Here by Mistake (14 page)

While they were waiting for menus Brandon glanced around the dining room. Men with weird-looking shirts and slicked-back hair were talking and laughing. Most of them were smoking. Women with deep-red lipstick were whispering in each other’s ears. Some of their hairdos had crazy flips to them. Brandon smirked as he took them all in.
Dorks
. Still, they were happening in the time and place. And it was cool to be happening with them in the time and place.

Sarah watched him take in the crowd. “I know what you’re thinking,” she giggled in his ear. “Dorks.”

“Yeah,” Brandon said. He drew her attention to a weathered man in a black suit and string tie two tables over. “Look at Wyatt Earp.” Then he asked, “Sarah, what’ll we look like in forty years?”

“Old.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean will people in 2045 look at 2005 and think
we
were dorks? Will . . . will we look to them the way these people look to us?”

Sarah thought it over. “May-be.”

“And maybe y’favorite TV shows’ll look as bad in 2045 as
The Beverly Hillbillies
looks to y’all now.” Quint laughed.

Brandon laughed too. Then he really thought about it. “You don’t think they will, do you?” he asked Sarah anxiously.

“Afternoon, folks.” The waitress’s voice was warm and welcoming. Her light green uniform, rhinestone-studded eyeglasses, and flip hairdo fit the setting perfectly. She filled their water glasses and gave out menus.

Quint waved his menu away. “I know what I want, thanks.”

Stephen took a menu. “Me too,” he said. He showed Sarah a picture of a cheeseburger and french fries.

“Me, three,” Sarah said. “Cheeseburger today, Spam tomorrow.”

“Need some time, B?” Quint asked.

“No, I’m good. You order first.”

“A clam roll and an orange drink,” Quint said.

“A cheeseburger and french fries, and a root beer, please,” Stephen said.

“The same—cheeseburger, fries, and root beer, please,” Sarah said.

Brandon teetered between his love of cheeseburgers and his sense of adventure. “A clam roll and a Coke.”

“No Coke, young man; we have HoJo Cola,” the waitress said pleasantly.

“Sure.”

The waitress took back the menus and headed for the kitchen.

Brandon leaned across the table and whispered, “What’s a clam roll, Quint?”

“They toast a hot dog roll and stuff it with fried clams. It comes with coleslaw.”

Brandon raised his chin confidently. “That’s for me.”

Sarah glanced out the window at the Edsel. “That car looks rustier every day. It might dissolve before we get to New York.”

“Not t’worry,” Quint said. “She’s solid as a rock. Right, my man?”

“Right,” Stephen said. “And she’s a classic. They don’t make cars like that anymore.”

“No,” Sarah said. “They passed a law.” Everyone laughed except Stephen, and Sarah took his hand. “I’m sorry, Stephen,” she said, giggling. “The Edsel’s getting us home, and I’m grateful.” She glanced out the window again and said to Quint, “You parked next to the door.”

“Yes, indeed. I don’t get that lucky often.”

“Isn’t that a handicapped space?”

“A what?”

“Isn’t it for disabled people, so they don’t have to walk far to the door?”

Quint gave her a puzzled look. “What’re y’talkin’ about?”

Sarah peered out the window. There was no sign with a wheelchair logo in front of the Edsel. No blue lines were painted on the asphalt. “Oh, I guess . . . Well, never mind.”

“Hmmm.” Quint smiled. “Another difference with 2005?”

“Um, yeah,” Brandon said. “Back home you can’t park in the really good spaces. They’re kept for handicapped people. If the police find you in them you get a ticket.” He slid the saltshaker over and rolled it between his palms. “It’s another rule we have.”

“That a fact,” Quint said. “When did that all start?”

“I . . . don’t know,” Brandon said. “I don’t remember when it wasn’t like that.”

Quint watched him fidget with the saltshaker. “Y’know, I never thought about it, but that’s a good idea,” he said. “Handicapped folks should get a break.”

Their food arrived quickly. Brandon didn’t know what to make of his clam roll. It smelled really good but didn’t look like anything he had imagined. He jabbed a clam with his fork and turned it around.

“Y’supposed t’eat it, B,” Quint said.

Brandon popped the clam in his mouth and chewed it. “This is great,” he exclaimed. “Why don’t we have these at home?” He pushed a third of the roll into his mouth.

“Easy, B, don’t choke,” Quint said. He noticed Stephen’s cheeseburger was half gone and Sarah’s was well on its way. “Burgers any good?”

It was a silly question. Soon there were four clean plates on the table. Brandon drew down the last of his HoJo Cola and looked up hopefully.

