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Chicago, 1920s
"We should run away." Her eyes were closed, face serene, the wind blew through her hair. "Grab a toothbrush, your favorite dress, have one last fun night with our brothers, and then leave." Rebekah didn't reply, her cheeks rested atop her knees, eyes watching Foster as she spoke. "Maybe we could go somewhere with mountains. Or anywhere — that's what's amazing! Anywhere we haven't been, we could go on so many adventures..." Foster's eyes opened, searching for Rebekah's, and she said, "It'd be just the two of us. That's the dream."
"I expect your dreams would be bigger," Rebekah said. The wind blowed her hair in her face.
Foster looked at her, brushing the blonde's locks away. "Bigger than you? Impossible." Foster's hand paused on Rebekah's cheek, caressing the dusting of pink on her skin. "We could wake up to watch the sun rise or we could sleep in, let the sun watch us. We could pretend to meet all over again — fall in love, all over again."
Then, Rebekah whispered her name, the wind carrying it. Foster didn't seem to hear, continuing her ramblings about leaving together. "Let's do it," Rebekah wanted to say, but the thought of Nik, the thought of Mikael came rushing in. Rebekah's a target, and she didn't want to make Foster one as well. Rebekah whispered her name once more and Foster looked at her, eyes light and so carefree. Rebekah's words died. "How about tomorrow?"
Her answer was a quick kiss. Foster's kisses always left her breathless.
Neither of the would know that 'tomorrow', for Rebekah, would ninety years later and yesterday, for Foster, would be forgotten.
