by M. S. Parker
Had I been wrong, thinking that I should come back? Wanting to come back? Maybe I’d been fooling myself all along, and this time flux I was caught in had nothing to do with fate—and everything to do with time just screwing around with me.
If I was meant to actually be with him, why had three fucking years passed?
Why had I come back when he was involved with another woman?
Why had I disappeared at all?
Swearing, I dropped my head into my hands.
“Um…lady?”
The voice caught me off-guard and I jerked my head up, looking over to the boy next to me. He was skinny and red-faced, tugging his hat as I met his eyes.
“Are…um…” He stammered, tripping over every syllable. “Are you oh—oh—okay?”
“What?”
He started to say it again.
Shaking my head, I held up a hand. “I’m fine.”
I wasn’t, not really.
But I doubted this poor kid wanted to hear me tell him about how I was from the future, how I’d come back to the year 1962, fallen in love, gone back to the future and now here I was again, with three years gone by and the man I was in love with now seeing another woman.
That didn’t sound crazy at all.
Giving him a weak smile, I said again, “I’m fine.”
I looked back down at my lap as a bus slowed down. Checking the time on my watch, I saw that another half hour had somehow passed. I needed to figure out where to go, what to do.
But what was I supposed to do?
I didn’t really know anybody here. There was Glenn. Peter clearly didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Not that I could blame him. He’d said I’d destroyed Glenn’s career, that I’d almost destroyed Glenn. Peter was probably more worried about Glenn’s career than Glenn himself, but regardless, the man wasn’t going to help me out. He just wanted me to leave and never come back.
Maybe I should.
It wasn’t like there was a glaring sign telling me that I needed to be here.
Last time, at least I’d understood that I needed to help Florence.
Maybe you’re here to help Glenn this time…
My mind had shied away from every small tidbit I’d caught when I’d been researching. After finding that one article that referenced me, I’d avoided trying to find out much about Glenn’s future. It had hurt too much. But I did know that Glenn’s life had fallen apart.
If I was here to help him, then maybe…
Okay, so in a way, that made sense. Of course, if I hadn’t disappeared to begin with, I wouldn’t have to help put Glenn’s life back together. But I couldn’t think about all of that. I couldn’t try to understand why I was here now instead of coming back closer to when I’d disappeared, and I couldn’t start to understand why I’d disappeared anyway.
The necklace I wore heated, and I was tempted to take the damn thing off and throw it—hard.
But I didn’t.
The boy next to me cleared his throat, and I managed to give him a polite look.
“Is that your bus?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I watched as it pulled to a stop. If I’d had the money, I might have gotten on, ridden as far as I could, as fast as I could. It would be a way to escape everything in my head. For a while at least. I could have avoided thinking, avoiding sitting there feeling lost and lonely.
But I had no money. No fiancé. No real friends, either. The only people I really knew were Glenn, Peter, and Florence.
“Take care, lady,” the boy said as he stood and started toward the bus.
“Yes.” My voice was faint.
But my heart was racing.
Florence.
I had to get to Florence.
Maybe Peter didn’t give a damn about me, but I’d bet anything that Florence would be willing to talk to me.
“Oh, my goodness…Maya!”
Florence all but threw open the passenger door of the car and came rushing toward me. With the scarf wrapped around her hair and a pair of sunglasses obscuring her face, it would have been hard to recognize her—unless you knew her.
But I did know her, and the sight of a familiar face made the tears I’d been fighting off well up hard and fast.
We met in the middle of the sidewalk and she threw her arms around me. I was taller than her and before, I’d felt like I’d been the one protecting her.
But now she hugged me close and made shushing sounds under her breath as if she could sense how torn apart I felt.
After a moment, she drew back and studied me.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, her voice a little husky. “You wouldn’t believe how we worried for you.”
I blinked back the tears.
“Does Glenn know you’re here? Maya, where were you? What happened?”
I glanced back over my shoulder at the gas station attendants. They were being polite with their scrutiny. I could barely tell they were watching or listening, but I knew they were. “I can’t talk about it here, Florence,” I said, shaking my head.
“Oh.” She laughed a little, a nervous sort of sound. “Of course not. How silly. Come on. There’s somebody I want you to meet.” She caught my hand and tugged. “He can get your bags, if that’s alright?”
“I don’t have any bags,” I said.
I don’t know if she even heard me. We had only taken a few steps when Florence let go of my hand to reach for the man who had been watching us from a few feet away.
He was tall with dark eyes and short, neatly cropped black hair. His skin was a pale, pale gold, hinting at something in his ancestry—either that, or he had taken to worshipping the sun.
“Maya, this is Astor…my husband.”
“Hi.” I smiled at him, wishing I could feel something more than exhaustion and confusion. I was happy for Florence. It was clear by the way she looked at the man in front of me that she loved him. But I couldn’t work up any kind of enthusiasm just then. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He took the hand I’d held out and gave it a firm squeeze. “The feeling is mutual. I’ve heard a great deal about you, Maya. And I owe you my thanks.”
