by Jill Cooper
I groan and push past her. “Bathroom. I’m going to be sick.”
She follows me into the bathroom as I lean against the sink. She turns the water on for me. “Cassidy—.”
“She’s on our side now. It’s done and we have a plan.”
Other Lara raises her eyebrows. “Thank goodness. I guess I better merge—.”
I shake my head. Not only did I not want to go through the level of pain that would cause, but she was part of our plan. “No, I’m going to need your help. There’s something I need you to do for me.”
****
The morning arrives hard and fast. For a brief moment, I'm still lost in a dream. But then the raging headache takes over. I groan and smoosh my face into my pillow. Donovan runs his hands down my bare arms. He squeezes my middle and warmth fills me to have him so close. I touch his hands and pull him down on top of me.
Donovan says “Ooof” as he straightens up. "Goodbye, Rockstar. You okay?" Softly, his lips kiss my cheek.
With a mumble, I roll over onto my back. I peer up at him through my foggy vision. He's already dressed in a gray suit and his hair looks freshly combed. "Just a headache, handsome. Have a nice trip." I reach up and grab his green tie and yank him down to kiss me. And boy, does he.
“I’m going to miss you, too.” Donovan kisses my nose and grabs the bag by the side of the bed. He smooths his tie down and buttons his blazer. "I'll call you when I get there; I'm really going to miss you."
I watch him go and wonder what I would do without him; hopefully, I'll never have to find out.
****
It takes a while for me to rise from bed. When I do, I gulp down a few Ibuprofen and rush it with a tall glass of water. I grunt and lean up against the kitchen wall. Hopefully, the pills will do their work fast because I have things I need to get done.
I dress casually in a purple cotton dress and grab my denim jacket that hangs by the front door. After I slip on a pair of comfortable shoes, I'm out the door on the way to my mother's townhouse. My mind is more on Molly than anything else.
Mom pulls open the door. She’s dressed for work but hasn’t left yet, and she clutches an envelope.
Mom smiles at me and kisses my cheek. "Well, it's great to see you so early in the morning! Come in, come in." Mom rushes inside and I follow after her, but I stop at the sofa and Mom hurries to the stairs and bellows. "Mike, Molly! Hurry, or you’ll be late for school!”
I throw my bag down on the sofa as Mom turns around. She places her hand on her hip and smiles. "Aren't you late for school too?"
"Don't worry, I've got that covered. What’s in your hand?"
Mom glances down at the envelope she holds as if it’s a weapon. She shrugs, "Divorce papers from Jax. I know I'm the one that wanted the divorce, but I still don't feel ready to sign. Do you think that’s stupid?"
I sit on the sofa and Mom sits down beside me. "I don't think it's stupid. I don't think it's stupid at all. I think, in fact, you shouldn't sign. We should give Jax another shot."
Mom shakes her head. "Lara, we’ve been through this before. One million times. Jax and I…I don't, I can never forgive him, look at him, for what he did to your dad, me. And you, for that matter. I've never been able to understand how you got past it." Mom sighs and sinks down further into the paisley sofa.
“We’re family.” I put my hand on her thigh and look over at her, trying to make a connection. "He was like a dad to me. Still is. I know he did horrible things, but I think he felt forced more than anything. I think he was really trying to keep us safe from Patricia. I think if he could do it all over again, he wouldn't do the things that he did. Besides, when I really needed him, when I still need him, he’s always there."
Mom doesn’t say anything but her eyes focus on the picture album on her lap. In the family photo, we’re sitting on the sofa, Jax and my dad hover behind us—the perfect family. Strange, but it works.
Footsteps draw near and I stand to greet Molly and Mike, both in their navy-blue school uniforms. Mike crushes me in a hug, but Molly is more reserved. She stands off to the side and gives me a smile. Then a wave. "How are you munchkins doing? Are you too big for me to walk you to the bus stop now?"
Mike groans but shakes his head as he grabs his backpack. “Sure, you can take us if you want. It’s a free country and I can’t stop you.”
