26
HUNTER
September 1970
Research Triangle Park
The hardest thing about time travel was being completely out of touch with the traveler. I should have worked harder on that when I was with Temporal Solutions in 2018. My mother should have worked harder on it. Maybe they were working on it now. I hoped so, but that wouldn’t do me any good at this moment. Not when I wished like hell that I could get in touch with Carly.
Three portals down and only one to go. I was sitting in my RTP office, staring numbly into space—something I seemed to be doing a lot of in the week and a half since the third portal. Carly’d been in 2001 for four months now and Patti was barely speaking to me. “If you’ve lost my sister, you’ve lost me,” she told me as we once again waited in vain for Carly to appear on Jockey’s Ridge. “I’m serious, Hunter,” she’d said, her gaze on the dunes rather than on me. “I’ll never be able to forgive you.” Her voice sounded cold. It was a voice I’d never heard her use before. We hadn’t made love since the day Carly left. We’d barely even touched, and our only conversations centered around John Paul. “It would be like you killed her,” she added, finally turning to look at me. “Maybe you have.”
Maybe you have.
I looked down at the client file on my desk. I needed to open it and start working on that company’s project. Instead, I folded my hands in my lap, shut my eyes, and tried to think.
Had something gone terribly wrong with one of the portals? It could happen. Or maybe the problem had nothing to do with the portals at all. My sleep these days was filled with nightmares. I’d had a horrendous dream that Carly lost the baby—literally. She lost it and couldn’t find it. Neither Patti nor I could eat, and we’d each dropped over ten pounds. John Paul picked up on our fears and had become a finicky eater as well, even turning away from the brownies Patti baked the other night. The pediatrician told us he was simply having a growth spurt. Not to worry. The pediatrician had no idea how much there was to worry about.
I tried to picture Carly there, in 2001. She was in touch with my mother, wasn’t she? That reassured me. Surely my mother could help her out of any jam she found herself in. Unless … Carly’d died. During childbirth? A car crash? So much might have gone wrong. And if she’d died, we would never know.
Instead of focusing on the work I should be doing for my clients, I ran the portal calculations over and over again. They were correct, every one of them. Yet I knew from experience that many variables outside my control could interfere with a well-calculated stepping-off or a meticulously plotted landing and I began to seriously doubt myself. Doubt the whole plan. My thinking became circular and I couldn’t escape it. So what if I’d met Carly in Princeton when I was fifteen? I should have just forgotten about it. Put it out of my mind. What was the big deal if I’d changed that little bit of the future? She would have lost the baby if she’d stayed in 1970, true. But I worried that the baby might not be all she’d lost now.
All I’d caused her to lose.
27
CARLY
September 2001
New York City
The fourth and final portal was tomorrow, Sunday, at 11:14 P.M. and everything was finally falling into place.
Joanna had spent the last three and a half terrifying weeks in a battle against some mutant bacteria that seemed resistant to every antibiotic the doctors had in their arsenal. Even the infectious-disease specialist that Dr. Davidson called in struggled to find the magic bullet that would make my baby well. It was the most frightening few weeks of my life as we all worried the infection would travel to her heart. After all I’d been through with her, was I going to lose her? She’d turned from an easygoing, sweet-natured baby to a wan and listless little thing, sick from whatever infection she was fighting as well as from the medications that ravaged her body as they worked to make her well. I spent nearly every second in the isolation room with her, even sleeping there at night, and I had dark circles beneath my eyes that I was certain made me look thirty-seven instead of twenty-seven. Like every mother of a sick infant, I was terrified. Unlike every other mother of a sick infant, I had the added fear of not being able to take her home with me to the place and time where she belonged.
A week ago, though, she finally turned the corner. I’d kissed a listless baby good night and a smiling baby good morning. When I saw the light in her eyes and the energy in her reaching arms and kicking legs, I ran from the isolation room into the CICU to find Celeste.
“She’s better!” I nearly shouted. “Come see!”
