by Ryan Schow
“It is.”
“When you’re gone, you’ll have access to a computer again.”
He grinned.
“What then? I mean, after all the Twinkie’s and Monster energy drinks and the all night sessions of Call of Duty?”
Grinning, cocking his head smugly, narrowing his eyes and not blinking once, not one single time, he said, “Then I’ll do whatever it is I want to do.”
“You know we can track you,” she said.
“You can’t even track your own tits,” he replied, then walked back to his desk, sat down and went to work on fortifying the Bureau’s brand new network.
Ten minutes later, there was a massive DDOS attack that nearly ravaged the entire network. Four minutes after that, half the bandwidth dumped and everyone started losing their collective shit. All Brayden could do was sit back in awe of the hack.
Whomever hit them, it was no joke.
“Can you fix this?” Agent Young asked, frantic, their past conversation forgotten.
“I’m here to prevent the messes,” he said, more cool than a pair of penguin’s nuts, “not clean them up.”
A Treasure Trove of Secrets
1
My night with Sebastian is not like it was last time. We didn’t head back to my rented place to have illicit sex. Not once. Sadly not twice. We didn’t even kiss when the night was over, which totally sucked ass through a straw, but whatever.
My disappoint is huge the same way the universe is huge. To be honest, I’m not crying over un-spilled milk here; I sort of knew it would be this way.
The thing about being a traveler is the time paradoxes sometimes boggle the mind. Like how the version of me who was Raven had sex with Sebastian only recently in his timeline, but in my timeline, the Savannah version of me hadn’t been with him in over seventy years.
When I saw him, honestly, it was like seeing him for the first time. It was me falling into silent, breathless wonder at this boy before me.
Gawddang…I haven’t been laid in like…a decade. Jeez, has it been that long? I wonder if my vagina even works for that sort of thing.
To be honest, mentally, I could’ve pushed him into sex. I know how to get boys like him to give me what I want, but with it being that easy, I found myself thinking twice, and maybe I was a bit scared. Or nervous. When you can have whatever you want, you don’t always take what you deserve. Case in point: I haven’t had the D in entirely too long. Maybe I’m am scared. Do I deserve him, though?
Maybe. Definitely!
So we were driving home in his VW bug when, over the sputter of the diesel engine, he said, “I’ll drop you off at your place, if that’s cool.”
“I’m right by the surf shop. You can drop me there, if you want.”
“You can’t walk home this late,” he insisted. “I’ll just drop you off at…wherever it is you’re staying. Seriously, it’s no big thing.”
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, looking at him, I’d said, “Honestly, I want to walk, Sebastian.”
It was an incredible night. Cold, but I had my sweater. I crawled his mind and he was full of conflicting thoughts. Man, what a mess! On one hand he really liked me, but on the other hand, he had Raven coming down to see him and an ex-girlfriend who desperately wanted to get back with him. Poor Corrine. She didn’t know what she had until someone like me decided to move in on what was once hers.
“How would you feel about me walking you home then?” he asked.
Chivalrous…I like that.
Our eyes met and for a second I felt that syrupy swimming down low in me, that need, that desperate physical attraction primed to become something more. He was so yummy it hurt. And he was available this time. Well, sort of. Technically yes, to me, but not to him.
“Okay,” I’d said. “I guess.”
I put on my sweater and about halfway home, he said, “Jesus, I thought you said it was by the surf shop.”
“So it’s a longer walk than you thought. Don’t be a pussy.”
He laughed, then reached for my hand. I let him take it, moved closer to him as we walked. The way you feel first love starting and how maybe it had a chance, it was exactly like that. But then he pulled away, not his hand—his energy. It was Raven. The me before this me. The me before this me more than seven decades ago.
God, I thought in that moment, I’m actually cock blocking myself here! Yeah, I nearly snickered at the thought. The sobering thing was I had no idea how the hell I was going to explain myself to him. How do you even breach that subject?
“Where’d you go?” I asked pumping his hand in mine.
“Just thinking,” he said.
“Yeah, I got that part. You just got real quiet, like you crawled up in your own head for a minute.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“There’s someone else,” he finally admitted. “Raven.”
“So are you together or not?”
“Yes, I mean no.” He paused and I let him work it out. Then: “It’s more than no, but less than yes, at this point.”
“Does Corrine know?”
“No.”
“But you’re telling me?”
“I don’t want you to…I don’t know…I guess I just want to be up front.”
“Raven’s a pretty sexy name,” I said. I was freaking hot AF back then. I am now, too, but different.
“Yeah,” he said, not playing me up, “it’s fitting.”
“What if she never returns your calls?”
He stopped, let go of my hand. “I didn’t tell you she wasn’t returning my calls.”
Oops. I shrugged my shoulders.
“You going to tell me you’re psychic now?” he joked. “Because that’s what she said. It’s like, if you have a vagina, you just know things.”
“I have a vagina,” I said with a sly smile, “and I know things.”
It was a moment between us, something lighthearted and fun, and I loved sharing it with him.
“If you don’t take my hand again,” I said, “I’m not going to tell you shit.”