I laugh—brothers.
"I’d love you to walk us to the bus stop." Molly swings her backpack side-to-side.
I throw a glance at Mom and she nods. "You want to talk further, I'll still be here." Mom takes the papers from the envelope and puts them on the coffee table. She presses them firmly to smooth out the wrinkles, as though they really matter.
I know the decision is one she must make herself, but I wish she could see him in the altered timeline. How perfectly they work together and how happy she seemed.
"Bye, Mom."
The twins and I walk outside. Mike is further along because he's always in a rush to be with his friends. Molly hangs back with me the whole time. We walk hand-in-hand, our arms swinging back and forth. We’ve always been closer, always had a connection. I don't know if it's because she's a girl, or if somehow I relate to her on a different, unconscious level.
Maybe because we’re so much alike, and maybe there’s more to that than I know.
"Everything okay?"
Molly isn’t looking at me, but at the drifting clouds in the sky. "Hmmm, yes. Everything is right today." There is a smile on her face and her lips draw together in a straight line. I wonder what she means by that.
"And what makes everything right today?"
Molly taps a finger to her chin. "Well, like in that way Mom surprises me with an afternoon cookie snack, even though she doesn’t like it when we eat cookies. Or, like, finding a couple dollar bills in your backpack from last week that you totally forgot about."
She wasn’t much help. I wish I could come straight out and asked her if she was able to see me when I freeze time, but if she couldn't, I don't want to arouse suspicion. If Molly realizes I can change time again, it's possible someone else might find out too. "Well, I certainly hope you find money and candy. It’s the best thing ever!”
Molly giggles. She races ahead of me to catch up with Mike and I meet them over by the stop. My mind is a million miles away. I lean against the bark of a tree and listen. Watch them as they talk as siblings do. As if they might break out into a fight at a moment’s notice just because Molly thinks the sky is bluer today than it had been yesterday.
Mike rolls his eyes and Molly laughs at him.
The wind picks up as the bus rolls up and stops. “Have a good day at school, kids!” I wave good-bye. The door flies open and both Mike and Molly step on. I stand there and wait for the bus to leave with a sense of dissatisfaction in my gut. I hadn’t learned anything new, but at least I hadn’t learned anything bad.
I check my watch and see that the other Lara must be getting ready to ace my next test. Time for me to get stuff done.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In just a few days, my dad needs to die.
We need to talk in a big way, so I make a dinner date. While he’s at work, I let myself in and get to work. I make his favorite meal since getting out of prison—steak, potatoes, corn, and gravy.
By the time he arrives home, the place smells of boiled potatoes and corn steaming in the special pot he had bought from some infomercial. He enters the kitchen and loosens his tie. "Oh, look at this. When did my little baby girl become such a great cook?" His hand is on my shoulder and I lean in so he can kiss the top of my head.
For a moment, I forget why I’m here. Why I’m going to so much trouble in the first place.
Focusing on the task at hand keeps my sentimental feelings at bay. I can do this. I need to do this. "You know me, I'm not happy unless I’m learning something new."
Dad chuckles to himself as he heads to his room to change. A bundle of raw nerves, I wish I could serve a nice bottle o
f wine. That I deserve, but instead I have to serve fruit punch. Fruit punch!
I set the small kitchen table with a blue tablecloth and lay out the spread on Dad’s yellow dishes. It’s cheerful. Since getting out of prison, he’s all about the cheerful. All about making the most out of everything, and now I have to force him into something he won’t want.
But it’s better than being dead.
****
The steaks have been eaten and the mashed potatoes left on my plate are creamy with a river of gravy running through them. All through dinner Dad had told me stories about his work, his life, and about the little lady across the hall who can never get her jar of pickles open.
Dad laughs. "Sometimes I think that maybe she can open the jar of pickles. Maybe she's trying to…you know…." Dad tapped his chest with both his hands and I cringe.
