by Cooper, Jill
I shrug. “Going to go see him. I have to start somewhere. Even though nothing will ever be right here, I have to help him before…” I hadn’t meant to tell him quite this much.
“Before what?”
“My mind melds completely with this timeline.” I take a deep breath. “I’m remembering things I shouldn’t. Headaches come, like the one you saw me have yesterday. I knew…it was a danger. I didn’t think—”
“But you did it anyway?” His eyes narrow. “Do you ever think about consequences?”
“Sometimes,” I offer with a shrug.
He jerks away when I try to touch his arm. “It makes me uncomfortable. You know all these things some other version of me told you, and you’re looking at me like you expect something of me. Like what? Should I fall back in love with you? Because you told me that’s how things are supposed to be?”
“No.” For such a small word, I choke on it big time. “It wouldn’t matter. You wouldn’t have any of my memories—sitting at the beach, that time you cheered me up by taking me to the zoo and roaring with the lions. It’d be … meaningless. Without those memories …” I shrug.
I’m so heartbroken, and the air is so thick, I gag on it. My senses intensify. The grass seems greener, the air is cooler, and my breath more labored. I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them again Rick is watching me with pools of pity.
It makes me sick and puts a metallic taste in my mouth. “Better go,” I whisper. “Not sure why I thought this was a good idea.”
“Wait a second, Lara.” His tone slows my marching feet, and I pause without turning back. I don’t think I could stomach looking into his eyes one more time today.
“If you need help, with your dad. Well, let me know. What I do remember is he was good to me, so let me know.”
Taking a deep breath, I nod. I try to say thanks, but nothing comes out. Instead, I start walking. I leave the river, heading toward the closest T stop, but my feet are sore and I’m exhausted. I stand on the corner and wait for a cab.
The hairs on the back of my neck go up, and when I glance back, I see two men. They both are wearing leather coats with sunglasses, and one has a tattoo of a gold dragon going up his neck. Whoever they are, they are bad news, and I can’t help but think of my diary entry as I watch them cross the street. If they don’t change their trajectory, they will be on me in seconds.
I flag down a cab and give him my address, happy to be safe. The back is air conditioned but smells of mold and old socks. I go through my wallet to find cash, but all I have is my credit card. That might come in handy. I pull it out and something wedged behind the plastic falls out.
A key.
Chapter Eight
I’m the first one home, and I make a mad dash for the kitchen. I pour two glasses of milk and find a big platter to lay out cookies and candies. I don’t know what Mike and Molly like, but I’m sure no kid can resist a bribe made of sugar. I place the platter on the table and get out some napkins. Another sweep of the kitchen and I spot the morning newspaper Jax was reading so intently.
I smooth the wrinkles and read the first page headline:
“Congress to vote on time-travel bill”
Senator Patricia James has put forth a bill allowing select police officers to travel back in time to verify witness testimony and hunt down dangerous suspects. Currently, the police need to petition the courts for access using a time-consuming process. Critics argue that frequent time travel will scramble the officers’ brains and interfere with the due process afforded to individuals charged with crimes. The bill is set to be voted on early next week.
Senator James was one of the founding members of Rewind before being elected to public office four years ago. She has made it her life’s mission to thwart dangerous crimes by providing safe time travel for officers of the law.
Senator Patricia James.
James.
Wasn’t that Donovan’s last name?
I jump when the front door slams. A chorus chimes out from the kids. “We’re home!”
Their nearly identical faces smile at me, and I come back with a grin of my own. “Hi, kids!”
I swoop down to give them big bear hugs, and I’m crushed under their embrace. I can’t help but feel the warmth and love that bubbles from them to me. Their faces are all chubby cheeks and glowing eyes, and they smile infectiously. Mischief skips across my lips as I give them kisses.
“I have a surprise for you guys. Follow me.”
I take each of their hands in mine and lead them into the kitchen. As they see the table, smiles break out.
“Yay!”
They make a break for their chairs. The legs are grating against the floor before I can even sit down. They each put a cookie on their small saucers. Molly slowly and deliberately dunks hers into milk, while Mike shoves the entire thing into his mouth.
I sit with them and take a bite. “How was school?”
Molly goes first. “Good. We read about dogs, and I worked on my subtraction tables.”
“Handwriting is lame.” Mike shrugs. “We use computers most of the time anyway. Who cares if I can sign my name?”
“Legal documents. It’s nice to know.”
“I guess.” Mike goes back to drinking his milk.
“Want to watch a movie after? What’s your favorite?”
“Tangled!” Molly says and gives me a smile revealing two front teeth. “No, no, Brave!”
“Oh, not again. I'd rather watch Iron Man,” Mike says.
My eyes narrow, but I keep my tone playful. “Are you allowed to watch Iron Man?”
Molly giggles and points at him, and he slouches further down. “No.”
“We can find something the three of us like.”
Molly giggles again, this time pointing at me.
“What’s so funny? Do I have crumbs on my shirt?”
“No, but duh.”
I try not to laugh. “Duh?”
Molly nods, but Mike is the one who speaks. “Movies, plates of cookies. You want something.”