“For what?” Perplexed, I studied him.
“You saved Florence’s life. If you hadn’t done that, I never would’ve met her.” He skimmed a hand down her shoulder and tugged her in close for a hug.
She lifted her cheek and he kissed her gently, as though they’d rehearsed those movements a thousand times.
Envy whispered through me, but I crushed it. Florence was happy. She deserved that.
The muffled roar of an engine pulling into the gas station interrupted the odd, stilted silence that had settled between us, and I summoned up a smile. “I guess we should get moving. We’re just standing around and taking up space. I didn’t even buy any gas.”
“You don’t have a car,” Florence said.
“I know.” I couldn’t even summon up a laugh. “It was a joke.”
“You haven’t spoken to Glenn at all?”
Florence and I sat near a pool that shimmered a serene turquoise. She’d had some of my old clothes. I’d asked her how she’d come to have them, and she had just shrugged in response. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the answer, so I didn’t push.
Now, as we sat by the pool, I looked away and focused on the endless stretch of blue sky. “No. I haven’t talked to him. I went to see Peter and he…well.”
I lifted a shoulder, not willing to describe the conversation we’d had.
“I take it Peter was a bit of an ass.” She sipped from a glass of lemonade, her eyes steadily on mine.
“I can’t say I blame him.” Pushing my hair back from my face, I twisted my hands in my lap.
“No. I don’t suppose you can. You disappeared for three years, after all. Glenn went crazy after losing you.”
I heard no accusation in her voice, and when I looked at her, her eyes were kind.
She seemed so much stronger now; so very steady.
“What happened, Maya? Where did you go? Why did you go?” she asked.
“I…” Licking my lips, I struggled for a way to explain. But how could I? And what would I say?
“Is it too hard to talk about right now?” A concerned expression in her eyes, Florence reached out and took my hand, squeezing gently. “If you can’t bring yourself to talk to me, I understand. But you should talk to somebody. However bad it was—”
“No.” I tugged my hand free and pushed myself upright, pacing over the edge of the pool. “It wasn’t…I…hell. I can’t talk about it right now. I just can’t.”
“Alright.” Florence nodded. “Perhaps if you can’t talk to me, you can consider talking to Astor.”
I shot her a narrow look. “I don’t even know him.”
“That’s partly why it might make it easier,” she said gently. “I didn’t know him either. And it was…easier to tell him than to tell anybody else.”
Shaking my head, I went back to looking over the pool’s shimmering blue-green water. “I don’t get it.”
“He was one of the doctors at that hospital.”
For a few seconds, I stood there, processing what she’d said. Then I spun around, gaping at her. “You married one of your doctors?”
The ethical issue in that just about blew my mind, but then, as Florence closed her eyes and leaned back in the chaise lounge, the light glinted off the pearls at her throat. Her dress fell around her in demure folds. She was a picture of by-gone elegance. Or to my modern mind, what seemed like by-gone elegance.
Things were different in the sixties. Very different.
Still, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that a doctor had married one of his patients was completely mind-boggling.
Florence told me how she and Astor had fallen in love; how she’d been out of the clinic for over a month and hadn’t so much as received a call from him, then he showed up on her doorstep with roses in hand.
“We spent a month pretending that we were just dating. Then we stopped playing around and he asked me to marry him.” She sighed happily. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I’m happy for you.”
She looked over at me. “Thank you.”
Nodding, I turned back to the pool.
“Are you going to try to talk to Glenn?”
Florence’s question was one I’d asked myself a dozen times over the past couple of hours. I had to talk to him, didn’t I? He was the entire reason I’d come back.
But what would I say?
“I don’t know.” Scared and embarrassed, I turned to look at her once more. “I don’t have any money. I don’t have anywhere to go. And I don’t know what to do.”
“You need help.”
“Yes.” Swiping my damp hands over the legs of my jeans, I said quietly, “I need help. I don’t have any right to ask, but—”
“You saved my life,” Florence said, cutting me off. She rose from her chair and put the lemonade down before she came to me. “You saved my life, and most importantly, you’re my friend. You have every right to ask.”
She caught me in another hug and squeezed tight. “You’ll stay here for as long as you need to.”
10
Maya
“Hey, honey.”
I looked up from the newspaper I had been reading in hopes of finding a job. Of course, I was also trying to catch up on all the current affairs.
And there was a lot going on.
Too bad the internet wasn’t a thing. It would make all this easier…a lot easier.
But I had to find a job. Fortunately, people weren’t as stringent on things like social security cards and driver licenses, although I’d have to get them eventually.
I was more than qualified for most of the jobs available. Sadly, most of what was available right now just didn’t appeal, was too far away, or involved playing some two-bit extra in a movie.
“How are you doing?” Florence put a cup of coffee in front of me.
Sighing, I folded the paper and reached for the drink, already craving a hit of caffeine.
