Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  I am intensely white with fury angry with myself for saying the things I said to Tony before he got on that plane.

  To keep things in balance, what am I happy about?

  I am happy about meeting Mary and Richard. They have turned into really good friends, even if they are old. I am happy about being at Grizzly Ranch where I have my own cabin and my own river.

  She thought for a long time before coming up with another happy thought.

  I am happy about meeting Patrick.

  Annie’s bedside alarm clock startled her. She turned it off and thought about expounding further on Patrick, then decided that she should join Mary and Richard in their morning walk. After breakfast she’d come back and write about Patrick. She put the computer aside and prepared for a chilly walk along the river.

  “You look better this morning, Annie,” Mary said as they strolled together.

  “Sleep helps.”

  “Went to check on you. Your car was gone.”

  “Went into town for . . . some things.” It was Mary who insisted on the pretty little flashlight that sent her into such a panic in the woods. She didn’t want to explain why she suddenly needed a bunch more flashlights. “Got so much sleep I felt restless.”

  “You must have overdone it.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Thought to fetch you for the campfire stories but your lights were out and you didn’t answer your door. Were you already back in bed?”

  “Oh. Yeah, I was. Feel really good this morning, though.”

  It was just the two of them. Mary told her that Richard must have had what she had as he wasn’t feeling very well. “Must be,” was all Annie said, thinking about her excursion into the woods to find a satphone sent by her grandfather using quantum teleportation. “I went to Wal-Mart yesterday, decided to approach Patrick.”

  “Patrick?”

  “Erik. Sorry. The guy who sent us to Pack It In Sports. His nametag said Erik, but he goes by Patrick. Erik Patrick O’Reilly.”

  “Really!”

  “Yes. Really. Don’t get that I know what you’ve been up to sound in your voice.”

  “What sound?”

  “You know what I mean. He didn’t do it.”

  “Didn’t do what?”

  “He isn’t part of some scam. He’s innocent.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I played miniature golf with him.”

  “Ah.”

  “There’s that sound again.”

  “You went to ask him about why he sent us to Pack It In Sports and ended up on a date with him.”

  Annie stopped and turned to Mary. “It was not a date.”

  “Who paid?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Things change from generation to generation. In my time the guy always paid and it was always a date. Then it became politically correct for the girl to pay at least some of the time. Then to keep everything on the up and up, checks started getting split in order to clarify whether it was a date or just friends doing something together. Now it’s like throwing birdseed in the air in the middle of a hurricane. Who knows which way it will go. Girls have guys for roommates but there is absolutely no sex involved, or there is sex involved but it means nothing more than going out and playing tennis together, or there is no sex involved because one or both of them are gay.”

  “You watch too much television.”

  “Actually, very little, and that’s why. There used to be good, wholesome shows. Now it’s all trash. What I wonder is, do those programs reflect real life, or is life becoming what it is because of those programs?”

  “Good question.”

  They walked on for a while and then Mary said, “So, you went on a date with Erik Patrick O’Reilly.”

  “It wasn’t a date.”

  “You really think he had nothing to do with the scam?”

  “I really do. He’s a very nice guy. The fact is I never gave him my credit card. I paid at the front of the store.”

  Mary nodded her head. “You’re right. I never thought of that. So it must have been the cashier.”

  “No way. She had no idea we were going to Pack It In Sports.”

  “Then how did that guy know so much about you?”

  “It remains a mystery unless I go back and ask him, which I’ve no desire to do. I’d rather leave it a mystery.”

  “Okay. How was your date with Patrick?”

  “It was wonderful, until . . .”

  “Until what, Dear?”

  Annie stopped and looked out over the river. Mary took a sip from her coffee mug. Annie thought about her mug of coffee, which was still sitting where she left it on her kitchen table. “Until I saw Tony.” Mary didn’t respond as Annie had expected. She didn’t say anything so Annie went on to tell her about playing miniature golf and about chasing the ball several times when Patrick did dumb things, and about laughing and having a good time, and then about the sudden appearance of Tony’s smile on Patrick’s face.

  “It takes time,” Mary said. She took Annie’s hands in hers. “I saw my son, William, last month. We had gone down to Boise for Richard’s business. He’s been retired for two years now but he still consults now and then. Anyway, I don’t like going down there for two reasons. First, there is only one way to get from Lewiston, Idaho to Boise, Idaho, and it passes right by the place where William died. Second, Boise is where William lived and every time I go there I see him. This time he was standing on a street corner waiting for a light.”

  “That must be awful.”

  “It used to be. Now my heart just does a little jump and then settles back down. That’s not the only place I see him. When you and I were out the other day shopping, I saw the back of his head. I’ve come to decide that it is normal, that it is the way it will be the rest of my life.”

  “Then I’m not crazy.”

  “No dear. As a matter-of-fact, I think you’re doing quite well.”

  They turned and walked on for a while before Annie spoke. “Is it normal to forget that yesterday was three months since Tony’s death? I didn’t remember until I was at Wal-Mart.”

