Gravity Rising (The Parallel Multiverse Book 2)

by Ward Wagher

  “Is there something you haven’t told me?” he asked quickly.

  “Oh, no. If I were to make an announcement, you would be among the first to know.”

  He didn’t know quite how to respond to her remark. Leaving him speechless was one of the things she had done from the earliest days of their friendship. He shook his head and walked around the corner to dump his backpack on the table. He walked back into the living room and unhooked Maggie’s backpack from her wheelchair and carried it around to the kitchen. She immediately rolled herself into the bathroom.

  He walked through the kitchen and opened the door into the garage. A lawn mower was plugged into the electrical connection. He looked around and spotted the light switch. This brightened up the gloomy area considerably. Upon closer inspection, the mower proved to be new. It even gave off a faint newish odor. A green light showed the accumulator was charged. A small collection of tools hung on a rack above the mower. It was fairly easy to recognize the function of the individual items. Whoever had set up the house, which probably included Arthur Winkleman, had intended for him to take care of the yard himself. So, he pushed the button to open the garage door with the thought that a little hard work never killed anybody.

  When she heard the low hum of the mower, Maggie rolled herself over to the window to watch Larry. It seemed like even pushing a mower required practice. With each pass across the yard, he would miss a patch of grass and back up to catch it. His deep frown was a clear indication of what he thought of that.

  She rolled into the kitchen and peered thoughtfully into the freezer. He would be hungry after so much physical activity. She pulled a package out that was labeled London Broil. This was something she had eaten in Indianapolis and liked. It would make a good meal for Larry, she thought.

  In about a half hour, Larry completed pushing the mower around his small yard. He had stopped to catch his breath and looked around. The house on the other side of theirs, where Mrs. Willow had moved in, also had an unkempt looking yard. He felt pretty good, so he shrugged and began pushing the mower around the old lady’s yard. There was no need to make her push a mower. He thought she might have a stroke or something.

  As he mowed, Mrs. Willow stepped out on the low concrete porch and glared at him. He decided that didn’t bother him – she glared at everybody. After about four more passes he looked up to see her marching across the yard towards him. He switched off the mower to see what she wanted.

  “Drink this,” she commanded, handing him a tall glass.

  He took a sip of the juice in the glass. It had a tart, sour taste, and was slightly bitter.

  “What is this?”

  “It is grapefruit juice. Now, drink. We cannot have you becoming dehydrated.”

  He tossed it down. When he handed the glass back to her, she shoved another at him.

  “Now, you need to drink this.”

  The second glass contained cold water. He drank it down and felt very refreshed. He handed the glass back, as she stood glaring at him.

  “That was very good, Mrs. Willow. Thank you.”

  She managed one of her patented harrumphs. “Just trying to protect you from your own lack of sense, young man.”

  “Eh, right,” he replied. “Um, why the juice and the water?”

  “The water washes down the syrup from the juice. Otherwise, you would quickly become thirsty again.”

  “That’s interesting,” he replied. “I didn’t know that.”

  The look she gave him indicated there was no reason for her to expect him to know things like that. As usual, she left him thinking of himself as a complete dunce. He turned, switched on the mower again, and quickly completed the yard.

  He pushed the mower back to the garage and connected it to the power, so it could recharge. He slipped into the kitchen and put his arms around Maggie.

  “What smells so good?”

  “It’s not you!” she snapped. “Go get cleaned up before your dinner. Phew!”

  He laughed as he retreated to the bathroom. Maggie had her ways of getting even but tormenting her was fun. She had the table set when he returned to the kitchen, and it looked like the food was prepared.

  “You want me to put it on the table?” he asked.

  “Please. I suppose you left the bathroom in a mess, as usual.”

  “I’ll clean it up after dinner.”

  “Hmph,” she sniffed. “Something you always seem to forget.”

  They ate quickly and without conversation. Dinners in Indianapolis usually included conversations with Winkleman as well as the hotel staff. Here, they quickly fell back into the habits they picked up at Cambridge.

  “That was really good, Mags,” Larry mumbled as he popped the last piece of meat into his mouth. “I think you do as well as the people back at the hotel.”

  She grinned. “I hoped you would like it. I don’t know what I’ll do once school starts in a few weeks. I may not have time to cook for you all the time.”

  “I should be able to share in the cooking duties,” he said. “I’ve done it before.”

  “But not well.”

  He didn’t have an answer for that, and sat quietly, as he sipped his water.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Our strange neighbor.”

  She rolled around the table and collected his plate to take to the sink.

  “I saw you cut her yard for her.”

  “I didn’t take that long to do ours, and I didn’t mind. Her grass looked worse than ours.”

  “Why do you think she’s really here?” Maggie asked. “It’s just too odd to have her show up. Even if she is nice.”

  “I don’t know about nice,” he rejoined. “She’s a scary old bag. But, I wonder the same thing. I keep thinking she might be the one behind the weird things that have happened.”

  Maggie set the dishes in the sink and returned to the table.

  “I don’t know, Larry. She has helped us out a lot, too. I think she really likes us.”

  “You, maybe, but not me.”

