Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “Of course, and it was wonderful. It was a winter wonderland; eerie with the fog, but unbelievably beautiful. We sat on a log and just waited and sure enough a half dozen elk strode down the riverbank on the other side. Didn’t pay us a bit of mind. They were a painting masterpiece.” She held her hands up mimicking the corners of a frame. “Bull Elk in the Mist.”

  “And not even in season,” Richard complained.

  “Oh, Richard! You haven’t hunted in twenty years.”

  “I can still dream, can’t I?”

  “Yeah, and I can dream of dancing with Richard Geer.”

  “But you’re stuck with me.”

  “And you’re stuck with me.” She kissed him.

  “By choice, my dear.” He kissed her back.

  Annie thought of Tony and how they had talked of growing old together. In her effort to fight away the tear she turned her face toward the pancakes Brad had placed on the table. Just as she wondered if all the bacon had already been consumed, he appeared with a plateful. She ignored his silly grin and forked two strips onto her plate.

  “Your egg order, Ma’am?” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Eggs to order, if it pleases your palate, Ma’am. Baked, boiled, coddled, deviled, poached, scrambled, fried, over easy, sunny side up, hard, runny, shaken but not stirred, raw in a sipper cup . . . or maybe a Boston omelet.”

  Annie stared at him. “Sipper cup?” Whatever you do, don’t laugh at this idiot, she thought.

  He tilted his head and raised one eyebrow. “A favorite of the Canadians.”

  “If you say so. I’ll have the Boston omelet.”

  He bowed slightly. “As you wish, Ma’am.”

  When he disappeared through the swinging door Mary said, “He’s flirting with you. He never offered us that many choices of eggs.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s a Boston omelet anyway?” Mary asked.

  “I have no idea.” Annie bit on a piece of bacon.

  “This is like a big family,” Mary said. “That’s what I like about it. I wonder what it’s going to be like when the park opens and they fill all the cabins?”

  “Just a bigger family,” Ruth said, walking in with a pitcher of orange juice. “There is almost always a place to sit. Some folks get breakfast to go so they can get to whatever they’re doing early. Others linger the morning away over coffee and a good book. It always works out.” She left the juice and returned to the kitchen.

  “Did you talk to your father last night?” Mary asked.

  “Yes, and he wasn’t even mad that I woke him.”

  “What does your dad do?” Richard asked.

  “He’s a professor of nuclear physics at MIT.”

  “Really! I guess I shouldn’t be surprised then by your academic successes.”

  “Are you going to go on about that this morning, Richard?” Mary said. “She’s here to get away from school.” She turned back to Annie. “So, what’s your mother like?”

  “My mother died in an automobile accident when I was four months old.” Ever since Annie learned the truth of her mother’s death almost six years ago, she had felt funny continuing the lie, but that was the way it had to be. Imagine telling Mary that her mother died minutes after successfully returning to her own time of 1987 following being shot while in the process of saving her grandfather’s life in 1943; that her grandfather, Annie’s great-grandfather, was a German spy and had kidnapped Annie’s mother with the intent of taking her and her knowledge of nuclear physics to Germany; that Annie had actually been born in Charleston, South Carolina in 1943. Wouldn’t that top Chuck West’s bear-up-a-tree story?

  Mary placed her hand on Annie’s. “I am so sorry.”

  “It happened a long time ago. I never knew her. I’ve never known anything but just dad and me.”

  “To grow up without a mother, though. I can’t imagine.”

  “Looks like she did quite well, Mary,” Richard broke in. “Let’s eat.”

  Yes, let’s eat. Annie forked two pancakes from the stack and then stared at them. She’d rarely thought of the fact that she had grown up without a mother, at least not in any significant way. Would she be different if she had? She never even had a stepmother. Her dad had never had a girlfriend. She remembered her conversation with her father on her fourteenth birthday, days before finding out all the truth about her mother, when she told him he needed a relationship. What she was really saying was that she needed a mother.