  “Who’s to say? I don’t recall when I stopped thinking about it on the twenty-fourth of every month; probably by spring, so based on me, you’re probably okay. Annuals you’ll never forget. I’ve come to hate winter entirely, refuse to celebrate Christmas at all. Christmas Eve is my black day and lasts for a week. My friends have learned not to come near me during that time. But you are not me. You’re young and so more resilient and able to heal faster.”

  “Then it’s normal to be thinking of someone else three months after my husband died?”

  “That’s also a hard one for me to speak to. Losing a son is not the same as losing a mate, and losing a mate at your age is different than losing a mate at my age. If I lost Richard now, I would probably just sit down and wait to die. I wouldn’t even have a child to share my grief with. But if I was your age, married less than a year, I would think I would . . . I don’t know. It’s not my place to give advice or to mess about.”

  “Mess about?”

  “Sorry, Love. Me British. Means I’m not going to give you a hard time. You have to go with your own heart.”

  They stopped to watch a group of birds fly in loose formation along the surface of the river. Annie poked her hands into her jacket pockets. “At first I want to say my heart is confused.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “I think I could deal with that. It’s the anger I can’t get past. I’m angry at everything that has to do with the war, and it seems I’m always running into it. In casual conversation Patrick told me he had served in the Army in Afghanistan years ago. I couldn’t deal with it.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s like a combination of anger and nausea, and it hits me almost without warning. My mind goes into an angry black void. I managed to get out of Wal-Mart before it totally overcame me. I made it as far as one of the benches in front.�
��

  “How did you wind up playing miniature golf?”

  “Patrick found me there. He was sweet and patient. We went to Dairy Queen and then to Big Sky Waterpark.”

  “And then it happened again when you saw Tony in him?”

  “Yes. This time I really hurt him. He caught up with me at my car and I got angry with him, yelled at him to get out. He didn’t deserve that, and I knew it at the time, but I couldn’t let him see the real me. I had to get rid of him.”

  The birds were long gone, but the two of them continued to look out across the river.

  “Now what do I do?”

  “You like him, don’t you.”

  “Afraid so.”

  “If he’s as nice as you say he is, and if he is taken with you, which it sounds like he is, he’ll come looking for you. Does he know where you live?”

  “I told him Grizzly Ranch.”

  “Then you let him make the next move.”

  “What if he doesn’t, or doesn’t remember where I am?”

  “If he’s worth his salt, he will.”

  Chapter 22

  June 9, 2007

  June 9

  It’s Saturday and the park opens today, but first my journal. I vowed that I would catch up before going. Mary and Richard already left, disappointed that I didn’t go with them. I want my first experience of Glacier Park to be by myself, and I don’t want to rush it. I’ve got all summer.

  In my last entry three days ago I was fussing over Patrick. It seems he has forgotten about me. That’s all right, I’ve forgotten about him. It is strange how so many things that seem important at the moment lose their luster a day or two later. I am far from ready for a new relationship, though Tony has not been on my mind nearly as much lately, and I haven’t had any more of those attacks. I had two attacks that I can contribute to Patrick. Shouldn’t that tell me something?

  Thursday I went down to Hungry Horse Dam with Richard and Mary. WOW! What an amazing place. The view from the dam across the reservoir to the snow-capped mountains was breathtaking. I actually remembered to take pictures this time. We hiked a ways up the mountain that overlooked the dam, and the views just kept getting better and better. And then the most awesome thing happened. We were sitting on some rocks under the shadow of several big ponderosa pines (Richard has been teaching me all about Montana trees), taking a breather. A meadow spread out before us for about fifty feet before dropping off against the backdrop of Hungry Horse Reservoir. We were perfectly quiet and perfectly still watching a groundhog snooping around his burrow on the far edge of the meadow. I slowly brought up my camera and had just put it to my eye, thinking I would get a shot of him with the reservoir in the background, when a huge, and I mean huge, bald eagle appeared from over the trees above us and swooped down to snatch the groundhog away. It was unbelievably awesome. Richard got so excited I thought he was going to have a heart attack. When I told him I thought I got a picture of it he hugged me right off the ground. I did get the picture. He says I should submit it to a contest somewhere. I don’t know about that, but it is very cool. I do feel sad for the groundhog, though.

  Thursday night Brad showed up at the campfire. He was also at breakfast Friday morning, last night’s campfire, and this morning. There are a lot of people here now. I think all the cabins are full.

  I’m starting to watch Brad with a different eye. I figured out that he is autistic, but not quite an idiot savant. I had the idea when I was talking to Patrick the other day. I spent much of yesterday at the library researching it, and now it all makes sense. It is really fascinating. I thought that autistic people were pretty much unsociable, but I found out that some manage to overcome it enough to be around people sometimes. I got up the courage to ask his mother about him last night. Surprisingly she was very open. As I initially thought, he is not an idiot savant, though he has some characteristics. She said that he has learned to take breakfast orders and then cook them. Other than that he does not communicate with anyone, preferring to be by himself, though occasionally showing up for the campfires. I told her about his and my idiom battle one morning. She was shocked, said he’d never done that before, that she didn’t even know that he knew what an idiom was.

