22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

L aura

The poor guy’s been sleeping for hours. I know he needs his rest, but he also needs nourishment. I always hated the hard sciences and know little medical information, but his body has been through so much that I’m sure he needs food more than he needs to sleep.

As I’m heating the chili MRE, I reach for some protein bars. If I have to force food down his throat, I will, but I’ll give him a choice—protein bars or chili.

“Rise and shine, Varro.” My voice is loud and cheerful when I enter my tent… well I guess it’s our tent now. As I set things down to close the zipper, the smell of chili wafts through the enclosed space, spicy and inviting.

Varro stirs, blinking groggily as he sits up with effort. His dark, shoulder-length hair is mussed from sleep, but there’s already more color in his cheeks than there was a few hours ago.

“What is that? It smells… interesting.”

I avert my eyes when he swings his naked legs out of bed with the sleeping bag bunched around his groin. His expansive chest and thighs are right there, out on display—yep, a girl could get used to that.

I grin, setting the container on his bed. “Chili with beans. And some other options, in case this doesn’t please you.”

After taking a tentative bite, he nods his head and shrugs. “Tastes like… food.”

“Yep. That’s about all you can hope for.”

As he eats, I take a deep breath, deciding to cash in on our earlier deal. I want to know more about him, his story. I’ve read so many books about ancient Rome—now I quietly chuckle when I think the word “ancient.” Look at us. We’ve already got an in-joke.

I learned Latin in high school and continued my studies in college, all in preparation for being an archaeologist. Then, in my quest to find the Fortuna , I read thousands of pages of Latin. I know the language pretty well, along with much of the culture. What I really want is to hear about daily life from a man who actually walked the streets of the Appian Way.

“Time for our game.” I munch on a bar as he digs into the chili. I’m so worried about his health that no matter how low our food stores are, I’ll encourage him to eat another MRE if he asks for it. “Tell me your fondest memory.”

His mouth stops mid-bite to quirk at me, as though out of all the questions in the world, this is the most unexpected.

After swallowing, then swigging down some water, he closes his eyes as though he’s traveling back through time.

“I was born in Hispania. Grew up with a mother and father…” His face softens. I’ve never seen his face like this, calm and dreamy. Although I didn’t think it was possible, he looks even more handsome when those sharp features relax.

“I can picture them still. Mother’s face was lined from years in the sun, working in the fields. I thought she was beautiful. Father’s beard was turning white at the edges. My younger sisters were singing as my parents and I cut the grape clusters and placed them in baskets for transport.”

He pauses, breathes deeply, and says, “If I try, I can feel the sun on my face, smell the earth, and taste the flavor of a sun-warm grape bursting on my tongue.”

His expression changes abruptly and although we’ve known each other less than a handful of days, I’m certain his mind has yanked him out of his fondest memory and pulled him somewhere dreadful.

To draw him out of that, I ask, “Want to know my best memory?” It’s only after the words are out of my mouth that I realize neither of us has a chance of reliving our happiest days. He may have been transported two thousand years into the future, but both of us are going to die on this island. I’ll never see my family again. My belly feels leaden at the thought.

He pulls himself out of his depressing reverie as he opens his eyes and takes a moment to reorient to our crappy little room.

“Yes. Tell me your memory, although this doesn’t get you out of our deal. You also need to tell me about the present-day world.”

There is so much he has to learn about—planes and phones and the Internet, but I want to ease him into it. How many shocks to his system can he tolerate? So I start small.

“We have these things called bicycles.” I grab a pen and pad from my little desk and draw a terrible rendering of one.

“Ah…”

“I remember a summer day.” I interrupt myself to give him context. “We have mandatory schooling for nine months a year. Summer is when we have a break. So I was riding my bike…” I tell him the story and, just as he did, I travel back in my mind as I describe the feeling of the wind on my face and the scents of summer flowers and the freedom of having no homework .

He smiles and nods and, when I’m done talking, examines the picture. “Brilliant.” He jabs his finger at the bike. “People in your day are very smart.”

I’m glad I started small. That phone sitting on the desk containing all the information the world has ever accumulated will blow this ancient Roman’s mind.