He took it back and we got back to the beach house I was renting. “I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate before you go,” I said. I felt his mind start up, but I stopped him. “Don’t read too deep into it, Sebastian. It’s hot chocolate, not sex.”
“You’re not going to make a move?” he teased.
“I have someone, too,” I said.
“You do?”
I laughed and said, “No, but for a second it felt good to say.”
We shared the chocolate and some good conversation, then he started washing the mugs. He took the open hot chocolate packages and said, “Garbage?”
“Around the corner,” I said, pointing. “The really, really small garbage can.”
Next thing I know, he’s got the small garbage can’s liner cinched up and ready to take out. He held it up and said, “It’s fullish…garbage bin?”
I laughed, thinking it was nice to have a man around again, then said, “Garage,” nodding toward the door off the side of the kitchen. He started for it, but then it hit me. I stood and said, “Wait, no…I’ll get it.”
“Don’t be silly,” he replied. “I’m halfway there.”
He opened the door, flipped on the light and stopped. I was halfway off the couch at that point. Damn.
“What kind of a car is that?” he asked, turning around. The mystery in his eyes was gone. In its place sat gobs of suspicion.
“An Audi RS5.”
“Yours?”
I nodded.
“Why do you ask? Are you a fan of Audi’s, too?”
“Raven has this exact car.”
“Really,” I said, like I couldn’t believe it. Did I tell you I’m a terrible actor? Yeah, I am. It’s because I feel too much, I guess.
“Really.”
“Well since we’re out here, I’ll drive you home. I’ve got to get some sleep anyway.”
“That’s an eighty thousand
dollar car,” he said.
“I’m a successful writer.”
I drove him to the surf shop and he got out of the car, almost wordless, looking at me with a million unasked questions. It’s like he didn’t have a clue as to what to say.
“Tell me you had a good night.”
“I did.”
“Tell me you want to see me again.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“Good thing I can read your mind,” I said. “I’ll stop by the shop tomorrow. Now shut my door already, it’s cold outside.”
He shut the door and I took off.
Like I said. No sex. Not once, or twice. And no kiss.
2
Not even the dead sleep this good. Then Margaret drags me back into the land of the living with a phone call. Um, yeah…not Margaret, Orianna. So it’s around nine and my eyes won’t open. I feel around, grab the phone to shut it off, but one cracked eye shows me my thumb hit the ANSWER button already.
“Hello?”
“Hi, honey,” Orianna says, her voice warm, motherly.
“Morning, mom.”
My eye shuts; I lay back down and try to clear my throat.
I have to say—and I’m only telling you this because you know how gosh damn weird this is—I’m about as uncomfortable calling her mom as she is being my mom. Not because I’m still butt hurt about my youth (I’m not), but because I haven’t called anyone mom in like forever.
“I wanted to call because…well I was thinking…”
“Yes, already?”
Okay, this is the hung-over-from-too-much-sleep version of me growing horns and a pitchfork tail. Orianna wipes her voice clean of the motherly tone, which makes me think twice about being a butthole so early in the morning.
“It sort of freaks me out that you’re my daughter but you’re twice my age.”
“Yeah,” I say, yawning, waking up, but more pleasant. “Ditto.”
“Are you having fun? Down there?”
“I met a boy—”
“Already?”
“Yes, but no. I met him when I was here last, as Raven. His name is Sebastian and he runs a surf shop.”
“Is he hot?”
“You think I’d spend time with a schlub?” I ask with a little laughter in my voice. The truth is, I probably would if he was nice and treated me well. Anyway, I’m finding my way back into my younger persona. Back into the world of the Swann’s. I’ve been someone else for so long, it’s sort of nostalgic to be back.
“With your charm, no, I wouldn’t expect you’d take up with a schlub,” she says.
“Are you being sarcastic? About the charm thing, I mean?”
Orianna giggles to my point, then answers. “You’re not at your finest in the mornings.”
“How’s Rebecca?” I ask, changing subjects.
“She’s gone into town with Jacob for breakfast. The two of them are getting…I don’t know…friendly, I guess.”
The younger me that just left home and this timeline for Germany, 1945, might’ve been insanely jealous. I’m only a tad resentful. If that. First love, the unhealthy obsession I once felt for Jacob Brantley, is about a million miles away these days.
“That’s good, right?” I ask. “The two of them?”
“I don’t know,” Orianna says. “I mean, he was terrible to you.”
“Forever ago. When I was fat. Other versions of me made him pay for that, though. Besides, I think we straightened him out early enough in his life for him to have a chance at being human. At least, that’s my hope.” For good measure, I add, “If he hurts her, though, or breaks her heart, I’ll crush his nuts.”
“Get in line,” Orianna jokes, and together we’re laughing.
“Can I tell you something, mom?”
“Yes.”
Drawing a deep breath, closing my eyes, I say it: “I’ve missed you.”
I hear her tearing up.
“You did?”
“When I saw you for the first time the other day, when I got back and the other me left, I felt my heart open up and soften in ways it hasn’t in decades. I’m so happy to be with you again.”
