1. Past, present and future

"What do you want for dinner?" I asked, standing behind the counter of our small kitchen.

In our house. On our farm. Ours. Sigh . . .

Vaughn shrugged indifferently, as usual. "Doesn't matter."

Does anything? I wondered.

I ended up making some sort of casserole. Part of me contemplated putting carrots in the dish, but that would be immature and childish. The best way for anyone to work out their issues is through the fine art of communication.

Of course, if my husband wasn't the very definition of the word quiet, maybe some problems would be resolved. I grumbled in my head for a long time, thinking of other words to describe him as.

Cold, dismissive, apathetic, rude, anti-social . . .

I sighed again, setting a plate before him. My mental complaints were one of the few things that got me through the day. Truthfully, in the beginning, I'd been so glad to start a new life on Sunshine Islands.

The prospect of staring a ranch and finding sunstones to raise long-forgotten Islands from the sea was nothing short of wonderful. The people were so kind, so nice.

My very best friend, Julia, had been dead-set on keeping me on the Islands, because she knew what a great opportunity this was for me. Besides my obvious tasks, I suppose a small part of my mind knew that, somewhere along my journey, I would meet someone.

And get married.

But, at the time, it seemed like such a small thing. A miniscule task compared to the huge ones I was presented with. I really didn't put much stock into the idea. After college, I had been focused on finding myself a stable, well-paying job.

Romance was never something I dwelled on, because there were always other things that demanded my attention. So maybe I didn't take marriage as seriously as other people.

When I met Vaughn, a little over a year ago, I was left with the same impression of him as everyone else. That he wasn't the best person to spend time with. I was almost constantly with Julia, though, so it was inevitable that I would see her brooding cousin from time to time.

Although I didn't care for his personality in the slightest, I couldn't say that he wasn't appealing physically.

Wide, amethyst eyes.

Shiny silver hair.

A strong, stubbly jaw.

Well muscled arms, and tall, over six feet.

He was actually very attractive, and I would be lying if I said I hadn't fantasized a few times about kissing him, when my mind wasn't absorbed in my work, which was almost always. I stared at him for a few seconds as he ate.

Yes, he was just as strong and good-looking as ever. But that really wasn't the point. I sighed yet again, sitting down across from him with my own plate. We ate in silence. Again. My mind wondered back to old memories.

Julia had supported the idea of me and her cousin wholeheartedly, and she constantly tried to get us alone, to talk. And, during these clipped conversations, it became apparent to me that he wasn't as big of a jerk as I'd originally thought.

Even now, I couldn't deny that he was a good person. We spend bits of time here and there on the Islands.

Helping him at Mirabelle's Animal Shop, confronting him during a tense conversation with Denny, defending him against Lanna's nickname, and walking down the beach with him, talking mostly about respect.

Those memories of being with him were actually pleasant.

So when my mother called me – she did so every month or so – I told her about him. She approved wholeheartedly, and then the subject of marriage came up. My mother had me late in life, and she had a drinking problem.

I knew in my heart that she wouldn't be around for much longer. But she wanted me to get married, because she wanted to make sure I'd be taken care of when she was gone. She knew she was close to dying, too.

But that didn't make her lay off the booze. Of course not. I dwelled over the idea of marriage for a while. When Vaughn asked, with the Islands' custom of a blue feather, I accepted. It seemed like the easiest way.

I'd have help around the farm, and I liked him. True, I was not in love with him. I never had been. Maybe it was because I hadn't spent too much time with him. We dated for a very short period of time.

Or maybe it was just because I was too immersed in my work. But whatever the reason, being in love simply hadn't mattered to me. Getting married was an essential part of my life plan, but love?

Not really.

I assumed that it would come later. I assumed it would come later, if at all. I never believed Vaughn was in love with me, either. I did think that he cared to some degree. But we weren't crazy about each other the way Julia and Elliot were.

The love and wonder in their eyes whenever they looked at each other was a mystery to me. I occasionally felt jealous, but the emotion would pass as quickly as it came. I had other things to do.

