by Jill Cooper
“Will still be here tonight.” Mom smiles. “It’s not a lot, but it’s all I can give right now, while I finish this thing.” She kisses my forehead as I nod, then rushes from the office, and for a moment I sit and listen to the air conditioner kick in.
I stand and march to her desk. Sitting in the rolling chair, I rifle through her drawers. I can’t find anything of note, but I do find some pictures. On top is a wedding photo of her and Jax. Below that I find ones of me and the kids, which should make me smile but doesn’t.
The center drawer is locked, so I move on to the computer. A quick shake of the mouse clears the screen saver. I peer over at the door to make sure no one is there before I type in a password I think she might use—my birthday—but it doesn’t work.
I sigh and as a last ditch effort type in Dad’s birthday. The computer dings, and the screen saver fades. I am brought to a perfectly neat blue desktop where the few icons are lined up on the side, but several applications are minimized to the taskbar, which excites me.
First, I click on her open email, and my eyes spot a chain letter, a picture of kittens, and the usual joke email. So much for working hard. But the next program I see contains a report she was drafting. A Rewind watermark is stamped Confidential.
No one is coming yet, so I read.
The events of this week are regrettable but unavoidable as we move into the human testing part of the program. Mr. Jenkins’ family has my deepest sympathies, but we have made great strides towards the possibility of time travel longer than fifteen minutes. For the right candidate, the natural time travel ability will be unlocked.
Mr. Jenkins remained in the past for twenty minutes, and once he returned we “removed some key memories” of his life and “inserted new ones.” He was adamant that these memories actually happened. He became hostile and aggressive when we suggested otherwise. As far as he knew, he’d had these memories for years.
Think of the advantages this would have against murderers, terrorists, and pedophiles. We could change who people are at the core level and by partnering with law enforcement, reshape the world.
Mr. Jenkins returned to the past ten times. With medicine and treatment, we tried to help him through the headaches and brain hemorrhaging. First, the fresh memories assaulted him in the present. When those tapered off, the nose bleeds started. After that, his decent into madness quickened as his uncontrollable ability to jump through time grew stronger. He grew increasingly confused and forgetful with each trip.
His actions were proving dangerous, so we put him into a drug-induced coma. I will declare him brain dead tomorrow and have him taken off life support.
While this information appears to be dire, he was hooked up to our equipment for the duration. While our methods may be questioned, our loyalties to the program can’t. I hope once you examine his scans you’ll see we have enough data to move forward on a new approach.
My closest assistant, Delilah, continues to flag customers whose brain scans say they may be able to survive a full time travel merge. Once we can convince them to join the program, we will have more test subjects, and once we nail down this issue, we can move toward our two long-term goals.
Patricia, I know I am asking for more time, and you need this done ASAP. Please see I am working on this as hard as I can.
No one wants this to work more than I do.
My nose has been bleeding since yesterday.
I scroll down and see the intended recipient of the email—Senator Patricia James. It is all coming together, and I am terrified what it means. Mom is up to her eyeballs in illegal research that is killing people. And her assistant Delilah was my technician in my version of the past. I wish I could leap there and find out what she knows, but maybe I can do the next best thing. Maybe I can question her now.
As I’m leaving the office, I bump into Mom. She gasps with surprise. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Bathroom. Meet you in the lobby in ten minutes?”
Mom nods. “See you then.”
I sprint toward the bathroom. I only hope I can get this done in time.
Chapter Ten
I knock on Delilah’s office door and push it open. I smell her afternoon orange tea, and a warm glow emanates from the lit candle on her desk. She spins in her office chair.
“Yes? Lara! What a nice surprise. I didn’t know you were visiting.”
I smile and enter her small office. The desk is cluttered, and she looks very busy, so I need to be brief.
“Having lunch with Mom and thought I’d say hi.” I take the seat in front of her desk. “She had to spring out to the lab. A big emergency.”
Delilah’s eyes cloud over. “Yes.” She returns to her computer and her shoulders hunch with the weight of the world.
I shake my head. “I can’t believe it. Time traveling without use of the system? Off the grid? I guess that would give Senator James a lot of power, huh?”
Delilah’s head snaps up. She’s perspiring, and her lips twitch at the corners. “She … she told you?”
I nod. “But I won’t tell anyone.” I hold up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Anger flickers across her face. “Why in the world she would … This is dangerous, understand? We could all go to jail. All of us. Even the Senator. You can’t breathe a word of it. Promise me, Lara.”
I nod. “I never realized you were so important, flagging people down with this power. How do you do it?”
“Really, Lara …” She glances over her shoulder. “We study the brain waves. We can detect when someone tries to interfere with the past, even by accident. Then I can just mark their chart.”
“And make sure they keep coming back?” I ask.
Delilah nods quickly. “I keep them under close surveillance. I can see when their brain is changing. After that, I make sure they keep wanting to change things.”
I cock an eyebrow. “And you make sure no one realizes they are changing things.”
Her eyes grow sharp. “But you can’t tell anyone. If the police, the government, were to find out we’re working for the Senator, we’d all fry. What we’re doing breaks all the time travel laws Congress put in place.”