“What is it, B?” Quint asked.

“Is there . . . enough money for dessert?”

“I imagine so. The hot fudge sundaes are a treat. Y’all in the mood for ice cream?”

Another silly question. Ten minutes later the waitress dropped off four hot fudge sundaes: three vanillas and a chocolate one for Brandon. In no time they were scraping the dishes with their spoons.

Brandon leaned back and closed his eyes. “The best of times, the worst of times,” he murmured. He stretched and kicked Quint’s leg. “Sorry,” he said. “That was great, Quint, thanks. For an hour I forgot everything.”

Stephen and Sarah also thanked him.

“No problem,” Quint said. “How ’bout we hit the road?”

They got up, and Quint paid the cashier. He picked up three Howard Johnson’s chocolate fudge candy bars and gave them out. Brandon checked the wrapper on his and showed Sarah the price. “Ten cents.” He grinned. “Nineteen sixty-five isn’t all bad.”

As they were leaving the restaurant Stephen noticed a sporty orange coupe parked next to the Edsel. He ran to it. “I knew it, I knew it. It’s a Karmann-Ghia,” he said excitedly. “These haven’t been made for thirty years!”

“Never heard of it,” Brandon said, walking up to the car.

“Me neither,” Sarah said.

“It’s a Volkswagen.” Quint yawned. “Not ugly like the Beetle, but nothin’ special in my eyes.”

“Nothing special?” Stephen asked incredulously. “It’s a classic, like the Edsel. People now don’t know what great cars they’ve got.”

“Maybe they just seem great when they’re gone,” Quint said with a smile. He opened the Edsel’s door and slid behind the wheel. Brandon and Sarah got in back. Quint started the engine and rolled down his window. “Let’s go, my man.”

Stephen backed away from the Karmann-Ghia and got in front with Quint. They made a left out of the parking lot. Stephen looked out the back window until the Karmann-Ghia was out of sight.

“Foreign cars are exotic, my man, but they’re not practical,” Quint said. “Folks can’t get parts for ’em, mechanics can’t fix ’em, and they don’t have the guts of American cars. Dante at the bakery tells me they’ll take Detroit’s business someday. I tell him he’s crazy.”

Stephen kept a polite silence.

“My mom drives a Nissan Maxima,” Sarah said.

“What the hell’s that?”

“It’s Japanese. She loves it. I’ll probably get one, too, when I start working, if I can afford it.”

“Japanese?” Quint sneered. “All they make’s junk. They’re famous for it. Y’should buy American.”

Brandon leaned forward and crossed his arms on the seat-back. He had a mischievous glint in his eye. “You drive an Acura in 2005, Quint. That’s Japanese. You bought it last year—well, in 2004.”

“A Japanese car?” Quint exclaimed. “Y’got t’be kiddin’. Did I pick it up secondhand?”

“No, you got it new. You told me you paid fifty Gs for it.”

Quint swerved to avoid a pothole. “Y’need to get y’terms straight, B,” he said curtly. “A ‘G’ is a thousand.”

“I know that.”

“Well, do y’know y’just said I spent fifty thousand dollars for a car, and a Japanese car at that?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what high-end models cost back home,” Stephen said. “I saw your car the day we went through the niche. It’s a beauty, sir. Worth every penny of it.”

The Edsel swerved into the oncoming lane. Brandon fell to the floor. Sarah screamed and covered her eyes. No car was coming, and Quint immediately swung back to the right. He pumped the brakes and brought the car to a stop on the shoulder.

“Sorry, folks; real stupid of me,” Quint said. He broke into a sweat and slumped in his seat. “Fifty thousand dollars for a Japanese car,” he mumbled.

Stephen grabbed a road map and started fanning him. Brandon checked his pulse. When he couldn’t find one he threw open the door to run for help. Sarah grabbed his collar and made him stay. Then Quint gripped the steering wheel and pulled himself up. “Maybe I’ll stroll a bit—get some air,” he said in a thick voice. His passengers nodded vigorously. He eased himself out of the car and started walking.

“Nice going, you two,” Sarah cried when he was several yards ahead. She got in Brandon’s face. “And you’re the one who said don’t talk about gas prices.”

“Okay,” Brandon said defensively. “We just won’t say anything more about prices back home.”

“Duh, right,” Sarah snapped. “Or they’ll be scraping us off the road and mailing us to New York.”

Half an hour later Quint had his color back, and the Edsel was sailing up I-81. Virginia’s trees were showing off their reds and golds in the late afternoon sunshine. Traffic was light and they were making good time.