  He never found a relationship, and she never found a mother. But what difference would it have made? Richard is right; she’s doing just fine, except for the part about being a widow already. A mother couldn’t have done anything about that . . . but she would have been a shoulder to cry on.

  God, she missed Tony.

  “Ma’am.”

  Annie turned her head to look up into Brad’s eyes again, this time noticing, and becoming momentarily mesmerized by the deep blue. They reminded her of the Cambridge cop. She also noticed that although he was obviously talking to her, his gaze was somewhere past her. “What?”

  “No mashed potatoes. We have scrambled eggs.”

  Annie blinked at him. “What?”

  “No mashed potatoes. Have scrambled eggs.”

  “What about the Boston omelet?”

  “No mashed potatoes. Have scrambled eggs.”

  She threw a questioning look at Mary who returned her answer with a furrowed brow. She turned back to Brad who appeared to be seriously waiting for a response. “I guess I’ll have scrambled eggs; with ketchup.”

  “With ketchup?”

  “Is there another way?”

  “Yes. I like ketchup.”

  “Okay.” She dragged the second syllable out until he suddenly turned around and retreated back through the swinging doors.

  Mary said, “That was strange. I think you two are flirting with each other.”

  “I am not flirting. He’s a conceited jerk. Why would I flirt with him?”

  “I don’t believe he’s conceited or a jerk. He simply has a strange sense of humor. He’s a young man suddenly infatuated with a pretty young girl, and I think you like it.”

  “Do not! This isn’t what I came here for. Even if he were the perfect guy, which he is far from, I’m not interested in a relationship right now.” She picked up another piece of bacon.

  “Do you have a boyfriend back home?”

  Annie put the bacon back down. “No. I’m . . .” She stared at the bacon lying next to the pancakes, which had yet to be buttered, and then at her hand with the barely perceptible evidence of where her wedding ring used to be, regretting the turn in the conversation. She had vowed that she’d tell no one in Montana that her husband had died. Now, less than twenty-four hours after arriving, she felt cornered.

  Mary placed her hand on Annie’s wrist. “It’s all right, Annie. You don’t have to talk about it with some nosey old woman you hardly know. I sense that you came here to get away from it. Am I right?”

  Annie nodded her head. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you be sorry about nothing. It’s your life and your privacy. What’re you planning for today? Hiking? Going in to town to do some shopping? Do you have an agenda or are you flying by the seat of your pants?”

  Annie took a deep breath and then relaxed. “My overall goal is to do a lot of hiking and picture taking. However, I had decided before I left that I’d wait until I got here to shop for proper hiking accessories. I have almost nothing. I’ve never really done much of this kind of thing.”

  “Would you like me to go with you?”

  Annie didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if she wanted the company or not.

  “We’ve been here for more than a week. I’m starting to know my way around. I could be your guide. It’s no fun shopping by yourself.”

  Annie still wasn’t sure, but something deep in her center knew that Mary was right. It is no fun shopping by yourself. Besides, she wouldn’t eve
n know what to buy, or what to look for. “Okay. How about this afternoon?”

  “Sounds grand. You can drive and I’ll navigate. By the way, since when does mashed potatoes have anything to do with omelets?”

  Annie laughed. “I have no idea. That and the sipper cup. If that’s Brad’s pickup line, he’s in for a long, lonely life.”

  Steven stood at a MIT library computer terminal, pushing the mouse around, searching for anything on wave-particle duality as it related to quantum physics. What he found he had already read and then either used or discarded. He hovered the mouse pointer for a few seconds, trying to decide whether to revisit the discarded articles, when a reflection appeared on his monitor. He looked over his shoulder to find Howard Grae.

  “Morning, Howard. Spying on my research?”

  “That depends on what you’re researching,” Howard said. “Working on another doctorate?”

  Steven laughed. “No, not hardly. What are you up to?”

  “Not much. Doing a little research of my own. By the way, I’ve been trying to get a hold of Annie. Is she not answering her phone or checking her voice-mail?”