“Uh-huh!” Molly says, but it doesn’t stop her from taking another cookie. “I like it when you want something.”
“Okay, okay.” I sigh, realizing my approach isn’t working. These kids are too smart for their own good. “You’re right, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” As I say the words, they ring true. I do love them even if I barely remember them.
“Maybe we can help,” Mike says. “Like that time we helped you sneak out to see Donovan after dark.”
My lips twist to the side. “Okay, but it stays at the table, or I’ll tell Mom about that time you threw your dinner down the garbage disposal.” I figure they are young, this must have happened at least once.
From the fear in Molly’s face, I have her pegged as the guilty party. Her eyes open wide, and her mouth drops. “Okay, okay! We promise!”
“Good.” I smile. “I wanted to talk about Mom for a few minutes.”
They exchange nervous glances but stay silent.
“It makes me sad she’s gone so long.”
Molly nods. “Me too,” she whispers.
“But we don’t want to make her feel bad,” Mike says quickly. “We hate when Mommy’s sad.”
“Me too,” I admit, and my nose scrunches into a ball. “Maybe we should surprise her with a special present. Show her how much we love her.”
The kids start bouncing up and down in their seats, and I know I have them. “I could take you shopping tomorrow after school. Maybe swing by your school and we can go together.”
Molly giggles. “I love the mall! But Mom says I’m too young to hang out there by myself.” She pouts with her bottom lip protruding out.
“Well, she’s right about that.” I play with a cookie on the platter. “What does she like? What do you guys think would make a great present?”
The kids look at each other as if they are reading each other’s minds. “Mom likes cats.”
“You like cats,”
Mike tells Molly. “She’s always out late. Maybe we should give her a gift certificate to a restaurant.”
“Or a spa,” Molly adds.
“No, no.” I sigh, agitated, then snap my fingers. “That’s a bad idea. I mean a gift from us, from our heart to hers, not a piece of plastic money. That’s what you buy a teacher or your boss.”
Molly’s lips curve down. “I thought it’s what you liked.” Her voice is hushed and small. I watch her little face scrunch up, about to dissolve in a fit of tears.
“Oh, Molly.” Crestfallen, I reach over and hug her, plopping her down on my lap. “I do, normally. I want this gift to be extra special.” I stroke her hair back, and her tears taper off. She snuffles back the last of her running nose.
“It’s a gift. Isn’t that special?” Mike asks.
“Even more special than Christmas,” I say, eyebrows dancing with exaggerated excitement.
Molly looks up at me, eyes growing wide. She fidgets until she’s off my lap and running from the kitchen. I throw confused eye darts at Mike.
He shrugs. “Girls.”
Molly runs back in and hands me a flyer. “I saw Mommy looking at this one morning before work.”
I smooth out the paper’s wrinkles and see a silver necklace. It has a heart pendant with birthstones attached to the front. “This is great. We’ll go tomorrow to the mall and then bring it to Mom’s work. You guys know where that is?”
Molly giggles and covers her mouth while Mike rolls his eyes at me. “We all know.”
“Sure you do,” I tease. “But if you don’t tell me, how am I supposed to know if you know?”
Mike narrows his eyes and blurts out, “Rewind. See, I told you I know.”
“Mom …” I feel the color drain from my face, and my stomach wretches.“…works for the time travel agency?”
Mike nods. “You really didn’t know?” Molly asks. “But we’ve been there,” she rushes on. “We saw Mommy in her white lab coat, and she told us—”
“Not to touch anything,” Mike says. “Her experiments and research are important, and she doesn’t want anyone to mess them up.”
“But she’s almost done!” Molly’s shoulders scrunch up to her ears with excitement. “Then we can go on a vacation with water slides!”
“Yay!” they both cry out, throwing their arms up in the air while I desperately try not to puke.
Our arrangement is forgotten as they run to the living room. I put the cookies away, trying to piece together what this means before I join them. I find them on the sofa, arguing over who gets control of the remote.
“Remember,” I say, wiping my hands on my pants, “It’s a surprise. So don’t tell Mommy or Daddy.”
“Or Daddy?” Molly asks, mouth falling open. “But, how will you get us out of school?”
“I have my ways.” I wiggle an eyebrow at them and plant a kiss on each of their heads.
Mike looks up at me, his blue eyes like Jax’s, staring right through me. “Can we get McDonald’s at the mall?”
“Happy meal!” Molly choruses.
I love their little faces more than anything. The love tugs at me, and I wonder how my life was ever complete without these little monkeys. “I’ll get you anything you want as long as you don’t tell.”
They promise, hands over their hearts, and I retreat to my room to do my homework.
And to think.
****
My homework is laid out in front of me. I try to concentrate on it, but I’ve read the same page four times, and the end of my pencil has snapped off.
Mom worked for Rewind. I scour my brain, trying to find a memory of that, but I can’t. I can do little else than fret about what this means. Why is Mom always working late? What project is she close to finishing? And how does this tie into our past? Maybe tomorrow I can get some answers from Dad, but until then my brain is going to whirl with wonderings and horrible what if scenarios.
