight instead of early in the morning. And in the movie, an old seventies tune kicked each day off.

  His came in the quiet of the night, lying in the dark staring at the screen on his phone. And he knew that for a fact because he'd watched it change every night since he'd realized what was happening. Funny how much more entertaining this scenario had been on the big screen.

  He supposed that was the difference between a Hollywood flick and real life though. Scripts, directors, props, award winning actors, and background music almost always combined to entertain the masses. And those masses knew at the end of two hours, or less, everything would be resolved.

  When it was real life though, it was annoying. It was frustrating, and it was scary. He wished he could turn this nightmare off with the flick of a switch, like he could with a movie, and get on with his life. But it seemed he was trapped, destined to relive his second day in Hemisphere for—

  Well, he didn't know for how long. So far, nothing he'd done had stopped it. No prayers, no wishes, no begging. Whoever had screwed up his life was probably sitting somewhere laughing his or her butt off at him. And Wyatt? He just kept waking up to the same miserable Saturday morning. At least it was the same for him and Tessa.

  It seemed to be moving forward for everyone else though. Radio stations and the local news kept mentioning a glitch with all of the clocks, phones, computers, and watches around town. But Mrs. Hunter, and Big Ed and the waitresses down at the diner kept acting like it was the second day too though so it was hard to say how many people this was affecting.

  Wyatt sat on the balcony, as he'd begun doing most mornings, watching one ship sail into the harbor, watching another sail out as he counted down the seconds in his head.

  Twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one….

  Right on cue, there was a clatter in the kitchen downstairs that sounded like their hostess knocked every pan in the cupboard on the floor.

  Nineteen, eighteen….

  In the dim light the slowly rising sun cast into their room, he watched Tessa stir, mumble something he couldn't understand, then burrow back into the covers to resume her soft snoring.

  In another hour, she'd get up, shower, and dress, not saying a word until Richard called, ordering him to contact Max Sanderson again and reassure him everything would be in order at his company before too much longer.

  Wyatt would try once more to explain to his boss that he really needed this vacation, that Sanderson's company wasn't likely to go belly up this week but if it did, nothing he could do at this stage of the game would prevent it. Just like nothing he'd tried thus far would prevent what would happen when he apologized to Tessa.

  He'd cover the mouthpiece on the phone with his hand, whisper that he was sorry, that he wouldn't be long, and then they could leave for the museum. Then she'd whisper back, saying the words any husband who loved his wife dreaded. Words that even after hearing them more than a dozen times cut into his heart like a dull knife.

  "Take your time, Wyatt. Before long, you won't have to worry about me anymore." She'd grab her purse from where she'd sat it on the dresser the night before, walk to the door, turn back for a moment, and drive the knife home. "You'll never change, will you? Your job will always matter more to you than I do so I'm done. I'm finished trying to compete for your attention." She paused long enough to open the door then, not bothering to look back, said, "I'll be taking the first train home and filing for divorce as soon as I can get an appointment with an attorney."

  He'd tried to talk to her every day after he got off the phone, tried to explain to her why he was working so hard – for them, not just for him – but all he'd done was waste his breath. Unwilling to listen to anything he had to say, she'd go off to the quilt museum by herself, stay away most of the day, then come back to the room and pretend to read until she fell asleep.

  His pleas and promises fell on deaf ears. She no longer believed he loved her, didn't believe he cared about their marriage. She didn't believe him, period.

  He didn't know what to do anymore. Make another wish, this time for the day to stop repeating so it could just be over, or to keep holding out hope that he could figure out a way to change her mind.

  Make another wish—

  Wyatt sat up so fast his arm hit the white iron patio table, jarring the glass candle holders on top. The racket caused Tessa to stir again but thankfully, it didn't wake her. He was relieved because he'd forgotten about that first Saturday at Big Ed's and he needed to remember everything.

  Most everyone had left the diner as the sun started to set. In fact, when Ed came out with a cup of coffee and sat across from him in the small booth, he was the only customer in the place. Ed hadn't even asked if it was all right, just eased himself down on the seat and stared at him for a long minu
te.

  "People call me Big Ed. Or Ed. I don't have a preference," he said, by way of introduction.

  "I'm Wyatt."