  “Ha! I wondered that myself. Got a call from her early this morning after not calling me yesterday afternoon when she was supposed to. She’s out of cell phone range; probably will be all summer.”

  Howard stepped back. “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t tell you? She’s in Montana. Staying at Grizzly Ranch just outside Glacier National Park.”

  “Grizzly Ranch?”

  “Right.”

  “All summer?”

  “That’s the plan. I know you wanted her for a project, but she just wasn’t ready. Losing Tony has been hard on her. I’m hoping that getting away from here for a few months will clear her head, get her back on track.”

  “Yeah.” Howard looked around, suddenly distracted and agitated.

  “Howard. What’s going on? What kind of project are you working on that’s it’s so important she be involved?”

  When he didn’t respond Steven grabbed his arm. “Hey! She’s my daughter. Tell me what is going on.”

  Howard drew his arm away. “Nothing. Sorry. It’s not important. I’ve got to go.” With that, he rushed away.

  Steven watched him for a few seconds and then grabbed his briefcase and followed. Although he lost sight of Howard, Steven guessed that he was exiting the building. Sure enough, when he stepped into the bright day Howard was standing among the trees on the other side of the sidewalk fumbling with his cell phone, his back to anyone who would be passing close by. Steven walked toward him and then, at ten feet, froze at Howard’s suddenly loud voice.

  “Did you know that Annie left the state for the summer?”

  Steven slipped to the side where he could be shielded by tree branches and be able to listen to the conversation, though only Howard’s end.

  “Montana. Does she not talk to you?

  “Damn right I’m sure. I just learned it from her father.

  “With you and me and Tom, plus Charles, I’m beginning to wonder if we really need her?

  “I know she’s smart, but she’s made it rather plain that she’s not interested.

  “Make her interested! We already tried that and obviously, it didn’t work. How the hell do we manage it now from damned 3,000 miles away?

  “Not that far? Hell! It might as well be on the moon.

  “What kind of incentive? And how do we communicate with her? Steven says she’s out of cell phone range.

  “Yeah. I assume there’s a landline. She’s staying near Glacier Park.

  “He didn’t say anything about a summer job, and she’s not at a motel. She’s living on a ranch . . . Grizzly Ranch.

  “What do you mean, a good test? What are you thinking?

  “Fine. Eight o’clock tonight. You call Tom. I’ll get a hold of Charles. If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I . . .

  “Okay. Tonight.”

  He waited ten seconds after the end of the phone call before looking around. Howard was striding away toward the Charles River, beyond which lay the Boston’s skyline.

  What kind of project do they need her so bad for? She’s smart but she’s still just a graduate student. There are plenty with the same qualifications. Besides, Howard is right; what is she going to do on a project from 3,000 miles away? And who are Tom and Charles, and who was he talking to who should have already known she had gone to Montana?

  After Howard disappeared from view, Steven considered the puzzle for only a few more seconds before returning to his research in the depths of Hayden Memorial Library.

  Chapter 11

  May 28, 2007

  By midmorning the snow and fog were gone, and the sky was a beautiful blue. After unpacking and organizing her cabin, and then spending time catching up the last twenty-four hours in her journal, Annie decided to reward herself with an exploration of her piece of the Flathead River. Despite her careful negotiation around mud puddles she arrived at the riverbank with an inch of mud caked to the bottom of her boots.

  The river was raging, blasting around a huge green-leafed tree branch hung up on something in the middle. The Charles River, the one river she was used to, separated Boston and Cambridge. It was nothing compared to this. Nature’s raw energy, she thought and made a note to write that in her journal. Several birds suddenly dove down to within four feet of the surface and then lighted on the branch, which swayed and bounced as though trying to shake the birds loose. They seemed to be enjoying the ride.

  She scraped off as much of the mud as she could on deadfall and rocks and then after looking up and down the river, chose up and started walking. She came to a bend, ducked under an overhanging tree and came face to face, though thirty feet away, with Brad West. He was sitting on a boulder the size of a car. It jutted out into the fast running current and he was staring at the swirling water. He sported the same dirty cowboy hat as the night before, but instead of the stupid grin, he appeared serious, almost down-mouthed.