At this point, Rewind is my enemy. If they find out what I did, I'll be arrested. Or worse, they will try to fix the mess I created. But maybe that’s what should happen. Maybe, but I’m not ready to let Mom go. We haven’t spent any time together yet. My mind floats back to six months ago, the first time I went back in time to see Mom.
****
Dad is buying me the time travel package as a present. I know how much it’s costing him, but his face is glowing as we step inside the sterile agency. The walls are pristine white and the furniture is unnatural silver, comfortable but stark to the eye.
I clutch the brochures while I study all the information laid out in them about time travel sickness and what would happen if you try to affect the past, but luckily such a thing isn’t possible, or so the brochures tell me.
Dad sits on the sofa beside me and keeps crossing and uncrossing his legs and rubbing his neck. I’m not sure what he’s nervous about. I’m the one attempting time travel for the first time, and my stomach is a bubble of nerves.
A lady approaches with severe red hair clipped back in a tight French twist that makes her face look like a stretched marquee. We stand and she shakes Dad’s hand. “Delilah, thanks for taking us so quickly,” Dad says.
She smiles and squeezes my hand. “Make yourself at home, John. I’ll bring her back when I’m done.”
I look back over my shoulder and Dad grins, but he seems nervous as he walks over to the magazines.
****
I didn’t notice it then, but now it’s obvious to me that Delilah and Dad knew each other prior to that first trip to the agency. They were never introduced. They knew each other. But I was so excited about seeing Mom that I didn't even think about that.
****
I follow Delilah into a private room and try to relax in the overstuffed recliner. She busies herself around the room before slipping a heart rate monitor on my finger. She spins a few dials on a computer and speaks without looking up.
“The past can see you, even talk to you, but you’re like a hologram projection in their minds. You aren’t able to touch them, take a bus, or even open a door.” She gives me a sad, haunting smile. “I know why you want to see her, but you won’t be able to touch her.”
I nod. “Dad told me.”
“Good.” Her smile is back, pushing up her cheeks and exposing her dimples. “If you tried, you'd set off alarms, and we would pull you out. I’m not saying we’d arrest a kid, but we can’t make exceptions.”
“I get it.” I bite my lip as my nerves flitter around inside me.
She places electrodes on my forehead. “Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. You’ll be dizzy when you get there. Remember, all you have is fifteen minutes.”
Laying my head back, I think of my mother. I can barely remember her face. If it wasn’t for pictures, I would have no memory of her at all. Her voice was once sweet, and her laughter pure, but now it’s almost as if I’m watching a silent film in my head. All I want is to recapture that, and thanks to Dad, I can.
“Happy birthday,” I whisper to myself, and the chair begins to spin. When I open my eyes I’ll be with my mother again, like magic.
****
I open my eyes and see my homework laid in front of me. My nose feels wet, and a few drops of blood splatter to the pages. I can’t remember the last time I had a nose bleed. Rummaging through my desk for a tissue, I notice my hand is laced with traces of blood. I guess I’ll have to work faster if I want to free Dad before my brain hemorrhages. I glance at the clock. Where did the last three hours go? I can’t remember.
Swallowing my fear back to the furthest corner of my mind, I run to the bathroom and get a washcloth. As I’m running it under the tap, I hear footsteps. I hold the cloth to my nose, and a light knock comes at the door.
“Just a second—”
The door opens anyway. Mom, still dressed for work, enters with an alarmed expression.
“When did this start?” She takes the washcloth from me and orders me to sit down on the toilet.
I do a
s she asks and tilt my head up, staring into her warm eyes. She keeps my nose clasped tight and pats some cool water on my cheeks. This is what I missed growing up. I love my dad, but he was always making sure I was self-reliant, which means if I was hurt, I patched myself up. He was probably working anyway.
“A few minutes ago, while I was doing my homework.”
Mom twists her lip and chews on it while her eyes stare off at the wall. When I straighten my head, she releases my nose. The bleeding has tapered off, but she won’t let me go yet. She washes my face clean and then plants several small kisses on my forehead. I put my arms around her waist and bury my head in her stomach. It’s the first real moment we’ve had together. She strokes my hair, seemingly incapable of keeping her lips to herself. Her hugs are urgent, full of worry. “Tomorrow, I’ll call your doctor, make sure everything’s okay.”
“Mom—”
She holds up her hand.
I’m not going to win this battle.
“Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” One more kiss on my cheek and she’s off.
I look back at my reflection in the sterling encased mirror. I’m not ready to give her up. Not ready at all.
Chapter Nine
In the morning, I leave early to avoid questions and end up in an expensive-looking blue sedan. We head toward the prison where Dad has lived for the past ten years. Mr. Grayson seems okay enough, with a face that looks more like a warm grandfather than a ruthless lawyer. I wish Dad had the best council money could buy, but it seems he doesn't. My blood turns to ice as I realize his situation is all my fault.
Mr. Grayson escorts me into a room where I am asked to fill out and sign several forms. After a while, I get a visitor pass and attach it to my sweater. The lawyer and the guards exchange head nods, and Grayson signs his name. He rests his hand gently on my shoulder.
“You sure you’re ready for this? If you’re having second thoughts …”