“I’m batting a zero so far when it comes to the job thing. Not a whole lot in the area that I can do, unless I want to try to pick up something as an extra in a movie. There’s a nanny job, but…” I shrugged a shoulder. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to apply for a nanny. What if I disappeared again?
“I don’t think I’d want to take care of somebody else’s kids,” Florence said in a musing tone. “I’d rather take care of my own. Are you interested in being an extra? I can put a good word in for you. It's not bad money.”
“No!” That wasn't even an option. I couldn’t exactly explain my fears to her, but what would happen if my face got caught on camera, and somebody like my Uncle Daniel saw it decades from now? Sure, it would likely be written off as a coincidence, but why take that chance?
Florence laughed. “I don’t think you could have been more emphatic about that if you had tried.” She sipped her coffee and watched me pensively. “But you know, that wasn't really what I meant. I was wondering if you were ready to go see him. If you had…centered yourself.”
“I don’t know.” I swallowed and looked away. “He seems to be doing just fine on his own, Florence. He’s got a girlfriend. He’s working. He’s gotten his life on track. I mean, good for him, right?”
“Is that what you think?” She cocked a brow. “Here I was thinking you’ve been girding your loins and getting ready to face him. But maybe you’ve just been in denial.”
Amused despite myself, I said, “Girded my loins? I don't quite think that phrase would apply to us, you know. Men were the ones who girded up. Women were expected to stay home and keep the fire burning.”
“And the bed warm.” Florence laughed. She shrugged. “Hey, it could be worse. At least we can work and vote, right?”
I thought about how different things were in my time. Then I thought about how some things were almost turning backward in some ways, and there was a part of me that wanted to weep.
But even as twisted as some things were in my time, they weren’t anything like what some people had to face now. I had spent the past few days reading the paper, reading magazines, watching the news. Everything was portrayed from a certain lens, and it wasn't one that I particularly liked.
The Civil Rights Movement was in full swing. As surreal as it felt, I was reading about sit-ins and marches and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr as things were happening—not from a historical perspective.
The sad part was that the African Americans fighting to achieve equality were being painted as the bad guys. In a few decades, they’d be hailed as heroes, but for now, some of them were being beaten, jailed…killed.
“You can’t hide forever. You aren't going to feel better until you talk to him,” Florence said softly.
How could I explain that I wasn’t exactly hiding? I just…I’d hurt him. What right did I have to remind him of what I’d done?
He haunted my thoughts. Every moment of every day. It didn't help that every time I turned on the TV, I had to brace myself in case I saw a flash of him with his new girlfriend. He wasn't as popular a news bit as he used to be, but he was still there.
And too often, when he was there, so was she.
They looked happy together.
They looked perfect together.
After how badly I had messed up his life, did I really have any right to go interfering with what he’d rebuilt?
Florence had gone and turned out to be surprisingly insightful. She leaned forward and took my free hand with hers. “Maya. Can you look me in the eye and tell me that if he had abruptly disappeared and then turned back up, you wouldn't want to know?”
I clutched at her hand, tears burning my eyes. “Of course I’d want to know. But...”
“But what?” she pressed. “Just tell him the truth. I know you don't want to talk to me, and that's okay. But I can tell whatever it is, it's not like you wanted to
leave. I know what love looks like. I know what it feels like. And I can tell you love him. Are you going to sit there and tell me that you haven't been trying to get back to him?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Then you need to talk to him. You love him. And he's never going to love anybody the way he loved you.”
The key word there was ‘loved’. She squeezed my hand, then got up and walked away.
I sat there, feeling broken inside.
“I know you want to do something, baby. But it’s just so dangerous.” Florence’s low, urgent voice caught my attention and I paused. I’d been on my way back up to my room when I told myself I needed to quit hiding.
I’d ask her how to get a hold of Glenn.
I’d figure this out.
Before I could change my mind, I’d come back downstairs, but now, as I caught the low murmur of voices, I hesitated just outside the parlor where Astor and Florence were talking.
“Are you ashamed of me?” Astor's voice was thick and rough. “Do you regret marrying me?”
What in the hell?
“No!” Florence’s urgent and immediate answer was so fervent, there was so no way she could mean anything other than what she said. “Never. It's just... You know what happened to that couple in Virginia. I know people in California are better than that. It’s just that there are still an awful lot of people who wouldn't agree with you and me.”
The couple in Virginia. People who wouldn’t agree.
As their voices trailed off, I withdrew down the hall. Mind racing, I thought about Astor’s careful demeanor around me. He was…polite, but reserved. I couldn’t say he avoided me, per se, but unless Florence was around, he took care not to be.
That deeply tanned skin of his…
Shit. Astor was biracial, at the very least.
Considering the climate going on now, this was…hell…dangerous.
The case in Virginia had to be the Loving case. I’d studied it in school when we were learning about the Civil Rights movement. Although I couldn’t recall specifics, I knew the marriage between black people and white people had been outlawed in many states up until that case went before the supreme court.