She was better. Her fever had broken, and while her blood work wasn’t perfect, it was moving in the right direction. For the first time in too long, she wanted to interact with me and I spent the day cuddling her, feeding her, singing to her, all the while counting and recounting the days until tomorrow, the final portal. She was moved out of isolation, and with every passing day, she grew stronger. She was on oral antibiotics now, the IV gone, and her discharge from the hospital was planned for tomorrow morning. Sunday, September 9. I’d been a wreck all week, worrying they wouldn’t discharge her until Monday, a day too late. This seemed like a miracle. It had been a rough few weeks, yes. A rough few months. But in a little over twenty-four hours, we’d be going home.
Yesterday, Celeste and several of the other nurses presented me with an envelope. Inside was a ticket for a bus tour of the city.
“You’ve been in New York all this time and haven’t taken a moment for yourself to see the sights,” Celeste said. “We want you to have a little chill time before you have to head back to North Carolina. You know we’ll take good care of Joanna while you’re enjoying the city.”
I was touched, but playing tourist was the last thing on my mind. I had a very full day planned that allowed no time for a city tour or anything else that would divert my attention from the work at hand. First, I needed to pick up a box of the special formula Joanna was on. Then I needed to carefully pack Hunter’s mustard-yellow backpack with the formula and a few other necessities to be sure I could manage it as well as the sling. Joanna was a little over eight pounds now and I worried that all the weight could throw off Hunter’s calculations.
Perhaps the most important thing I needed to do today was buy a small stepladder, which I planned to take to Central Park to hide in the brush near the Gapstow Bridge.
* * *
Myra called that afternoon while I was walking to the hardware store. “Are you set?” she asked, cryptically. I knew what she meant was, Are you ready to step off tomorrow night?
It was noisy on the sidewalk, the sound of cars zipping by making it hard to hear. I stepped into the entryway of a pharmacy, holding my hand over my free ear. “Yes, everything’s fine,” I said. “Joanna will be released tomorrow morning. I’ll keep her at the condo for the day and then, tomorrow night, we’ll finally head back to—”
“Shh!” she hissed. She sounded angry and I frowned. What had I said to set her off? “I just wanted to be sure everything’s on schedule for you,” she said, and I heard the tightness in her voice.
“Myra, is something—”
“Enough,” she said. “Is there anything else you need from me?”
“No, but I—”
“I need to go now,” she said.
“All right,” I said. “And thank you so much for everything.” Her end of the line clicked off before I’d even finished the sentence.
* * *
At the little neighborhood hardware store, I bought a flashlight and a three-foot-high lightweight stepladder. Leaving the store with the ladder, I was torn between joy and terror. It seemed to have taken forever, but Hunter’s scheme was going to be a success: I had a healthy, beautiful baby, and I was about to take her home. The terror came from the mechanics of the task I was facing: with perfect timing, I needed to climb onto that stone wall and leap into darkness, my precious baby in a sling on my chest. Dear God. It sounded so impossible! What if it was too much for Joa
nna? Myra didn’t seem to think it would be a problem, but she didn’t realize how sick Joanna had been. I was terrified at the thought of harming her after her long struggle to get well.
From the hardware store, I walked the mile and a half to Central Park. One thing I was coming to appreciate about New York: no one gave a woman carrying a stepladder a second glance. I entered the park from a different direction than I had nearly two months earlier when I first checked out the bridge. I wound my way along the trails, transferring the ladder from hand to hand, as I followed the map in my head. Once again, I got lost and had to ask a woman pushing a stroller to point me in the right direction. I would need to carefully memorize the directions for tomorrow night. I couldn’t afford to get lost in the middle of the night with the minutes ticking down to 11:14 P.M.
