Reaching Through Time

by Lurlene McDaniel

  Two cats met them inside the front door. Each stopped, tails twitching, and watched Maura. “The beasts?” she asked. The animals’ brains weren’t complex and she had no trouble making the cats feel at ease.

  “I’m impressed. They’re usually pretty squirrelly,” Dylan said.

  She guessed he meant rambunctious. She held them still for a minute with the power of her mind, then released them, and they bounded off.

  Dylan walked her through her responsibilities for the cats and the house. The idea of tossing out cat poop seemed wasteful. In her society, nothing was thrown away. All matter, even waste, was recycled, a necessity to keep the earth clean and productive.

  Dylan said, “The Carters have a teenage daughter. She’s heavier than you, but you might want to borrow some of her clothes until you get paid and can buy your own.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve got to go. You all right until I come over tonight?”

  “Sure.” She stopped him at the door. “Thanks for your help. Really. I need it.”

  He shrugged self-consciously. “I need the good karma.”

  She closed the door, wondering what he’d meant. Except for the cats scratching something with their claws, the house was still and quiet. Maura strolled through her quarters, reveling in the solitude of noncommunal living, likening the house to a museum. If only she could take pictures on her recorder. She didn’t dare. The time police might pick up the activity from another time period. She decided to return to the library the next day and zero in on information that would help her win a job and blend in better.

  She closed her eyes, revisited her morning with Dylan and his mother, and the tension she had sensed between them, so real she had seen auras of disturbance around them, even around the twins. Dylan and Sandra acted like nothing was wrong, but that was a lie. Something was wrong, and it acted like a wedge keeping them apart and at odds.

  Maura considered her own duplicity, the half-truths and outright lies she’d told. She realized that the jolts she received for fabrications had lessened in intensity each time she told one. Professor Trevvida had been correct when he’d once told her class, “Each time the conscience is breached by lying, pain caused by creating lies toughens your conscience. Eventually lies come more readily—until there’s no pain at all.”

  The whole class had scoffed at the time, because a Sensitive with intentions to heal prided herself on honesty. Now Maura knew that Professor Trevvida had been absolutely correct. She felt some remorse, but she could justify her lying: it was necessary for survival. And for learning. Practicing her skills on a real live patient was an adventure too tempting to abandon. She could help this Dylan face his demons. It would be her gift to him for aiding her.

  By the time Dylan picked her up the next morning, Maura was a whole lot smarter about the culture and its protocols. She’d dressed in clothing from her benefactor’s closet according to what she’d seen in teen fashion magazines—denim and T-shirts. The clothes were large but acceptable. Plus, their roominess meant that she didn’t have to wear the horrible breast-holding contraption of this time. Clothes from her era fitted one’s physical form exactly and were comfortable. She tucked the time-travel device into a borrowed purse.

  “You look nice,” Dylan said when she got into his car. “My dad’s expecting you. Mom’s waiting at his office too.”

  Maura sensed a warning. It must have been unusual for Sandra to attend such a meeting.

  The office of Jerry Sorenson, doctor of veterinary medicine, was overrun with people holding animals on laps or leashes. Dogs barked and cats hissed from within carriers. Yet in spite of the crowd, Maura was ushered quickly into Jerry’s inner office. The man was busy, but Maura gathered that for some reason, she was a priority. Dylan remained in the outer office, but Sandra went in with her.

  Jerry explained her duties, mostly cleaning cages and walking pets recovering from surgery. Maura listened politely, although after studying up on veterinary medicine in the library, she could have performed simpler surgeries herself.

  “Interested?” Jerry asked after the job description.

  “I’d love the job,” she said honestly.

  “Let me show you the kennel area.”

  Maura and Sandra followed him. He opened the door to a cacophony of yaps and barks. “Calm down, children,” Jerry shouted.

  Maura slid into the room, reached out mentally and instantly quieted the caged animals. She realized she liked pets, especially the dogs, which she found affable and friendly and eager to please.