  “She doesn’t appreciate your lovable personality,” she giggled.

  “Oh, thanks, Maggie. She has a mean streak two-feet wide. I’ve seen it. Haven’t you seen her bully the other students.”

  “Yes, but most of them needed it. One thing I’ve noticed out here is that the people don’t seem to be nearly as self-centered as they were in Cambridge.”

  “Do you think I’m self-centered?” he pondered. Then he jumped up. “Here, let me help.”

  He grabbed the remainder of the items on the table and carried them over to the counter.

  “We all are,” she replied. “Some worse than others. When you think about it, the students at MIT are a pretty smug bunch. I didn’t think about it until we came out here. But, they squat in that crumbling city and say it’s the best place on Earth. “If nothing else happened out here, it sure opened my eyes.”

  “The people here are a little different, aren’t they?”

  “Oh, they can be as ornery as anybody else,” Maggie said. “But, on the whole, they are much easier to deal with. I think I’m happy we didn’t go back to Quebec.”

  “There’s nothing for us back in Quebec,” he said.

  “I know that. But, it’s where we grew up. It’s home.”

  Larry walked over and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “I want to work hard to make this our home.”

  She laid her hand on top of his. “You’re very sweet.”

  They were interrupted by a pounding on the front door. They looked at each other, and then Larry quickly walked to see who was knocking. When he opened the door, Mrs. Willow brushed past him and marched into the kitchen carrying a cake.

  “I suppose he has made you do the cooking, too,” she bellowed. “The least I could do was bring a dessert.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Willow, how kind,” Maggie said. “This really looks good.”

  “Won’t you stay and have a piece with us?” Larry as
ked.

  “I baked the cake for Margaret, not for me,” she harrumphed. “And don’t you be eating all of it, young man!”

  With that, she marched back through the house and left. Maggie and Larry looked at each other and burst into laughter.

  “Whatever was that about?” she cried.

  He shook his head as he slipped back to the front door to make sure it was closed. After that, they each had a piece of the chocolate cake and it was very good. Larry thought maybe it was the best he had ever tasted.

  § § §

  Sometime in the middle of the night, Larry awakened. He scanned the dark, quiet room and wondered what was wrong. Maggie’s soft breathing indicated she was fine. His next thought was that he was not fine. In fact, he was very sick. He scrambled out of the bed and made it to the bathroom just in time to erupt. He was weak, shivery and sweaty, and his body was attempting to turn itself inside out.

  “Oh, Larry, are you all right?” Maggie sat in the doorway in her wheelchair.

  “No, no,” he sobbed. “Don’t get close. I think the old lady poisoned me with that cake.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” she said. “I feel just fine. You probably just have an intestinal bug.”

  “I think I’m going to die,” he gasped as he turned to retch again.

  He flopped over on his back, on the floor. “Oh, man, I hate this.”

  “Take some deep breaths. It’ll help settle you down.”

  He tried breathing deeply and then felt his fingers and toes start to tingle. He groaned again.

  “You should just as well come back to bed,” Maggie said. “Try to get some sleep.”

  “The way I feel, I’ll be up and down all night,” Larry moaned. “I’ll go sleep on the couch, so I don’t bother you. If this is a bug, I don’t want you catching it.”

  “If I catch it, I catch it. Now, see if you can get up. That can’t be good for you, lying on the floor.”

  He turned and dragged himself to his feet and went to collapse in the bed. Fifteen minutes later, he was up again.

  “I swear she poisoned me,” he claimed again.

  Maggie wasn’t in bed when he returned. She rolled in later and put a cool washcloth on his head.

  “You just have to ride this out, Larry. You will feel better in the morning.”

  “I am going over to kill that old lady.”

  As he drifted off to sleep again, he wondered why she was giggling.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  By morning Larry seemed to have gotten past the worst of the bug and was in an exhausted sleep. Maggie quietly got herself ready and let herself out of the house. She maneuvered her wheelchair to the sidewalk and then turned down the sidewalk that was the shortcut over to the college campus. On the whole, she was glad she insisted to Arthur Winkleman that they no longer needed their guards. But, she missed having Alex and Brad around during these long hikes in the wheelchair. Her arms got tired. But, as Larry liked to say, a little hard work never killed anybody.

  Mrs. Willow stepped out onto her porch as Maggie rolled by.

  “Are you on your own today, Mrs. Berthold?”

  Maggie let the wheelchair coast to a stop. It was an opportunity to rest her arms.

  “Larry came down with a bug and was up sick all night. He needs the rest.”

  The old lady cocked her head slightly. “You will want to be careful, then, Missy. I will look in on young Mr. Berthold later this morning.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Willow, but I don’t want you to catch whatever Larry has.”

  “I stay healthy,” the old lady snorted. “It should not be a problem. And, you probably need all the help you can get, looking after that young man.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Willow,” Maggie giggled. “You’re very kind.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  After ten minutes of pushing the wheels on her chair, Maggie arrived at the main college building. She was just as glad that the terrain around Urbana was flat as a dinner plate. She didn’t think she was ready for any major hills.

  As she rolled down the hallway, she met David Fitcher as he walked out of his office.

