Home.
Home had plumbing. She could pee. She could take a bath…
Boy, did she need a bath. And look at that hair. Helmet hair. She had helmet hair, quite possibly the worse case in the history of the world.
The black sweater felt coarse and stiff against her chin and it bulged strangely out from her chest. The goggles. And the papers—she felt around and found them still there, too. Amazing. She removed both and stuffed them in the bedside drawer. She’d think about them later, too. She noticed her hands trembled and curled them into fists.
Right now she just wanted to be home.
She stood up, swaying. Hungry. She was so hungry. But a bath first. She couldn’t stand to smell herself for one more minute. Tears welled up in her eyes when she saw the tub. The tears were for the tub and not…other things. It was a beautiful tub. She knelt and stroked the cool surface and laid her face against it. It was cold and smooth and soothed her hot, aching eyes. Water, it had hot and cold running water. She rubbed her eyes and reached out to turn the taps. It started cold, because that’s how it was supposed to be, but soon steam rose to swirl in the air around her. No lye soap either. She peeled off her clothes and slid in with a sigh as it embraced her, hot and clean…mercifully clean….
She emptied it twice before the water quit turning dingy, first from her body, then from her hair. When everything but her head was a whitened prune, Mel climbed out, wrapping herself in a large, fluffy, heavenly soft towel.
Her hands still shook, but that was because she was hungry…
Focus. She had a truly impressive collection of bruises, but they would heal—at least the ones that could be seen…
Don’t go there…
Her tattoo was still a faint shadow on the inside of her arm. It seemed like years…sixty years, actually, since she’d been afraid of a HALO drop. Perspective was everything. She finger styled her hair, luxuriating in being clean. And lotion. She’d almost forgotten the wonders of lotion. Her dry skin soaked it up like a sponge. She kept applying it until the white flakes were almost gone. Her hands were reddened and rough, the nails a mess. It felt shallow, it probably was shallow, but it was heaven to be clean and warm. Her suitcase was in the bedroom, and inside it she found a modern bra, modern skivs, modern jeans, modern sweater, socks and shoes. She almost wept again as she hugged them, before pulling them on. The fabrics were soft and smelled like fabric softener. Good old spring breeze.
She’d never take any of it for granted again. This time when she faced the mirror, the person looking back was familiar. She was Mel of the twenty-first century, back where she belonged…except…maybe her heart. It felt stuck between the two centuries…lost in time…
The clothes she’d worn were so stiff she almost couldn’t stuff them into the laundry bag. She’d figure out what to do with them later.
Her stomach rumbled, a pointed reminder there were other delights in the twenty-first century besides clothes and baths. She turned toward her closed bedroom door. Dual memories jostled inside a head, inside a brain that couldn’t forget anything. Which of the memories were real? Was Norm dead or alive? And Gran? And…no, don’t go there. Not yet. Later she’d deal with the past, but not now. Later.
It was so quiet in the house, she could hear the hum of her electronic clock. She might be alone in the world, not just in the house. She eyed the door knob. Why the hesitation? She’d leapt out of planes and out of time, and here she was balking at opening a door.
The sun from the west facing window slanted across the floor and across her feet. Dust motes hung in the beam. Mel put her hand in it. Warmth stroked her skin and the bruises in the shape of a hand print…where…
No. The girl who couldn’t forget would have plenty of time to remember…
And still the door waited. Not to mention her impatient stomach.
Mel gripped the knob and turned it. As always, the door resisted, then creaked a soft protest before swinging wide. Mel stepped through the opening into a murky future, looking around for clues. There was Gran’s chair, where it had always been, a book lying on the side table with her reading glasses close by. Gran. She knew that chair and she remembered another chair, a shabbier one. She remembered a funeral. She remembered her…here. Which was real? She could feel grief and loss as acutely as she felt security and peace. The room was a bit shabby, but bright and cheerful and familiar. But it too had another overlay inside her head, another version of reality—one where the past stopped with Norm’s death…
Mel turned toward the kitchen—she didn’t need to do this on her present food deficit—but stopped when she saw the television.