  "Nice to meet you. So… Your wife doesn't like pot roast?" he finally asked.

  "She said she wasn't hungry."

  "Looks like you weren't either." The pointed look at his mostly full plate made him feel like squirming.

  "It was good but no. I wasn't very hungry." Not with the threat of divorce hanging over his head.

  "Folks kind of look at me like they would, oh, a bartender. Guess I'm a good listener when they need to talk." When Wyatt didn't say anything, Ed continued. "I've seen a lot of people come through here in my day and if I do say so myself, I've learned to read them pretty well." Wyatt snorted, setting his elbows on the tabletop and leaning forward.

  "Really? What does your expertise tell you about me?"

  Having issued an unintentional challenge, he held his breath as soulful brown eyes stared into his and he started to worry that the older man really could see into his brain. After a few moments, and a hint of a smile, Big Ed spoke.

  "You're a workaholic trying to prove something to someone. Maybe a father whose expectations are too high. Maybe just to yourself. Either way you're on a mission to accomplish something and come hell or high water, you're not giving up until you get there. Wherever 'there' is." Wyatt tried to hide his surprise. "My guess is it's caused some marital problems. Your wife thinks you don't spend enough time with her. Thinks you love your job more than her." Apparently finished, Ed grinned, practically from ear-to-ear and asked, "Well. How'd I do?"

  "Okay," he said, refusing to confirm that he'd just been read as easily as one of the romance novels Tessa was always devouring. "For the sake of argument, let's say you're spot on. You hit the nail on the head. What advice would you offer?"

  "That'll cost you the price of a slice of pie. Can't have you leaving hungry. Let me guess. I take you for a coconut cream kind of guy."

  "Lemon," Wyatt snapped, though coconut cream tied it for first place. Ed smiled like he knew it, then called for the waitress to bring them each a piece. He didn't say another word until the plates were sitting in front of them.

  "So… My advice… First, I'd figure out what was more important—my wife or my job."

  "That's easy. My wife."

  "All right then. What, exactly, is it you want?"

  Wyatt thought about that for several long moments. What did he want?

  "Time," he finally decided. Time to change her mind. Time to make her want to stay. "I don't suppose you can help me out with that?"

  "Me?" Ed asked, chuckling. "Yeah. Do you think I'd be running this diner if I had the power to be granting wishes? But you know, son, the locals – and I've been one my whole life – have a saying, 'In Hemisphere, anything can happen—and something always does.'"

  "A lot of wishes get granted, do they?"

  "A lot of things happen here. Things that can't always be explained. So you never know. You just never know."

  Jolted back to the present when he heard the shower, Wyatt glanced at the bed. Tessa had gotten up without him noticing. But at least now he had a clue about what happened. And he needed to talk to Big Ed again, something he was going to make a point to do tonight.

  Chapter 4

  Eleven, ten, nine…

  "Good morning!"

  "Good morning!" Mrs. Hunter greeted with a smile and Wyatt wondered how someone could be so cheerful every single day. Of course, maybe she was only this cheerful on Saturday mornings. Or one Saturday morning that was never going to end.

  Three, two, one…

  "You're in for a treat this morning…"

  "You're in for a treat this morning. I don't usually make fruit pizzas for breakfast because it takes so long to prepare them but I got a really good deal on peaches and kiwis last weekend at the farmer's market and needed to use them up."

  "I love fruit pizza any time of the day," Tessa said enthusiastically, speaking her first words of the morning – to their hostess, who beamed at her like a proud mother would at a favored child.

  "That's wonderful! But don't forget the rest," Mrs. Hunter told her, waving her hand out to indicate warming trays filled with scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, ham, hash browns, biscuits, and sausage gravy.

  "A feast fit for a king," Wyatt said, forcing himself to at least sound like he meant it.

  In truth, it could have been wood chips for all the pleasure he got from eating it. In about an hour, Richard would call and Tessa would drop her bomb. Again. The fact that she was plotting the end of their marriage didn't seem to be affecting her appetite though. She was getting ready to break his heart and it didn't bother her at all. She just sat there, her nose in a book she hardly remembered to turn the pages in, eating fruit pizza, bacon, and eggs.