We'd been married for one year. And I was only beginning to accept the fact that I'd made a mistake, that I should have put more thought into the decision. Love still wasn't a big deal to me, but perhaps I should have chosen someone . . . happier?

Vaughn was almost always silent as stone, and his words were usually short, never speaking more than he absolutely had to. He didn't enjoy association with others; even speaking to his Aunt or cousin for too long was taxing.

He spoke to me more often, but really, that was probably out of obligation more so than actual desire. At times, I wondered why he'd asked to marry me in the first place. Maybe he assumed the love would come later, too.

After much time considering this idea, I decided it was unlikely. Vaughn didn't seem like the type to go for deep, emotional feelings of love. So why would he seek them out? Why not marry whoever was the most convenient?

He loved animals, and worked on the ranch just as much as I did, if not more. He could still work at the Animal Shop, and he was away from the city, a place he hated very deeply. Most of the time, I thought of our marriage as a bond forged out of convenience.

At first it didn't bother me, but after a year of being married to the same, unresponsive person, I began to resent it.

I began to feel regret.

So much so that I wondered what life would have been like if I'd stayed in the city after college. What would I have become? How different would my life be?

"I think I might go to the city to do some clothes shopping soon," I said, "Would you like anything?"

He sighed, staring out the window. "Just get whatever you think suits me."

I blinked, and for a moment my mind was completely blank. Sometimes it amazed me how much about him I simply didn't know. Quite honestly, the details of his past were fuzzy and unknown. I couldn't even say what his favorite color was.

Though I could guess, judging by his attire. Black. A dark color, with no love or personality. Pain twisted in my heart when I realized that this description would fit my marriage aptly. I stood up abruptly, and yanked my coat from a hook, though spring was just beginning, and it was warm outside.

"Where are you going?" he asked, no hint of real interest in his voice.

"Out," I said. I waited with one hand on the doorknob to see if he would protest. A tear welled up in my eye and slipped down my cheek when I was met with silence.

He simply didn't care.

Really, it was uncommon for hurricanes to begin during the day. Most of the time they were already raging outside when I first opened my eyes in the morning. So when I woke up today, I naturally assumed that Taro had been wrong about the weather – for once.

When the wind picked up and the clouds became dark and heavy with rain, I continued fishing on the beach on the south end of Vendure Island, hoping in vain that it would pass.

But when the storm made it almost as dark as night and the rain was pelting the ground almost violently, I knew I had to get home. I sighed, walking slower than any other sane person would. I knew what was waiting for me at home.

Or, rather, who was.

I sighed. The wind whipped across my face and burned my eyes; the rain drenched my clothes and I was finding it exceedingly difficult to move forward. By the time I reached the Diner, my energy was all but depleted.

I hoped Nick, the owner of the place, wouldn't mind sheltering me until the storm passed . . . which probably wouldn't be until tomorrow. I knew Vaughn was more than capable of dealing with any problems back home, so I didn't worry much about the farm.

I managed to wrench the Diner door open and stagger almost drunkenly inside. The force of this hurricane had stolen Sunshine Islands' electricity; the Diner was lit only by a few candles, placed on each individual table and a few seemingly random places on the floor.

It was silent as a grave inside; the only sound that could be heard was the wind. My eyes scanned the large room, looking for anyone else who'd taken shelter here.

But of course everyone else had been smart enough to hurry home the moment the first drop of rain hit the ground – Taro made sure his warnings of coming storms reach's every pair of ears. I was grateful to be out of the hurricane, but the silence was somewhat eerie.

Even the tiny flickering flames of the candles seemed to be giving off an ominous aura. I shivered a little, and sat down at one of the table chairs, listening to the storm. I glanced over at the counter, but Nick was nowhere to be seen . . . which was strange.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, letting my mind wander. I'd only been sitting like that for a few minutes, when I heard the creaking. It was very quiet, but it was audible all the same; a long, whiny creak that hurt my ears.