“Oh.” She touched it. It was pathetic, but since she was alone, she went for it and just hugged it, resting her chin on the slightly dusty top. “HGTV.”
Okay, this was getting embarrassing. She straightened and headed into the kitchen. For this place, she also had two memories of how it was supposed to be. This one was the best one. It was bright and modern. Mel remembered when they’d added on to the small frame house, extending the kitchen into the back yard as more kids came to this happy home, and creating a master suite. Mel looked to the right as she entered, seeing the breakfast nook as it was now, with a large and cheerful country table, and the other memory of a built-in nook.
Family here.
Family not here.
She felt a rising hope she was afraid to embrace. All the memories jostled inside her head, like two puzzles mixed together. Which memories went with which reality?
She needed a Diet Dr. Pepper. The refrigerator waited, another door to the past to be opened to…what? She could see empty shelves with a six pack of Diet Dr. Pepper and a couple of dried up condiments…and a place of great bounty—but both had Diet Dr. Pepper. It seemed to be a constant, and it was the thought of it that got her hand on the handle. It had been, well, either five days or sixty years since she’d had a cold one, and boy, was she ready for it. She pulled it open with a prayer in her heart….
Bingo.
Thank you, she mouthed, her hand sliding around a cold can. It also had all the other things a refrigerator was supposed to have. Eggs and milk and a cake. An actual cake. Mel put the soda on the table, went back for the cake. Then cheese, some pickles, milk, a banana, a bowl of hard-boiled eggs. Bread, there had to be bread and butter. She found it on the counter, under a cover, and shifted all of it to the table. And jam, home-made jam. Sweet.
She popped the top of the soda, first, and took a long drink. Now she knew she was really back. She pulled out a chair and looked at her bounty, not sure where to begin—remembering a bare wooden table with a bowl of soup and a hard piece of bread…
No. She clenched her hands, her body hunched around the pain. Slowly, very slowly, she straightened again. I have to be here. I have to be now. I have to find a way to let go…
And she needed some protein…she hacked off a hunk of cheese, chewed it a couple of times and sent it down for her stomach to work on, followed it with a banana chaser. Okay, enough nutrition. Now for some cake. She pulled the cover off. Rich dark chocolate frosting rippled across the surface of what she knew would be an outstanding base. No one could make cake like Gran…
She wanted to bury her face in it. And why not? If anyone deserved to dive into a cake—
She heard the front door open with a familiar creak and voices.
Voices. Two voices. His and hers.
“Mel?” Gran. “You awake yet, you lazy girl?”
“Oh, let her sleep. She looked tired last night.” Norm.
Both here.
Both alive.
A blurry halo formed around the cake as her memory knitted a few of her memories into the right order. There were still a lot of loose ones to tie up, but one thing was clear.
You did it, Jack. She let his name burst free of the restraints inside her head. He had the right. You got me home. You got him home. You gave me my family back. I’ll find a way to forgive you for not giving me you…
Faces popped in her head like an out of control camera flash. Cousins. Aunts. Uncles. Family. She was part of a family. This bounty would have to be enough.
“Mel?” Gran called out again.
“Gran?” The first try was a weak one. “I’m in the kitchen.”
“I’ll bet she’s in the cake. Don’t you eat that cake. That’s for the party tonight.”
“I hope she is in the cake, then I can have some, too.”
“You behave, old man.” Her scolding tone was heavily laced with love and it beamed into the room ahead of them, followed by the real thing.
First in was Gran, her frame filling the doorway. She stopped, her faded blue eyes widening as she took in Mel’s feast scattered across the table top. Gran wasn’t huge, but she wasn’t tiny. She was, in Mel’s opinion, just right for hugging and Mel needed one of those more than she needed cake. She jumped up and wrapped her arms around her. Her powdered skin had a papery look and was as soft as a baby’s against Mel’s cheek and she smelled of her current favorite Avon fragrance.