I finally reached the bridge, but I was not alone. It was a beautiful Saturday and it seemed that everyone had decided to cross the small Gapstow Bridge at that moment. Women pushed strollers. A boy sailed by on one of those crazy skateboards. Two women walked arm in arm, one of them talking on her cell phone. I leaned against the southern wall of the bridge, looking toward the buildings in the distance, feigning nonchalance. The stepladder hanging over my forearm was beginning to cut off circulation. How was I going to do this? My plan had been to hide the stepladder in the brush along the path, and while I’d noticed the perfect spot for it as I’d approached the bridge, I could hardly tuck it away there with all these people around.
I leaned the ladder against the wall and pulled out my phone, pretending to make a call so I didn’t look peculiar—I hoped—as I dawdled on the bridge. After ten minutes or so, the path was suddenly clear of people. I carried the stepladder to the area of overgrowth I’d spotted, then darted into the brush and tucked the ladder behind some shrubbery. I slipped back onto the path as a man jogged by. He didn’t give me a second look, but I was trembling. I wasn’t much good at subterfuge, and it suddenly occurred to me that there might be a security camera nearby. Was that possible? Those invasive cameras seemed to be everywhere in 2001. What if I arrived tomorrow night with Joanna in tow only to find the stepladder gone? How would I get onto the stone wall without it?
Stop worrying, I chided myself. Everything’s going to be fine.
When I left the park, I felt too tired to make the walk to the hospital, so I took a cab. I rode in the backseat thinking, This is my last taxi ride in New York City. Hallelujah! When I picked up Joanna in the morning, I’d walk back to the condo carrying her in the sling. We’d spend the day there together until it was time to head to the bridge. I no longer felt anxious about taking care of her on my own. Other than the medical care, I’d been doing everything for her myself these last couple of weeks in the hospital. I imagined sitting in one of the cushy beige and black chairs in the condo, feeding her and burping her and cuddling her to sleep. I’d be worried, I knew. Worried about our trip in the dark to Central Park. Worried about stepping off at the precise moment. And worried about not injuring Joanna when we landed on the dunes. But I no longer had any worries about caring for her myself. I only wanted the chance.
I spent a few hours with Joanna in the hospital, then headed back to the condominium, where I drank a special tea Celeste had told me would help me sleep. I wanted to be well rested for tomorrow.
* * *
In the morning, I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and light jacket—the air had taken on a sudden early fall chill. I bundled up the sling in my purse. I probably should have purchased a diaper bag like other mothers I saw on the street, but it would have been a waste of money. I’d only be using it today to look like a typical mom. If anyone asked, I’d say I’d left it home. That was the sort of mundane thing I thought about as I walked to the hospital. A couple of people I passed on the street smiled at me and I thought that was a bit unusual until I realized that I was smiling myself. Smiling at the world. Finally, our ordeal was over.
I stopped in the hospital gift shop and picked out a small stuffed teddy bear for John Paul that read I LOVE NEW YORK across its chest. Then I bought a huge box of candy for the nurses. They deserved much more than that, but it was the best I could do. I crammed the teddy bear into my overstuffed purse, then took the elevator to the tenth floor.
I put my purse in the foyer locker I had begun to think of as mine, then scrubbed my hands up to my elbows for the very last time. I knew Celeste was off today, so I sought out Deirdre once I walked into the nursery. She was sitting in one of the recliners, gavage-feeding a preemie.
“I’m ready to take Joanna home,” I announced with a smile.
Dierdre looked up at me in surprise. “Didn’t anyone call you?” she asked.
I froze. “About what?”
“Joanna spiked a fever during the night,” she said. “It seems to be coming down now, but she’s back in isolation. Dr. Davidson wants to keep an eye on her for another forty-eight hours.”
28
I stared dumbly at Deirdre. This cannot be happening, I thought.
“I have to take her today,” I said.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know you had your heart set on her coming home today, but it’s not possible.”
“I’ll call Dr. Davidson.” My hand shook as I pulled my phone from my jeans pocket.
“You can do that,” Deirdre said as she checked the level of formula in the syringe she was holding. “But I know what he’ll say.”