  “Ah, Mrs. Dr. Berthold, I was hoping to have a word with your husband this morning.”

  “He was ill last night,” Maggie replied. “I left him sleeping at home, today.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Just a stomach bug. I expect he’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Oh, very good. I was hoping to review the organizational chart for the lab with him. There is nothing so urgent it cannot wait until tomorrow.”

  “I will tell him you were looking for him,” Maggie smiled. “That should encourage him to get back on his feet.”

  “I think I would prefer he not return until he is fully recovered,” Fitcher said. “We really do not need a stomach bug sweeping through the school.”

  “He probably caught it from someone here,” Maggie replied. “This is the only place he goes when he leaves the house.”

  Fitcher shook his head. “Well, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you have plenty to do, yourself. How are things going?”

  “Having the syllabi from the previous instructor is a big help. I think I have a pretty good idea of the scope of how I need to plan for the fall semester.”

  “Good, good,” the provost said.

  He turned and retreated to his office. Maggie rolled further down the hall and unlocked her office door. The room was not large but provided enough space for her to roll her chair between the desk and a worktable. Even with extensive computational support, higher education was still a paper-intensive business. She had textbooks and scribbled notes scattered across the worktable.

  She pulled her computer from the backpack and set it in the middle of the desk. She picked up an empty cup and dropped it into a holder on the wheelchair. She rolled out of the office and turned towards the cafeteria where she could find a cup of tea.

  The building retained the coolness from the previous night, and she was glad she was wearing a sweatshirt. She had become warm from the effort of getting to work but had cooled down again. The hot tea would be welcome. Some of her new friends had warned her that August in Urbana could be oppressively hot, but either this was a cool summer, or her friends were cold-blooded.

  Once settled back in her office, Maggie lost herself in her work. While she was teaching meteorology and was comfortable with the content, she was also assigned a couple of courses where the content was tangential. She was concerned that she be able to stay ahead of the students in those courses, where she was less familiar with the topics.

  In the late morning, she was interrupted by a tapping at the open doorway. She looked up to see a grinning Seb Sylvester.

  “Seb,” she squealed. “You made it.”

  He stepped into her office, and she grasped his hands. “When did you get in?”

  “I arrived just last night. It was a long drive.”

  “You drove? All the way from Cambridge? How did you find your way?”

  “I just kept pointing the car west.” He shrugged. “The maps were pretty sketchy.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought there would be roads through all that wilderness,” Maggie said.

  “The roads were awful. It took me five days to get here.”

  “Wow.” Maggie grinned at him. “Well, sit down. Tell me about it. Fluffy gave you your walking papers, then?”

  “Well, him and Wrathful. It was strange. Fluffy twisted my arm really hard not to come out here.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Maggie asked, her eyebrows raising. “I should think he was delighted you had a job.”

  “As I said, it was strange. I was afraid he would find some reason not to grant me my degree, so I went through the motions of following up on his suggestions for finding work in Cambridge. Once I got the paperwork done, I packed up the car and got out of there, toot sweet.”

  “Well, we’re glad you’re here. I can’t wait to tell Larry about it.”
/>   “Speaking of Larry,” Seb said, “where is he, by the way?”

  “Oh, poor Larry. He’s home asleep. He was up all night ralphing. Some kind of stomach bug.” She giggled. “Mrs. Willow brought over a cake last night, and he was sure she poisoned him.”

  “Mrs. Willow?” Seb looked surprised. “She’s here?”

  “Moved in next door to us, if you can believe that.”

  Maggie pulled the pencil out of her hair and used it to scratch the back of her head.

  “She said they didn’t need her anymore in Cambridge, so she decided to come out here.”

  “Poor Larry,” Seb said. “I was going to buy lunch for you and him, today.”

  “Today wouldn’t be good,” she replied. “I suspect he doesn’t want to look at food right now.”

  “Indeed,” Seb said, leaning back in the chair. “So, tell me about Urbana.”

  § § §

  The waves of nausea washed away for the present, and Larry gradually rose from slumber. He lay listening to the birdsong outside and studied the light and shadow as the sunlight slipped past the gaps in the curtains. It seemed every bone in his body ached, and he felt the burning of the fever in the backs of his eyes. The house seemed to shiver. He wondered if it were the effects of the fever when Mrs. Willow marched into the bedroom. She set a tray on the side table. On it were two bottles of ginger ale and a plate of crackers.

  “You will need to sip on some liquids to fight the dehydration,” she said without preamble. “The ginger ale will be easier on your stomach than water.”

  He wondered if the old woman had come in to finish the job. He felt completely helpless and didn’t think he could defend himself. He glanced around, wondering if he could escape.

  “You cannot depend upon Margaret to meet your every whim, Mr. Berthold,” she continued. “You have a job to do here in Urbana, and you will not accomplish it by being sick. I will leave you, now, but you must get some liquid into your system.”

  He raised his head to look at the tray and dropped it back with a groan.

  “Everything hurts.”

  “I have no desire to coddle you, either, young man. Sip on the beverage. Nibble on the crackers. And rest.”