Forcing a smile, I stand. “I promise,” I say, my mouth growing dry.
I ponder all the times I traveled into the past to map out my route. Each time, Delilah was my assistant. Was it mere chance, or is it possible she was spying on me? She had been my mom’s partner. Is it possible she continued the research after my mom died?
But if Delilah was keeping tabs on me, if she was monitoring my brain when I changed the past, that means she witnessed it. And if she kept it a secret, that means she flagged me. And if she flagged me, I soon could end up like Mr. Jenkins.
Chapter Eleven
All through lunch I try to enjoy my time with Mom, but my mind keeps drifting away. Rewind is set up to be an indulgent service, like getting your butt lipo-sucked or getting a massage. It's supposed to be fun, but apparently it’s a cover for something deeper and more dangerous. My mom, the woman I’ve missed all my life, is working on something that could change the course of history for the better or the worse. I know how badly changing one little thing messed up my life, my dad’s life.
How dangerous would the power to remove memories be? Memories make us who we are, that much I've learned. What if Democrats assassinate the next Republican president before he is even old enough to walk? What if they learn how to wipe out memories on a mass scale and use it to control the population?
I thought Mom was mugged and killed. I thought she was innocent, but now I'm finding out there were reasons people could have wanted her dead, wanted her research stopped. Mom was supposed to be special, angelic, and I was supposed to be special too. When I first discovered I could interact with the past, I thought I was the only one.
My mind drifts back to that day. The first day I traveled back in time. Back on my sixteenth birthday when I went back to my very first birthday.
****
I’m sitting in the corner of a family-style restaurant with an alternating-color tile floor. The room is decorated with pink balloons and streamers. Apparently, I’m in the midst of a party. A woman with curly hair holds a baby girl wearing a pink headband. Around them people are smiling, even though the baby is still crying from the popped balloons.
One of them says ‘Happy 1st Birthday.’
I’m confused and frustrated. Why am I here? Who are these people? Was I invited to the party, and if so, why didn’t I bring a present? Glancing down in my hand, I see a crumpled flier. I smooth it in my hand and see it’s from Rewind.
You may experience temporary short-term memory loss. You have fifteen minutes in the past.
In the past?
Time travel?
I look up at the woman in front of me. The curly hair framing her face reminds me of mine. She’s bouncing her baby girl on her leg, and I realize it’s not a newborn but an older baby. The woman kisses the baby’s cheek, her eyes twinkling like stars.
“Lara, it’s just a balloon. It’s okay.”
Lara?
A young man I assume is the father sits next to her. He dances a doll in front of the baby’s chunky arms, a giant grin on his face. The baby giggles and reaches for it.
“You always know what to do,” the woman says.
He winks at her. “It’s why you married me.”
“One of the reasons.” They lean forward to kiss.
Their love radiates around them like a glowing bubble, and for a little while I’m inside it, taking in the sight of the couple kissing the baby, laughing with each other. I forget I don’t belong here as they cut the cake and the baby smashes it with her fists. I love the way the dad drapes his arm over his wife’s shoulder.
I take in one final moment of watching the mom cuddle the baby before I turn away and smack into the waitress behind me holding a drink tray. Squealing in horror, I bend down to help her. Water and soda is splashed on the floor, all over my sneakers, everywhere.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, helping her pick up the broken glass and placing it on her tray.
“It’s okay,” she mumbles, but I know it isn’t. Her cheeks are bright red; she’s mad.
A flash of memory hits me from my time at Rewind. “You will be like a hologram, unable to touch or interact with the past, even though they will see you. After you are gone, you will fade from their memory, and it will be as if you were never there.”
But I bumped into the waitress. I picked up the glass.
“I can interact with the past,” I whisper as the gears in my mind begin to whirl.
Beginning to form a plan, I throw a glance over my shoulder at the parents as my world fades to black.
****
I come to awareness as I’m stabbing the prongs of my fork into a Cobb salad. I sigh. It’s one of my favorite lunches, but I can't focus on eating it. I look up. Apparently I’m still at lunch with my mom.
She stops chewing and sips her iced tea. “For someone who wanted to go to lunch, you’re not doing a very good job of actually eating it.”
“Sorry.” I cringe and sip my drink too. “I feel real bad how I yelled at you earlier.”
Mom smiles, not altogether happy but not pissed off either. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have slapped you, and I feel real bad about that. Real bad.” She uses her baby blue cotton napkin to wipe her mouth. “I promised myself it would never happen again, and here we both are.”
“Again?” Her words haunt me. Why did she slap me the last time? Is our relationship that bad?
“It’ll be different this time.” Mom nods and digs back into her sandwich.
My mind wanders back to the fight in the kitchen I overheard. “How are things with the Senator?”
The lines on her face become serious. “We haven’t spoken in a while. We don’t talk all the time, you know.”
“Oh,” is all I can bother to say.
“It’s true we used to be closer.” It seems Mom can easily spin a web of lies, leaving me to wonder what else she might be lying about. “She gave me my job, my career. I have a lot to thank her for.”