  By the way, the truck that I thought was his is actually his mother’s. She was the one who nearly ran me off the road the day I arrived. I almost said something, then bit my tongue. Brad doesn’t have a driver’s license. She says that Chuck thinks he could learn to drive, but she has her concerns. Brad has never voiced a desire.

  The days that Brad is not here he is at his grandfather’s horse ranch where he works as a stable hand caring for the horses. She says that he has an amazing understanding and gentleness with the big animals. I never imagined.

  I was in early for breakfast this morning and the place was soon crowded, so I finished up fast. Ruth caught me and after taking me into the kitchen, told me to stand and watch Brad work. When I objected saying that I might distract him, she said that he could not be distracted when he was cooking until there was not an order left to fill. She was right. His focus was like an obsession. Ruth had another lady working, named Bettina. She and Bettina took and delivered orders while bussing the tables. They would write the orders down on a pad and then go into the kitchen and read them out loud to Brad. He never looked up, never acknowledged them, and no matter how many orders they gave him, or how fast, never looked stressed. Eggs, ham, bacon, pancakes, French toast, oatmeal, and omelets. At one time he had four different omelets going. He was like a kitchen robot.

  A knock came at Annie’s door. She looked up. The door was glass in a wood frame, but since she hadn’t raised the blinds she couldn’t see who it was. She hit save and then walked over and peeked between the blinds. A guy in a dark green t-shirt, matching ball cap, and blue jeans stood on her porch with his back to her. He was looking out at the cabin common area. Her eyes slid from his posterior down to an old sun-faded red Chevy Blazer parked next to her dusty blue rental.

  Patrick! She released the blinds and stepped back. She put her hands to her chest as something jumped inside her. She pushed it down, steeled her emotions, and opened the door. “Hi,” she said as if he dropped by every day.

  “Hi. I ah . . . I didn’t know if you’d be gone already, but I thought . . .”

  “Gone? Thought what?”

  “Gone to Glacier Park. It opens today.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “You were excited about going up there.”

  “Still am. Had a few things to do first. Leaving in a few minutes.”

  “I ah . . .” He looked away for a second as though forgetting what he was going to say. His eyes came back to her. “Could we talk for a minute?”

  She inhaled and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to talk about it. What if? She let out her breath. “I . . .” You say no, Annie, he’s gone for good. Don’t push him away again. Besides, he deserves an explanation. Again she pulled her emotions up tight. “Sure.” She looked at the top step to her porch and then walked over and sat down.

  He sat down next to her. “Did I do something wrong?”

  She shook her head. “No. You were wonderful.” She put her face in her hands and then ran her fingers back through her hair. “Maybe too wonderful.”

  “Too wonderful? Even my mother doesn’t go that far, and she thinks I’m perfect.”She looked over at him. “Your mother thinks you’re perfect. What about your father?”

  “He knows the truth, or at least as much truth as I let him see.” He laughed. “You’ve changed the subject. How is it that my wonderfulness scared you away?”

  She sucked in and blew out another deep breath. “I’ll tell you only on the condition that you promise that you won’t make a big deal about it, that you won’t make a bunch of ‘I feel sorry for you’ noises, that you won’t ask a whole lot of insensitive and stupid questions.”

  “Okay.”

  “I came here for the summer to get away from it all. If your opinion i
s that I ran away, then keep it to yourself.”

  “I can’t imagine that I’d think that.”

  “You will because that’s exactly what I did. I just don’t want to be given a hard time about it. Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Fine.” She pointed her eyes at her feet. “What happened at the fun park is that for just a few seconds you . . .” She looked up at him, then back down at her feet. He doesn’t look anything like Tony, even out of the corner of my eye.

  “I what?”

  “You looked like my husband.”

  Patrick stared at the side of her head for five seconds and then stood and walked down the three steps and away another three. He turned around, stepped in front of her, squatted down and looked up at her. “I didn’t know you were married. I’m sorry.”

  Annie presented the back of her left hand. “I left the ring at home. You had no way of knowing. Besides, I’m not really married anymore.”

  “So I actually looked like your ex-husband?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Is this kind of like the ‘at least’ you kept throwing at me as I went through the 20 question game about your education?”

  “Not exactly.” She snorted a laugh. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t laugh; only stared at her. She locked with his eyes and said, “I’m widowed.” She clamped her mouth shut and dropped her eyes. It was the first time she had ever used that term out loud, had hardly ever thought it. Widow was for old women wearing drab, black clothing and carrying soggy hankies. She hadn’t even reached her twentieth birthday yet, and she had yet to purchase anything black, though she had thought of it. Wearing black on campus would have been like putting a sign on her head saying, “I’m a fresh new widow. Leave me alone.” She wanted to be left alone, but she didn’t want to scream it to the world.