She actually starts crying, then I’m crying, and then she’s telling me how strange this is and that’s when I decide to come clean, to confess something to her. It’s a secret I told myself I’d take to the grave, not that it’s bad. It’s just my secret.
3
“When you were about six years old, you were playing on the playground, and you’d fallen down and skinned your knee,” I say, staying my emotions, but only barely. “You were kicking a ball around by yourself. It was on the asphalt where they had the tetherball posts and you were practicing dribbling.”
“What are you talking about?”
She’s cutting her tears short, her mind tumbling backwards, spinning. Things are coming together, crackling with disbelief, becoming whole with context.
“You were in a yellow summer dress and you were sobbing because no one noticed. Not your friends, not the yard duty, no one. Then a woman came along and helped you up and you cried and asked for your teacher, but your teacher was helping some other kids across the yard. There was a scuffle that broke out between two boys.”
“Are you…inside my memories?” Orianna asks.
“That gold charm bracelet you have, the one with twelve charms from twelve different countries—”
I hear her start sniffling into the phone again, trying not to, but losing that battle quickly, and this gets me watery-eyed as well. I tell myself to hold it together.
“I collected them over the years, each of them reminded me of you, of dad, of home. But they were places I wanted to share with you, too. Even if you were too young to understand.”
“That was…that was you?”
At this point, hearing the startling changes to her voice, seeing how much this meant to her, I’m choking down a sob of my own.
“I watched you grow up, Mom. Over the years I found a way to check in on you every so often. I wanted to see this side of you I never knew. I fell in love with you as a child, and my heart broke when you had your baby. When you had me. I knew I wasn’t what you wanted, but I also knew the struggle to bring us together would shape you in ways you’d never known before and I was excited for you, even though I knew how tumultuous our relationship would become.”
“How come you never…?” she asks, snuffling, her voice deepening by a stuffed nose and eyes most certainly swollen with tears.
“Told you?”
“Yes.”
“Would you have believed me?”
“No,” she says, laughing her tears away.
“In some ways you and I have never been farther apart. In more ways, though, we’ve never been closer. I couldn’t tell you that when I got home because I was emotionally overjoyed seeing you, dad and Rebecca. I think it’s only now that I truly understand what you mean to me.”
“I love you so much, Savannah,” she says.
My heart is breaking. All my life I ached for this, for her love, for unrestrained and unconditional acceptance. I got a small sense of it before future me sent younger me back to Germany on this cycle of time travel, but it was only a small sense. The feeling sat within me all those years ago, lying dormant yet alive. Wanting what could be.
Wanting what is.
“I love you, too, Orianna.”
And that was the start of my morning. Yep. This whole mother/daughter thing that didn’t work between us forever and a day ago…it’s not so much an issue now. At least that’s what I’m hoping. No, it’s what I’m feeling. This is real.
This is amazing!
4
After I get off the phone with my mom, I can’t help thinking when things are going your way, the day just seems to not suck balls so badly. The way my day wasn’t blowing hard slid a smile onto my face. It felt good there. Right. It was when I got to breakfast that I saw Corrine walking in the restaurant just ahead of me that some of that joy farted off me for a
second, leaving me feeling…unsettled.
Be polite, I tell myself.
Smile.
Corrine was waiting to be seated when she turned and saw me walking in the restaurant. She frowned. Not even a pretense of delight before casting all those long shadows of animosity. Wow! That was out of nowhere. My eyebrows furrow on their own and my face shrinks back from her in the kind of look that says, “Um, what’s your problem?”
“Didn’t know you were still in town,” she says, trying to dial it down.
“You seemed sweeter yesterday,” I say, matching her congeniality.
“That’s before I had time to realize you were moving in on my boyfriend. I guess I was star struck. Then again, so was he. He told me about you, that you guys…spent the evening together.”
“Being with a new friend is always preferable to being alone.”
“It was more than that, I bet. I saw how easy you two got along.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
The small brunette hostess—a girl not two or three years older than Corrine—she says, “Your father’s in back, by the window facing the parking lot,” but Corrine put her hand up, silencing the girl, never once taking her eyes off me. This is the Corrine I witnessed in Sebastian’s mind, the cruel one who shakes when she doesn’t get her way. The one who prickles at the notion of losing.
I can handle this so many ways. What I can do is play nice, or I can flash my bitch claws, bare my snarling, razor sharp teeth. Am I not bigger than that, though? This is just a girl.
A gazelle to my tiger.
Screw it.
Taking a very obvious, very confrontational step into her personal space, I flatten my sizzling hot eyes and say, “My world is bigger than yours, sweetheart. Your problems are small and inconsequential. Best you keep them to yourself before you get into the real shit.”
“You involved yourself,” she says, her meek tone of voice betraying her lack of conviction.
“By buying a surfboard?” I ask, as if this is the most preposterous thing in the world.
“Who’s the board for?”
By now the hostess is shifting from one foot to the other, fingering the menu too much, breathing high in her chest with a quaking pulse. She’s uncomfortable. Then again, aren’t we all? By now everyone in earshot is plagued with that hard crawl of unease.