I chuckle as he expects me to. I talk about everything but what I really came in to talk about, in the same way Dad talks about everything but prison. About what trying to adjust to being on his own after ten years is like for him.
He’s happy. He’s trying to be normal and I’ll never let him go. I’ll sacrifice myself before I sacrifice my mom or my dad again.
Dad places his empty beer bottle on the table. "So, what about you? You've been awfully quiet for someone who really wanted to get together. So, what aren’t you telling me?"
It seems no matter what timeline we’re in, he can see through me as if I'm a transparent sheet of paper.
"There’s this thing.” I sigh. "Dad, I just can't do this. There's something I need to tell you; I just don't know if I can."
Dad's eyes crinkle around the edges as he leans forward. "Is it Don? Did he…. I mean…you…. Are you…"
My eyes bug at the suggestion. "Oh, Dad no. I’m not pregnant." I take a long pause and the look of desperation on Dad’s face pulls the answer out of me, “It’s about time.”
Dad wipes his hands on his jeans. "Okay, time. What about time?"
"Dad, I love you. Please, know that, but something is happening and in three days,” I squeeze my eyes shut, “in three days I need you to go away.”
As if he’s been struck, Dad sits up. I feel as if I’ve lost him. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "Lara, you better tell me what's going on. Better tell me now."
Dad’s rarely so cross with me, in any timeline. I fold my hands in my lap. "Yes, sir."
Here I go. God help me. I'm going to need it.
****
Dad processes everything I tell him and he sits there as he absorbs it. It’s as if I’m watching someone I love being hit with a jackhammer. It's not pretty, but all I can do is sit here and wait for him to finish thinking. The look in his eyes reminds me of the look he’d get when our old neighbor, Camille, would complain about her running toilet at eleven o’clock at night. He was ready to explode, and this time, I was going to be on the receiving end.
My knee bounces because I'm nervous. I need something to do so I tilt my head back and count the specks in the ceiling tiles.
“You were supposed to give up the time travel nonsense."
"I know." Only so much a person can say. I know now it's my turn to take my licks. I can see he’s disappointed in me, as if somehow, I’d chosen this. Except it keeps choosing me. Once, I’d opened that time travel door to save Mom. Now, I can’t close it again.
"You told me you couldn't even travel time anymore. I had nothing to worry about."
My eyebrows rise. "It was true. But then someone started messing with time. They drew me in ways I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t let them."
"So, what’d they do? What did they do to make you go to such extremes?”
"They went back in time and killed you.”
“Back in time?” Dad’s eyes widen. “Oh, I see. You’re from the future.” his eyebrows rise up high. “Great.”
“I didn’t want to. I don’t want this, but you were there and then suddenly you weren’t. She came back to this point of time and killed you. If I could stop it some other way—.”
“So how long do I have?”
“Three days, Dad. Unless we do something to make them think you’re dead—."
Dad shakes his head. "Now I know. I can be on guard. You don’t have to fix everything, Lara. It's not your job to take care of me. I can do that myself.” Dad picks up our dirty dishes and takes them into the kitchen.
I race after him even though I know he’s not ready. He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, but I have to keep pushing. He has to be made to listen. I might be in the body of a nineteen-year-old, but I won’t be shut out.
He has to hear me.
"Dad, it doesn't work that way. If you outsmart them, they’ll just reset time and try again. And again. They’re doing it to punish me, to get me to play their game. It is my problem. If you think I like this, you’re wrong. I hate it, but I have to face facts. This is the life I chose for myself when I saved Mom. I can’t stop now. I won’t let them get you.”
Dad slams his open palm down on the faucet to stop the stream of water. He looks at me, deep into my eyes and I feel as if I have him again. That connection we’ve always had comes racing back.
I take a deep breath. “I won’t let them win. Can’t you see that?”
Dad takes me by the shoulders. “I want to protect you. Can’t you see that?”
“Then let’s do it together. If you agree, if you do what I propose, it’ll save the both of us in the long run. Crane and Crane. Please, Dad.”