As I dialed the phone, I walked into the isolation room where Joanna lay on her back, sound asleep. I rested my palm against her temple while I was on hold. She was warm, but not hot. Her cheeks had the ghost of the blotchy redness she’d get when she was feverish. They were right to keep her. Right to observe her. But I couldn’t let her stay.
I sat in the recliner, waiting a very long five minutes for Dr. Davidson to come on the line.
“She needs just a few more days,” he said. “It’ll be worth it to know she’s fine before you take her to North Carolina. You don’t want her to end up back in the hospital down there, do you?”
I don’t have a few days, I thought. Sitting there, clutching the phone, I felt dizzy with panic.
“I know you’ve been through so much with her,” Dr. Davidson continued when I didn’t respond. “One scare after another. But she’s doing well and hopefully the fever is just a fluke. But we can’t know that for cer—”
“What if I insist on taking her home today?” I asked.
He didn’t respond right away. “That would be a mistake,” he said finally. “Come on, Caroline. Don’t risk all the progress she’s made by taking her home too soon. I’d have to fight you on that decision,” he added.
I felt like crying. Then I thought of Myra. I could call her. I could get another portal from her. It would worry Hunter when I didn’t show up on this final portal, but at least I’d still have a way to get home.
“Okay,” I said to Dr. Davidson. “I understand.” I was anxious to get off the phone now that I had a plan. Anxious to call Myra.
I shut the door to the isolation room as I dialed Myra’s number. I didn’t want this call overheard. Her number rang only once before I was greeted by a mechanical voice.
The number you have reached is not in service and there is no new number.
Had I misdialed? I tried the number two more times with the same result. How could this be? Myra had called me from this number only yesterday. I remembered how odd she’d sounded, though. How short she’d been with me. She hadn’t wanted me to say too much over the phone.
Heart thumping, I sent her an email from the phone. Please respond, I typed. It’s urgent.
Almost immediately, I received a message back saying that my email had bounced. I pressed my hand to my mouth, staring at my phone. I vaguely remembered something Myra had said a few months ago about having to change everything when someone—the military or the government or someone—got too close to Temporal Solutions’ secrets. Was that what had happened?
Is there a
nything else you need from me? she’d asked me yesterday. Did she actually mean, Is there anything else you need from me before I’m unreachable? I’d told her everything was set for this portal. She thought Joanna and I were ready to go. She thought she could disappear without worrying about us any longer.
* * *
I went through the motions of taking care of Joanna that morning. She slept more than usual, and although her temperature was barely elevated, she wasn’t her usual smiley self. She turned away from the bottle after only a few minutes and she showed little interest in my songs or my chatter. Dr. Davidson was right: she needed to stay in the hospital. I thought briefly of stealing her. I’d steal her, then I could—quite literally—disappear with her into thin air tonight and no one would ever be able to find us. But at what risk? I would never forgive myself if I did something to harm her already fragile health.
I had two choices, I thought, as I sat next to her isolette. I could stay in 2001 with Joanna. I’d have no job, no usable degree, no way to make a living, no friends or family, and after Myra’s time-traveler friend returned, no place to live. Most likely, my credit card would soon be cut off since Myra expected me to be gone.
My only other choice was to take the portal tonight by myself. I could get a new portal to return to 2001 from Hunter. I’d ask for the soonest he could come up with. It didn’t matter where he had me land. I would find my way back to the hospital and Joanna. I could return with a few new portals to take her back to 1970. How I was going to leave 2001 and my daughter, though, I didn’t know.
* * *
At six o’clock, I kissed my sleeping baby good-bye, tears running down my cheeks and spilling onto hers. “I’ll come back as soon as I can, sweetheart,” I whispered to her. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
I left a note for Celeste telling her I had to help a friend who was having a medical emergency and that I’d be back in a couple of days. Then I slipped out of the CICU, not wanting anyone to see my tears, and I cried as I began walking to the condominium. People on the street turned away from me, uncomfortable at witnessing my grief.
The Dream Daughter Page 19