  Jerry stood transfixed. “That’s the first time that line’s ever worked.” He looked at Maura. “What do you think?”

  “I want the job.” She glanced from cage to cage. The dogs sat docilely, panting.

  The three of them returned to his office. “Take this paperwork home, fill it out and return it. I’ll let you know in a couple of days.”

  She was grateful that he didn’t want her to complete the paperwork immediately—she had no idea how to fill out the information without Dylan’s help. She smiled and said, “Thank you.” Then she walked out the door, pulling it closed behind her.

  The door was still open about an inch when she heard Sandra say quietly, “You must hire this girl, Jerry. Don’t you see? She’s the first person Dylan’s shown an interest in for almost two years! He needs her. We can’t let her get away.”

  4

  “Mom wants you to come over for Sunday dinner,” Dylan said to Maura. They were sitting at the table in her borrowed house filling out the paperwork for his dad’s office job. He didn’t seem happy about the invitation.

  “Should I come?”

  “Your call. I have to leave right after we eat.”

  Her internal radar picked up loads of signals that some wedge was separating him from his family. “A problem?”

  “I won’t dump on you.”

  “I don’t mind. Do you want to talk about it?” It was a question a Mind Doctor might ask. She was pleased with herself.

  “It’s not important. Friends don’t dump on friends.”

  He’d called her a friend. Naturally he didn’t think of her as a doctor. How could he? Friendship held a high value in her time; it was a rare bond because of the cutthroat drive to succeed at any cost in her society. Maura counted only one friend in her time period—Shalea. “I-it’s all right.” She tried to regain her composure.

  His blue eyes searched hers and she automatically blocked her thoughts from him, just as she would have if she’d been with a fellow Sensitive. Of course, there was no need, she realized. He couldn’t read her thoughts. He was primitive, a part of history.

  “I like being with you, Maura.” Dylan reached over and took her hand and she felt an unexpected tingling. What was that about?

  She said, “I—I’m a good listener.”

  He squeezed her hand, making her heartbeat quicken. “Well, I’m not a good talker.” He rose from his chair, breaking the spell. “We eat around five. Bring the paperwork when you come over. I’m sure you’ll get the job.”

  When he was gone, she mentally examined the uncharacteristic physical changes that had attacked her body. Sweaty palms. Accelerated heartbeat without exertion. Rapid breathing. She’d never experienced such physical symptoms by simply looking into someone’s eyes. She hurried to the nearest mirror and stared at herself. Her cheeks were full of color. As a Sensitive she was used to experiencing others’ feelings—that was her gift. But to go through these feelings personally was extraordinary. She wanted to become a Healer, and Healers had to disregard personal feelings and emotions if they were going to identify with others and aid them. She must check her emotions around him. She was in enough trouble already.

  On Sunday Maura found a long skirt and a top in the closet that looked dressier than the tee and jeans she’d worn to the interview. She wanted to look pretty, though she had no logical reason. She walked to Dylan’s house in dazzling hot sunlight, wondering how people lived without clothing that cha
nged with the climate, and arrived feeling sweaty and wilted.

  When Maura knocked, Lucy opened the door and pulled her into the kitchen, where Sandra said, “Welcome. It’s almost ready.”

  “Got that paperwork?” Jerry asked, pouring himself a glass of wine.

  “Right here.” Maura handed it over and he plopped it on the countertop without so much as looking at it.

  Lucy joined Casey, both tearing lettuce into a large bowl. They were quiet, and their muddy dark blue auras were signs of anxiety. Maura sensed that the whole family was on edge, not a good sign.

  “Where’s Dylan?” Maura asked.

  “Getting ready,” Lucy volunteered.

  Sandra said, “Show Maura her place at the table, girls. Dad and I’ll bring in the food.”

  Maura recognized the rush to change the subject.

  “I folded the napkins,” Casey said to Maura in the dining room.