Norm came in behind Gran, a grin expanding across his mouth as he looked at the moveable feast. He looked so dear and familiar, though a bit wrinklier than her last sight of him a few days…and sixty years…ago. Their shapes blurred and wavered. Mel reached past Gran to take his sturdy hand and bring it to her cheek.
“I missed you both so much.” She buried her face in Gran’s cushiony, safe shoulder, soaking up the feel of her usual, cool and crisp, apron against her cheek.
“What’s wrong, honey child?” It was her pet name for Mel. A hand stroked her hair. She was still cold and fresh from being outside.
“Gran…” She wanted to sob and her body shook with trying not to.
“Has something happened?” Worry sharpened her tone and broke up the log jam in Mel’s throat.
“I…had a dream that you…died. And Norm, too.”
“Norm? Since when do you call your grandpa Norm?” Gran pried Mel’s face from the nest and studied it, worry the predominant theme in her dear eyes.
Mel didn’t know what to say, so she sniffed.
“Tears?” A tissue came out of an apron pocket and stroked the moisture from her cheeks. “That must have been some dream.”
Mel managed a shaky smile. Mel took the tissue and blew her nose. When she could speak, she managed a, “Yeah.”
Right now it seemed like a dream, except for the ache where her heart had been…
“She needs her grandpa, Elaine.” He eased past Gran and took her in his arms.
This hug was different. It was a guy hug, for one thing, and reeked of guy security and Old Spice. She leaned against him, the way she’d wanted to back in time. Memories broke inside her head, wild waves against a rocky beach. Her knees buckled and she’d have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her.
“It was just a dream, honey girl. It was just a dream.”
Honey girl. That’s what he called her, what he’d always called her. When he wasn’t dead…
“You sit down,” Gran said, “and I’ll cut you a piece of cake. You, too, old man.”
Mel could almost see the glance they exchanged over her head. It brushed against her like the lightning bolt that missed her one night while she was out not crying uncle a few years back. Many such glances about her had passed between them through the years—through these new years. She remembered them all as clearly as she remembered not having them. It was seriously freaky.
She dropped back onto her chair, wiped her eyes again and managed a shaky smile. It became less shaky when Gran placed a generous piece of rich chocolate cake in front of her.
“Oh, wow.” Mel almost whimpered and had to again fight the impulse to bury her face in it. Chocolate couldn’t cure what ailed her, but it couldn’t hurt.
“You’re looking at that cake like you haven’t seen one before.” She set a piece in front of Norm. “Here, don’t let her eat alone.”
She smiled at him and he grinned back. It was worth it. It was worth it. Tears did a comeback in the corners of her eyes. She gave a tiny shake, pushed back her sleeves and grabbed her fork. The cake gave no resistance and was better than it looked, which didn’t hardly seem possible.
“Oh, wow.” Mel couldn’t find words. It was hard not to feel a little shallow, but it was here. She was here and dang, it was good.
“Having a choc-gasm in front of the grams? Not cool, coz.”
Mel looked up, then jumped up and fell on his neck. “Jimmy?”
Her cousin. She had a cousin, Jimmy. Her favorite cousin. She had a favorite cousin. He was a taller version of Norm at that age, she noted with pleasure. She hugged him again. And he liked to be called Jim, but she always pretended to forget, even though they both knew she couldn’t.
“It’s so good to see you.” She wanted to cry again, but managed not to.
He thumped her affectionately on the back. “Yeah, that was a long twelve hours apart.”
Mel’s brain coughed up a memory of him picking her up from the airport last night. Perhaps she should just shut up until she finished connecting the dots of her past.
“She had a bad dream,” Norm offered, a bit thickly through the bite of cake.
“Must have been a doozie if it made you forget something.”
He plopped in a chair and reached out to snatch Mel’s piece of cake. Mel used her fork to drive him off. No one, not even a favorite cousin was coming between her and cake today—or tomorrow for that matter.
“Have your own piece, Jimmy,” Gran said, hacking off another chunk and sliding it expertly onto a plate. “Milk?’
“I’m sure Mel will share some,” Norm added, shoving the carton Mel had pulled out of the refrigerator in his direction.