Fear clouded my mind for a few short seconds before I calmed myself and forced my brain to think rationally. Nick had a small apartment above the Diner; it was safe to assume there were stairs leading up to it.

Stairs that were old and creaky, because this Diner was quite old. Still – because I didn't know for certain – I was very tense when the tall door behind the counter opened and a short figure stepped into the room.

I squinted – there were no candles around the corner where the counter was. Hesitantly, I got to my feet, my hands clutching the straps of my rucksack in my nervousness.

"Nick?" I asked, my voice hoarse for some unknown reason.

The figure moved around the corner and stepped into the light of a few small, orange candles. I cringed and stepped back. The man standing before me was not Nick. He was quite old, probably sixty five or so – with a wrinkled face, narrow lips and small, pebble-like eyes.

"Good afternoon," he said in a quiet, soothing voice.

"Hi," I mumbled, "You're not Nick."

The man laughed in a spurt of short cackles – it was an unnerving sound.

"Child, you aren't happy with your life," he murmured.

I blinked. "Who are you?"

My fingers trembled, and my heart was racing. A creepy person had just stepped out of the shadows and started naming facts about my life – facts that he couldn't possibly know.

He waved the question away like it was a troublesome fly.

"You aren't happy," he repeated.

I shrugged. I didn't know what else to do. Maybe my mind had snapped from stress and I was conversing with a hallucination.

"So what?"

A deep chill of fear was pinning my very bones in place; I could move, think, and breathing was difficult to remember. The man smiled, and I didn't like the disturbing twinkle in his dark eyes.

"I bet you'd like to change your life. Do it all over again."

"I – I" – I babbled. Despite the fear, and his menacing aura, my curiosity had been piqued.

"Maybe," I agreed, "But I can't."

"On the contrary, Chelsea." The man still seemed amused. "It's quite possible, I can assure you. There are some conditions involved, however . . ."

I raised up my hand to stop him.

"You're crazy," I said, moving away again.

I turned and placed my hand on the doorknob. But it was locked. If this was a delusion, I wanted it to stop now. He wasn't making sense, and what he was offering me was more than impossible; it was too good to be true. That didn't stop me from listening to what he had to say, though.

"There is only one condition, actually," said the man, acting like he hadn't noticed my pathetic escape attempt.

I tensed, trying desperately to shove the feeling of hope from my mind. Could I really start over? Erase certain parts of my life – one part in particular – and begin like it'd never happened?

"What is it?" I asked lowly, turning.

The man smiled at me, the way a viper might smile at something it is just about to eat. "You must be absolutely positive," he said, "That – if you choose to do this – the future is changed in some way. You mustn't end up exactly – or similarly – like you are now."

His demand made absolutely no sense to me.

But, to appease the crazy stranger and the foolish hope in my heart, I said, "Alright."

In that moment, heaviness settled over my limbs, over my brain, like a think, unwavering fog. I sunk to the floor, and managed to ask a question. He murmured something about consequences – with a strange, suspicious smile.

And then I blacked out.

When I opened my eyes, I couldn't believe where I was. Small, two-bedroom apartment, the very same I'd stayed in during and directly after college. With short, shallow breaths, I looked around. This was my room.

My bedroom. I stared at the familiar collection of CDs on the bookcase; their familiarity made me shake uncontrollably. This could not be happening. Time travel is not possible. And it is especially not made to happen by insane old men in Diners during hurricanes.

But when my door opened, and I found myself staring at wide green eyes, messy blonde hair covered by a blue baseball cap, and a very familiar smile, the reality of my situation slapped me in the face, hard.

It was one year ago.

A/N: Guesses as to who Chelsea is staring at?

I know that Vaughn and Chelsea don't seem to like each other much here. So much so that she wants him completely erased! But you have to understand her reasoning. And the fact that it gets better.

For the record, I love the color black. And Vaughn rocks it.

I wish the heart events were more romantic. Sigh.

Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own Harvest Moon, any of the characters and/or places/ideas.