  “But I put the knives and forks on the table,” Lucy said, not to be outdone.

  “I’m impressed by both of you,” Maura said.

  They were all seated when Dylan clattered down the stairs. He ignored everyone except Maura. “Hey,” he said to her. He was dressed in slacks and a polo shirt.

  Sandra cast an awkward glance at him. “I was thinking you might not go this Sunday. I mean, since we have company and all.”

  “I go every Sunday. This Sunday’s no different.”

  “But just this one time—”

  Maura was an awkward witness to their tug-of-war. The room filled with gray, muddied greens for resentment, deep angry reds. There was nothing she could do with so many different colors clashing. “I don’t mind if Dylan leaves,” Maura said, hoping to be conciliatory.

  “You’re a guest,” Sandra said, talking to her son through Maura. “We invited you. Dylan shouldn’t run off.”

  “I’m not running off,” Dylan said directly to Maura. “I have somewhere I have to go.”

  Maura searched discarded thoughts but only found confusion. She forced herself into a Zen state.

  “You’re mother’s right,” Jerry said, pouring himself another glass of wine. “You should stay here today. How’s it going to hurt to miss one Sunday out there?”

  Dylan was clearly finished arguing. “It’s a long drive.”

  “Can’t you just eat before you go?” Sandra said. Dylan’s plate remained empty.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Please …,” Sandra said.

  “No!” Jerry shouted. “Go. Like it’s going to make a difference.”

  Dylan scowled.

  Maura was upset. The room went silent as he slammed out of the house.

  “Forgive my son’s rudeness,” Sandra said, tears brimming in her eyes. “A self-imposed obligation, nothing to do with you, Maura.”

  “That’s okay. I didn’t take it personally.”

  Jerry picked up his glass. “Just so that the day isn’t a total downer, Maura, you’ve got the job in the clinic. Start Monday.”

  She knew he hadn’t had time to read her application, but it didn’t matter to her; she wanted the job. “That’s great. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be in the den. Baseball game on TV,” Jerry said.

  Sandra stared pensively at the lit candles on the table. “Maura, you and the girls eat. My appetite’s gone, but don’t let the food go to waste.”

  Lucy grabbed the bowl of mashed potatoes. Casey hung her head.

  “I’m starved,” Maura said. Another untruth.

  Sandra stood. “Just leave the table when you’re finished. I’ll clean up later.”

  “No way,” Maura said. She reached out and softened Sandra’s sorrow with a few strokes of her thoughts. It was the least she could do.

  Sandra said, “You girls help.”

  Sandra left and Maura and the twins ate dinner in silence until Lucy leaned forward conspiratorially. “They don’t like him to go see her.”

  Casey shushed her. “Don’t talk about it.”

  Lucy shrugged. “So are you Dylan’s girlfriend now?”

  Maura straightened, watched Casey stir a cold mound of mashed potatoes on her plate aimlessly. Lucy was swinging her legs under the table, making the tablecloth sway in a steady rhythm. Maura chose her words carefully. “I’m a girl and I’m a friend, so, yes, I guess I’m his girlfriend.”

  Lucy looked exasperated. “I mean a girlfriend like Catherine.”

  “You better hush,” Casey hissed. “I’m telling Mom.” She jumped up and ran out of the room.

  Lucy ran after her. Both girls were hollering for their mother before they hit the foot of the stairs.

  Maura leaned back in the chair, mulling over the revelation. The name Catherine was completely foreign to her. She’d not had an inkling, not a hint about this person before Lucy had divulged it. Who was she? What hold did she have on this family? On Dylan?

  * * *

  Maura liked the job at Jerry’s office. The animals were sweet and were always overjoyed to see her. The dogs were happy creatures, easily controlled with her mind. Dogs had short memories and great devotion to their caretakers and owners. Loyal. She liked that trait in them.