  Damn! Now what? It would be rude to ignore him. She raised her hand and said, “Hey.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Hey!” she said louder.

  He turned his head toward her, but stopped short of eye contact. “There are no mashed potatoes.” His gaze returned to the water.

  “Okay,” she said, drawing the word out in the same way she had at breakfast, and then swung wide and picked her way past him, relieved that he didn’t say anything more. What little he said was weird enough.

  A man of few words, thank God.

  Uncomfortably certain that his eyes were on her, she kept going, staying as close to the river as she could. Finally, her curiosity getting the better of her, she glanced back. He was still sitting on the boulder, his back to her, his eyes still cast down toward the water.

  Weird, she thought, and then proceeded on her trek, wondering why she was irritated that he wasn’t watching her. What was he doing just sitting on that rock anyway? He should be out punching cows or racing his ugly truck through the mud or watching her butt. Something about him was not normal.

  After a time, just before she stepped around the next bend and out of sight, she looked back again. He hadn’t moved.

  “Humph!”

  “Are you sure you can afford all of that, dear?”

  Annie didn’t know how many times Mary had asked that question in the four hours they had been out running around Kalispell, and then detouring north to Whitefish. That’s where they were now, at Pack It In Sports in Whitefish. Annie was trying on a North Face backpack. It was barely over $100. She’d already passed on one that was twice that, not because of the price but because the fit wasn’t right. “Yes. I can afford it, Mother!”

  Mary grinned at the title, even if it was in jest. “I’m just being conservative, that’s all. It does seem nice.”

  Annie looked at it in the mirror. It was built for a woman, and it certainly was attractive, for a backpack. She sudde
nly stopped and sniffed. She loved the smell of the store: Leather and trees, outdoors, woodsy, wild. “As a matter-of-fact, I could probably buy this entire store if I wanted.”

  “This time it might be your lucky day, or ours.”

  Startled, Annie swung around to face a huge craggy faced man with bushy black eyebrows and a full black beard.

  “We are, in fact, now for sale.”

  “That’s okay; a figure of speech. I’m just interested in the pack.”

  “Believe it or not, I remember you, Ms Caschetta,” he said. “The last time you were here you inquired as to whether we were for sale.”

  “I couldn’t have. I’ve never been in here before.”

  “Saturday, February 17th. Sure you have. I’m Bill. Bill Small. You met both me and my wife, Cassandra.”

  “No. I’m vacationing, just got here last night. Never been in this town before.”

  “You’re from the Boston area, Cambridge actually. You attend MIT. You lost your husband in Iraq. You were wearing a white MIT sweatshirt, which was odd because it was very cold outside and you weren’t wearing a coat. You approached us and asked how much we wanted for the business. We weren’t up for sale at the time, wasn’t even a consideration. As a matter-of-fact, it’s because of you that we’re for sale now. You got us to thinking about retiring.”

  Annie stared at him like he had a second nose. “What in the world are you talking about? I’ve truly never been here before.”

  “You said you’d come back in June and would ask again, though you’re about three weeks early.” He opened his mouth and then looked at Mary. He closed it, turned back to Annie and then said, “Hmm. You’re right. Very close resemblance. I’m so sorry.” With that he turned and walked away.

  “What was that all about?” Mary asked.

  “I don’t know. Honest to God, I’ve never been here before. How did he know my name? How did he know about . . .?” She closed her mouth and looked down at the straps hanging from the pack. She buckled them, unbuckled them, took the pack off and said, “This’ll work. Let’s get out of here.”

  Annie approached the checkout with her credit card in hand, willing the transaction to go fast. The bearded man was off to the side talking with another customer. He glanced at her and then away. The young clerk tried to flirt with her while he ran her card. Her look shut him down. Within a minute she and Mary were out the door.