He glances away, but I recognize the look on his face. “I’m not saying yes, Lara. Not yet, but why don’t you tell me what your plan is? Tell me how you think you can save my life?”
Victory? Not exactly, but I'll take what I can get.
****
Dad and I sit in the living room. He takes the sofa and I take the armchair across from him. I unfold everything as he listens with the eyes of a skeptic. “You’re going to write the note I’ve given you. Cassidy is going to set up the scene just like it was before. Bottle of pills beside your bed. Once the examiner declares you dead, we skip off and give Cassidy the two weeks she needs…to set everything up.”
His eyes fog up with disbelief as he gazes down at the paper in his hand. I had scribbled the suicide note as I remembered it and I remembered it word for word. I doubt I’d ever forget it.
But he shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can do this. It just isn’t true. Your mother, Molly, you’re really going to keep this from them?”
“I don’t have a choice, Dad. It’s only for a few weeks.”
Dad sighs and gazes out the window. “They’ve been through so much already. How much more do you think they can take?”
“You let me worry about them. Right now, this is our only move. Please, Dad.” I’m not above begging when I’m desperate.
“And you’ll really come with me? You’re not going to put yourself in danger? You’ll let this Cass person do it and you’ll come with me?”
I’m not used to lying to my dad. Everything in me screams that it’s wrong, but for his own good, I smile. I meet his eyes head on and ignore my screaming conscience. “Yes. Of course, Dad. I wouldn’t let you do this by yourself.”
Dad nods and I squeeze his hand. “What about the casket?” Dad asks in a low, haunted voice. I can’t imagine how it must feel to talk about your own funeral.
“Cassidy is arranging that. She…well, she has a habit of making things go her way.”
“And who is she exactly? Your new ally.”
“Let’s just say she’s a relative. She’s special and I owe her my life, more than once. I know this is a lot to take in…”
Dad holds up his hand. “It’s all right. I guess I should pack something.”
“You can’t do that. It has to appear that everything is as you left it. I’m sorry, Dad. That’s how it has to be.”
Numbly, he nods. “I guess I’m not used to this. You seem like an old pro and I’m shaking in my b
oots.”
“Hardly,” I stand, “I have a few things I need to get done, but I promise I’ll pick-up some supplies for you. A few weeks isn’t too long to spend with me, is it?”
Dad puts his arms around my shoulder as he guides me to the front door. “I think that’s the only part of this crazy plan I like, but if you say it will work…”
“Night, Dad.” I kiss his cheek and slip out into the hallway.
It’ll work. It has to.
Chapter Thirty
The days tick by slowly, but on the third day, everything seems to freeze. I busy myself trying to be domestic. Donovan’s back and unpacking his suitcase while I make dinner in the cramped kitchen. There are a few open boxes lying on the counter, the jug of milk, and what is left of the butter.
“I thought we’d go out to eat. Celebrate.” Donovan wraps his arms around my middle. It’s so good to have him back home, even if I can’t keep my mind on the present.
“I thought I’d treat you.”
Donovan picks up the open box on the counter. “Mac and cheese? You rather eat this than go out?”
“I made dinner for my dad a few nights ago.” I glance at Donovan as I stir with a wooden spoon. “Steak, potatoes, gravy…”
Donovan groans. “You’re killing me!”
“I realized I’ve never made you one of my favorite meals in the world. My dad used to make this for me whenever I was sick. Before…before I changed time,” proudly, I turn off the burner and present him with my frying pan, “Mac and cheese with peas and tuna. Voila.” My hand gesture is that of a fashion model on The Price is Right.
Donovan tries hard to suppress a laugh. “You think I’m a food snob, don’t you?”
“I think you’re just a plain ol’ snob,” tugging on his pant buckle, I pull him close so we can kiss, “Try it for me, or you might never get steak again.” Using my wooden spoon, I offer him a bite and to his credit, Donovan tastes it.