“We’ll do some night drivin’ t’make Pennsylvania,” Quint said. “Makes sense since the weather’s good. Y’all okay with it?” He momentarily took his eyes off the road, and the car drifted left. He noticed and made a jolting move back to the right.

“S-sure, Quint,” Brandon said.

Brandon tried reading
David Copperfield
for a while but couldn’t get into it. He leaned his head against the window and thought about the day. About his dream and his argument with Quint, about the clam roll and the hot fudge sundae. About 1965 and 2005. He closed his eyes and knew he was smiling.

Brandon gave a start and sat up. The foggy feeling in his head told him he had been asleep a long time. He tried peering out his window, but everything was black. He pressed his palms to the glass and felt the icy cold.

“Well, back with us, B?” Quint asked.

Brandon leaned forward and crossed his arms on the seatback. “Yeah,” he said dully. “Where are we?”

“Maryland. We did a bit of West Virginia. Now we do a bit of Maryland. We should make Pennsylvania in about fifteen minutes.”

Silence.

“B?”

Brandon jerked his head up. “Sorry. You said we’re in Pennsylvania?”

“Almost. We’ll find a motel in the first town.”

Brandon looked behind him at Sarah. Then he checked Stephen. Both were asleep.

“Everyone’s been out for a while,” Quint said. “Stephen was readin’ by flashlight for a time. I think he finished his book.”

Brandon yawned and turned his head on its side. “It got cold.”

“That’s a fact. From now on y’all will need the Salvation Army coats.”

Brandon moaned and changed the subject. “Before long we’ll be in Rollings. I wonder if I’ll know it.”

“Some parts, I imagine. On the way t’Faye’s y’all can show me some of it.”

“I’ll show you your house, if it’s there.”

“Y’do that.” Quint eased up on the gas as the Edsel began a long descent. “Y’know, I haven’t asked y’much about what I’m doin’ in 2005. Besides buyin’ fifty-thousand-dollar cars, what am I up to?”

Brandon couldn’t stop yawning. “You’re doing great,” he said sleepily. “Your place is always a mess, like Sarah says, but you like it that way. You do your business work at home on your computer. You stay up late and you sleep late.”

“Wife, kids?”

“You got divorced two times. No kids.”

The Edsel swerved but stayed in its lane. Brandon gasped.

“Twice? How come?”

Brandon was now awake. “I . . . don’t know,” he said warily. “That’s before I knew you. But if it bothers you, you don’t show it. You’re always joking and laughing about stuff. And if we—me and Sarah, and now Stephen—come over you give us sodas and talk with us.” He propped his chin on his arm. “I hope after all this it’ll still be like that.”

“It will,” Quint said. He braked gently as a deer crossed the highway fifty yards ahead. “Maybe it’s not good t’know too much about what’s comin’. Maybe that just causes problems. Funny, but Quinton Coster in 2005 doesn’t sound much like me now.”

“You’re wrong,” Brandon said. “You’re a lot like you now. We went looking for you in New Orleans because we knew you’d help us. We knew because of how you are back home.” He thought about it and laughed softly.

“What?”

“The only difference is, in 2005 you don’t go off about things. Things like prices. You just roll with everything. In 2005 you’ll laugh about freaking out today.”

“Maybe I’d freak out in 2005 if y’hit me with 2045 prices.” He caught up with a car doing half the speed limit and smoothly passed it. “It’s been educational for both of us—all of us. There’s no book I could read t’learn what y’all know. And no book in 2005 could show y’all what this time’s like—not the way y’all are gettin’ it now, by livin’ it.”

“Oh, yeah. If I read all this in a book it’d be boring, but doing it’s wild. I’ll never forget it. And if I knew for sure I’d get home . . . I’d do it again.”

They rode in silence for a while. Brandon was beginning to drift off when the Edsel’s headlights blazed a sign that said: “Welcome to Pennsylvania—The Keystone State.” Another sign right after it said: Greencastle 5.

“Five miles t’go after a long day,” Quint said wearily. “We’ll take the first motel we see.” He tapped Stephen on the elbow. “My man.”

Stephen sat up, his glasses askew. Sarah was also stirring. They covered the five miles and took the exit for Greencastle. Quint spotted the Lincoln Motor Lodge and turned into the lot. He parked at the door to Room 4.

“What d’y’all think, can we get Number 4 here too?” Quint asked. He pushed open his door and freezing air flooded the car. Sarah gasped and drew her blanket close around her. Quint crossed the parking lot to the office. It was more than ten minutes before he returned.