  It occurred to him, briefly, that he could be like Bill Murray's character. Do everything that was bad for him since it was all just going to be wiped out at midnight. Chow down on tons of heart unhealthy foods, takes risks he wouldn't otherwise consider, tell Tessa he wanted a divorce before she could tell him. Except a lifetime of healthy habits, not to mention the fact that he didn’t want to lose his life or his wife, wouldn't let him seriously consider either option.

  Instead, he had to sit here and pretend he didn’t know what was coming. That he hadn't lived through it more times than he cared to remember, each time just as painful as the ones that came before. It never got easier – and he hoped the day would never come when it did.

  ***

  The bell above the door at Big Ed's tinkled, alerting anyone who was paying attention that another customer had arrived. Tonight, there weren't many to notice, just a couple of elderly gentlemen sitting in a corner booth across the dining room. Wyatt headed for what he'd come to think of as his stool, several spaces down from them.

  As always, Gloria, his waitress, plunked a small glass of ice water, a paper placemat, and a fork, spoon, and butter knife wrapped in a paper napkin down in front of him.

  "The specials are on the white board," she said, nodding to her left. Then she leaned forward, her voice low, "If you want some good advice, don't order the tuna surprise. We've never been sure why Big Ed makes it because most people decide in a hurry that it should be a once in a lifetime experience."

  "I heard that," Ed said from the grill area. Though he sounded offended, Wyatt thought he saw a hint of a smile on his face.

  "You were meant to. And I'll keep saying it until you take it off the menu. Even the smell of that … stuff … drives customers away. In droves."

  Wyatt silently agreed that it stunk so there was no way he was going to order it. He grabbed the well-worn menu and thumbed through it. Good thing they offered a wide variety of food because it was looking like he'd be coming back indefinitely.

  "I'll have the chopped steak, well done, with hash browns, gravy, and green beans," he decided after a moment. "And coffee, please."

  "Coming right up," Gloria said, slipping his order ticket in one of the many empty slots on the wheel.

  As she turned toward the other counter to get his coffee, a memory nudged the edges of his brain. He couldn't quite get it but knew it was important. Really important. If he could just remember what it was.

  He was halfway through his dinner when part of a conversation came slamming back like a herd of stampeding elephants.

  "People come for miles around for the Saturday Night Special."

  The most popular night of the week because profits were donated to a nearby orphanage. And the special was the best pot roast he'd ever eat. And it had been. Three times.

  Three times.

  When the clock hit midnight, another repeat of that first Saturday would begin again. And all of the days had been that Saturday – yet Big Ed had only served his pot roast three times.

  Wyatt chewed the forkful of ground beef he'd just stuck in his mouth as he stared through the order window. Beneath the bright grill light, he could see a f
ine sheen of sweat on Ed's bald head and face as he stood there whistling, doing heaven only knew what. Not cooking for customers, that was sure. Wyatt was the only one in the place now who wasn't an employee.

  "Something wrong with the food?" Ed asked, jolting him out of his thoughts. The man had somehow managed to get from the grill to the counter area so fast he hadn't even seen him move.

  "Uh- No. No, the food is fine." Just ask, he commanded himself, ignoring the fact that his stomach had begun to churn. Taking a deep breath, he looked Ed straight in the eye. "Why is it so empty in here?" He could have kicked himself. That wasn't the question he'd wanted to ask, though he was a little curious.

  "Most people tend to hunker down and stay inside when there's a full moon." Wyatt snickered.

  "Werewolves come out then, do they?"

  "You never know," Ed said, his expression eerily serious. "It's Hemisphere. Stranger things have happened."

  "You mean like wishes being granted?"

  "Wishes?" Did he honestly not remember their first conversation? Or was he just playing dumb?

  "What day is this?"

  "What day do you think it is?"

  He knew. Wyatt knew he knew. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes was a dead giveaway.

  "Saturday."

  "If you say so." Ed turned away to pour himself some coffee, but not before Wyatt saw his smirk.

  "So where's the pot roast? You serve it every Saturday."

  "Do I?" He turned back around, took a cautious sip from his cup, then sat it on the counter behind him and crossed his arms. "Why are you asking all these questions, Wyatt?"

  "How do you know my name?"

  "Your wife mentioned it last night."

  "No she didn't. She barely said ten words while we were here and I know for a fact she didn't say my name."