  She walked to Dylan’s house each morning, hitched a ride with Jerry, or with Dylan, if Jerry had left early. She never asked about the disastrous Sunday meal, and Dylan never offered an explanation. She bided her time, hoping she’d have enough of it to be helpful and healing to him.

  She liked being near him and was disappointed on the days she missed seeing him. Her favorite evenings were when he came over and they watched television together. She thought the programs terribly boring, but his closeness made her feel cozy, comfortable, and often when his jeans-clad leg brushed her bare skin, she felt the now-familiar tingle she’d originally felt guilty about. Chemical, she decided. Like the effect the presence of humans had on dogs. The physical sensations were purely reactive and therefore totally chemical. She would mention the phenomenon in her research paper if she ever got to write it.

  She studied his aura, usually melancholy shades of gray and brown, denoting feelings of worthlessness, but she did notice that when she was with him his aura often morphed into a quiet shade of green calm and peace. That meant he liked being with her. She could read his mood instantly, but kept her self-made promise not to probe his thoughts. She hoped she’d have time to soothe his troubled mind before the authorities found her. She tried not to think about that.

  She rarely made a mistake around him, but once, when neither could find the TV remote, she switched the channel with her thoughts. “How’d you do that?” he asked, astounded when the channel jumped unaided to the one he wanted.

  Realizing her mistake, she said, “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Who did?” He looked around the room, which held just them and the cats. “Channels don’t switch without a remote.”

  “I did it with the power of my mind. Didn’t you know? I’m an alien come to earth to seize control of television viewing.”

  He grinned good-naturedly, searched her eyes for a long moment. “You’re a very different sort of girl, Maura.”

  Her pulse rate shot up. “Is that bad?”

  He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Not a bit.”

  His mouth felt warm on her skin and her heart almost rammed through her chest.

  He leaned back, draped both arms on the back of the sofa. “Let’s go out. Come on. We’ll have fun.”

  “Let’s go,” she said scooting off the sofa. She headed for the door, but it took a full minute for her to gain her inner sense of control before they left the house.

  5

  The night air was heavy with the scent of summer flowers, and Maura loved the soft sweet aroma that reminded her of her mother’s garden. As she rode in Dylan’s car he fiddled with the radio, seeking music he liked. She didn’t care about the music. She only knew how happy she felt being with him. She wondered if this was common in the past, this driving along roads and feeling con
tented. In her world, she’d be studying, working to get ahead of other university students. Kids had little leisure time, and if she had any, she’d visit her family home before returning to the university co-op where she lived full-time with two roommates.

  “What are you thinking about?” Dylan asked.

  “Contentment. I like it.”

  “Far cry from your former life, huh?”

  She recalled the story she’d told him about running away. He believed the half-truth and she wanted him to keep on believing it. “Yes, thanks to you.”

  A frown crossed his face, and a shadow, his mind. He didn’t like compliments. For reasons unclear to her, he didn’t think himself worthy of kindness or praise. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  She could have asked him why he wasn’t content, but didn’t. She hoped he’d reveal his secrets willingly. She wanted him to trust her enough to tell her what his mind was hiding. “Where are we going?”

  “First stop, ice cream,” he said.

  “Real ice cream?”

  “Is there another kind?”

  She’d eaten ice cream once at the birthday party of a wealthy classmate when she was twelve. Dairy products weren’t plentiful in her society. Most dairy—milk, cheese, ice cream—was made from plants like soybeans, easier to digest and cheaper to grow and manufacture. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

  “Rocky Road.”

  “Sounds yummy,” she said, with no idea what it was.

  The ice cream store was in a small cluster of buildings next to a movie theater. Inside, the lights were garishly bright, but the place smelled heavenly. Confronted with buckets of ice cream inside refrigeration cases, Maura just tagged after Dylan and chose what he did. He bought them both heaping scoops in large waffle cones. Maura’s mouth watered and she decided that perhaps the past wasn’t so backward after all.