“She’s one of the founders of Rewind,” I say, trying to make it sound less of a question than it really is.
Mom nods. “Without her we never would’ve met Jax, and I wouldn’t have this job. We owe her … a lot.”
My stomach rolls.
“Why the sudden interest in Donovan’s mom?”
I shrug. “No reason. Just figured I’d ask.” I take a moment to swallow some water. “Have you ever seen a gold dragon tattoo before?”
Mom chokes and spits out her iced tea all over her plate. She reaches for her napkin to cover her mouth, eyes wide.
I am going to take that for a yes.
“Lara, where have you seen a man with a dragon tattoo?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Around. On the subway, I think.” I try to play it casual and coil a piece of hair around a finger.
“Well … keep your distance. Those men aren’t friendly.”
“So you know who they are?”
Mom nods. “Only from what I read in the papers. They’re with the mob.”
Now it’s my turn to be shocked. “The mob?”
Why would the mob be following me? What was I getting myself into?
“Yes, so keep your distance.”
I nod. “Promise.”
“Good.” She pauses, and the tension increases between us. “So what did you and your dad talk about?”
“Dad?” I ask with a mouth full of salad. I take the time to chew before swallowing. “Oh you know. Grades. Asked about my boyfriend.”
Mom smirks. “I bet he loved that.”
“Well, what else is there to talk about?” I fish through my salad looking for the last crouton. “You met Dad in high school, didn’t you?”
Mom has a faraway stare on her face, one I’ve never seen before. “He was a football player, not the star, except maybe to me. We were friendly.” Mom shrugs, twirling her hair around her finger. “We hung in groups back then, and he asked me to go to the movies alone. And that was that.”
She smiles wide at the memory, and I swear her cheeks are flushed. I guess her memory of John Crane can’t be all bad.
“We married young, and he supported me all through college even when his career took a hit. I never would’ve guessed …” Her voice cracks. “…would’ve guessed where we’d end up.” She returns her attention to her sandwich.
I’ve been so focused on how I felt and what happened to Dad that I haven’t stopped to think until now how hard it must have been on Mom to think Dad wanted her dead. But it wasn’t real, it was a lie. It didn’t matter to Mom, though, because to her it was real.
My head is suddenly jolted with pain. My eyes squeeze shut, and I see a flash of light. The freight train of a memory is back to make its run through my brain. I try to keep it away, concentrating only on the present, but it’s coming hard and fast. I only hope that this time I won’t fall on the ground with my nose bleeding.
****
When the flash of light clears, I’m a little girl lying in the spare bedroom of my grandmother’s house. The comforter is pink with lace trim, perfect for a little girl, and the room has all of my things, but I’m still scared. Each breath I take is loud in my ears, and all I want to do is pretend to sleep.
I bury my nose in my pillow and squeeze my arm tight against my stuffed unicorn, the one doll I could never live without. My breathing slows, and I shut my eyes until they’re barely open, so it looks as if I’ve fallen asleep because I’m not alone. Mom is on her knees by my bed, stroking my curls and humming a song. “Twinkle Little Star,” I think. It’s hard to tell because her voice is quivering. It scares me that Mommy could be so upset she can’t hum our song. A sob catches in her throat, and I pretend to sleep, so she’ll think I’m okay too. But my heart is broken in ways I can’t understand.
I miss Daddy. I want him back, and I don’t understa
nd why the news and all the adults think he’d hurt Mommy or me. He loves us. But I want Mom to know I’m okay. I want her to know I’m going to be okay.
“Come have some tea, Miranda.”
My grandmother’s voice nearly makes me jump, but I manage to keep myself together as Mom pulls her hand away from my head. She pulls the blanket around my small frame, making me feel cozy, safe. She covers my forehead in little kisses, and I can’t help but smile. About the time I think she’s going to leave, I hear her speak.
“How can I …?” Her voice warbles into a sob, and my grandmother’s heels make their way across the floor.
“Come,” she whispers. “We will drink tea, and you will pull yourself together.”
“John—”
“Tonight, you cry,” my grandmother says, “and I’ll cry too, but tomorrow Lara needs us. She needs you. You need to be stronger than this. Tomorrow.”
****
The sun seems brighter when I reopen my eyes again. I rub my forehead, and Mom stares at me. “Lara? Are you all right?”
“Just a headache,” I say and rush some water.
She takes a deep breath and struggles to release it. “I’m calling your doctor when I get back to the office. I hope we can get in to see him in a few days.”
“Okay,” I say while my stomach sinks. I don't know if the doctor will give me a clean bill of health, but I really don't want to go, and I'm pretty sure after my bleeding nose last night, I'm not going to get out of it.
“Okay? I thought you hated going to the doctor?”
I shrug. “Can you drop me off at the house? I have homework and stuff. When you’re done.”
“Sure,” she says and checks her watch. “I guess it is time to get back to work, but I had fun, Lara. Really. Let’s do this again, real soon.” She takes a moment to give me a brilliant smile and then holds her hand up to get our waiter’s attention.
I try to be happy but can’t. I’m a ticking time bomb.