“How can I share what I haven’t had yet?” Mel asked, plaintively, as she pushed her empty glass toward Norm. He poured her some, too.
Jimmy took his fork, with a charming smile for Gran, then turned back to study the food spread.
“Interesting breakfast, coz. Maybe what you eat is giving you nightmares?”
“Or I could just be hungry.” Mel picked up her fork and renewed her acquaintance with her cake.
The other brow arched. “I’ve seen you hungry, Mel. This is way past that.” He ate a huge chunk of his cake, swallowed it, and then washed it the rest of the way down with half his glass of milk. “You might consider my feelings. I told Frank you were a cheap date because you didn’t eat much.”
Frank. Mel froze. From stem to stern. This time she had the sense to think before she spoke, though it was a near thing. If she hadn’t had cake in her mouth…
“You’re such a liar,” Mel quipped while she frantically searched her memory until she found one where she did agree to the blind date. Tonight. Oh man…“I’ve always been high maintenance and expensive. I’d end this now, before it’s too late.
“Don’t even think about trying to get out of it. I’ve got witnesses that you agreed to it willingly.” He glared at her, the effect somewhat marred by the chocolate on the tip of his nose.
Mel handed him a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table and flicked the end of her own nose to let him know where to use it. “Too bad Blanca isn’t here to lick that off for you.”
Of course, this whole setup was so she could meet Blanca, who was something in fashion, without being an awkward third on their date. With a name like that, Mel wasn’t sure Jimmy would be enough in common for them.
Jimmy grabbed her chin and studied her face critically. “Those SEALs sure beat up on you. Wear some make-up, okay? Frank thinks you’re a looker. He watches your thing, you know.”
“You’re not giving me any incentive here,” Mel said, surprised at how easily she fell into bantering with him. It was a comfortable fit…even though she felt like she was dancing on the head of a pin and could fall off at any moment.
“I’m going to put some laundry in,” Gran said. “You got anything for me to wash?”
G
ran must be worried if she was offering to do her laundry. Mel thought about the stuff in her laundry bag and shook her head.
“I’m good.”
“You do her laundry? I thought you didn’t play favorites?” Jimmy looked down at his cake, then at Mel’s. “She got more cake, too.”
“Behave yourself,” Gran said, fondly, before disappearing in the direction of the laundry.
Norm…grandpa grabbed her arm. “Those are some nasty bruises, honey girl.”
If she could think grandpa a couple of times, maybe she could say it.
He went on, “It was a bang up show, but I sure wish you wouldn’t. It worries your grandma, you know.”
“I…don’t think I will anymore.” As she said, Mel knew there really was no thinking about it. Her contract was up and after what had just happened, she couldn’t take her own life so lightly anymore. She owed more than that to both her grandparents, and to Jack and herself. “They’re trying to send me up in the shuttle. It’s so last century.”
“That’ll get Gran dancing a jig,” Jimmy said, though Mel noticed his gaze sharpened.
Mel chuckled. “Not a jive?”
Norm looked alarmed. “I think our jiving days are over.”
He turned her hand over and traced the fading Uncle Sam tattoo on her arm. “It looks like its fading.”
“It’s a temporary tat,” Mel said, not just feeling deja-vu, but living in the state of.
Norm looked almost startled but all he said was, “Good. I guess I’m old fashioned about girls and tattoos.”
“You mean you didn’t tell him about the one on your—” Jimmy stopped and grinned at her, the smart Alec grin.
Mel shook her head. “You keep it up, I’m going to give you a physics lesson you won’t soon forget.”
Norm jerked. Mel looked at him, but he was eating his cake like it was the only thing in the world.
“And just for the record, no tattoos anywhere, except for this one—” She tried to squeeze out a grandpa or even a gramps and couldn’t do it. For the moment, he was Norm.
Jimmy pushed his chair back, his expression lacking the proper repentance. “We’ll be here at seven. Make sure you have your glad rags on and a properly compliant attitude.”
Out of Time Page 29
