Authors: Judith Tarr
Household Gods (83 page)
No, thank you.
“We'll just have to hope it was a one-time thing, won't we?” she said.
“We'll just have to hope it was a one-time thing, won't we?” she said.
“Hope is just about as much as we've got,” Dr. Feldman said. “I'd like to see you in my office next weekâit's right across the street.” She handed Nicole a business card. “Call and make an appointment, and I'll see you then.”
“I'll do that,” Nicole said. She meant it. If, as she was increasingly convinced, she really had traveled in time by the offices of a pair of antique gods, it wasn't bloody likely she'd ever do it again. But if it kept the doctor happy, and if it made her look like a normal, baffled, honestly concerned victim of an unknown syndrome, then she'd do it and welcome it.
“Please do come and see me,” the doctor said. “Just because I can't find anything now doesn't mean nothing happened. People don't lose consciousness for six days for no reason at all.”
“Yes,” Nicole said. “I understand. It's like when the car is acting up, and you take it to the mechanic and it's working just fine.”
“Just like that,” Dr. Feldman said with the flicker of a smile.
They parted on good terms, all things considered. Nicole settled down in front of the TV feeling surprisingly unsettled.
She was sureâbut she wasn't. Before she went home, she decided, she was going to make a stop. If she turned out to be wrong ⦠If she turned out to be wrong, she'd need that appointment with the neurologist. And she'd be just as eager as Dr. Feldman to get to the bottom of whatever had happened.
She was sureâbut she wasn't. Before she went home, she decided, she was going to make a stop. If she turned out to be wrong ⦠If she turned out to be wrong, she'd need that appointment with the neurologist. And she'd be just as eager as Dr. Feldman to get to the bottom of whatever had happened.
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ICOLE GOT HER WALKING papers with a breakfast of scrambled powdered eggs, rubbery toast, and canned fruit cocktail. She was allowed to take another shower, just as delicious as the first, and to put on the clothes that had come in the bag: bra, panties, white Reeboks, a pink top she seldom wore because she hated the color, and pink socks, both of which went well with faded jeans.
ICOLE GOT HER WALKING papers with a breakfast of scrambled powdered eggs, rubbery toast, and canned fruit cocktail. She was allowed to take another shower, just as delicious as the first, and to put on the clothes that had come in the bag: bra, panties, white Reeboks, a pink top she seldom wore because she hated the color, and pink socks, both of which went well with faded jeans.
Dawn must have done the packing. The pink top gave it away. So did the coordinated colors. Frank paid as little attention to his own clothes as he could get away with, and even less to anyone else's. Unless it was a woman, and she wasn't wearing enough of them. That, he noticed.
Dressed, if casually, and ready to face the world, Nicole called Frank to let him know she was coming. She got the machine, which was fine with her. She wasn't in the mood to talk to him; when she got home would be more than soon enough.
The nurse who wheeled her downstairs and the staffer who signed her out both looked at her somewhat oddly. As she claimed her purse from the safe, she realized what it was. Sympathy. They thought she minded that she was checking out alone, with no family to help her, and no one to drive her home. It was a rather Roman attitude, when she stopped to think. But she was profoundly modern. She was glad she was alone. She needed time to sort things outâand she certainly
wouldn't get that once she'd gone back to being Kimberley and Justin's mommy again.
wouldn't get that once she'd gone back to being Kimberley and Justin's mommy again.
Her purse came from the safe in its own good time. There was a note taped to it:
Car is in section D-4, over by the California Tumor building.
The words were scribbled in Frank's angular handwriting. No best wishes, no nothingâonly what needed saying, and that handled with as much dispatch as possible. Very much in character for Frank.
Car is in section D-4, over by the California Tumor building.
The words were scribbled in Frank's angular handwriting. No best wishes, no nothingâonly what needed saying, and that handled with as much dispatch as possible. Very much in character for Frank.
They wheeled her out to the door, and no farther. Beyond that, she was on her own. She stood in front of the medical center, with its glass and steel and concrete behind her, and the expanse of asphalt in front of her. It was awash in sunlight, drenched with it. She blinked and squinted and, after a long, dazzled moment, remembered to rummage in her purse for her sunglasses. They cut the force of the light, made it bearableâbut even with them it was brighter than it had ever been on the banks of the Danube.
When she could see again, and when her lungs had accustomed themselves to the sharp dusty smell of a California street, with its undertone of auto exhaust and its eye-stinging hint of smog, she made her way toward the building with the horrible name. The oncology group that inhabited it had obviously never heard of PR.
By the time she'd taken three steps into the lot, she was sweating. The day would be well up in the nineties, maybe triple digits. She hadn't feltâshe didn't think she'd feltâweather like that for a long time.
She found section D-4, and her dusty, nondescript Honda. It felt strange to do all the usual things, unlock the door, get in, fasten the seatbelt, hold her breath till it finally, reluctantly, agreed to start. She drove out slowly. Her reflexes were coming back, and rapidly, but she didn't trust them, not yet. Five minutes from the hospitalâtwo or three miles, give or take, farther than she'd ever gone from Carnuntumâat the corner of Victory and Canoga was a Bookstar that opened at nine in the morning.
It was just opening when she got there. She parked the car and hurried in past the employee who was still straightening
displays. In Carnuntum she'd have received a greeting, and been expected to stop and talk. But this was L.A. She was ignored completely, and she ignored the staff in return. She paused to get her bearings, reeling a little in the presence of so many booksâso much information, and so many assumptions about it: that the population was universally literate, or nearly so; and that the technology existed to make the printed word available everywhere, to everyone who wanted it.
displays. In Carnuntum she'd have received a greeting, and been expected to stop and talk. But this was L.A. She was ignored completely, and she ignored the staff in return. She paused to get her bearings, reeling a little in the presence of so many booksâso much information, and so many assumptions about it: that the population was universally literate, or nearly so; and that the technology existed to make the printed word available everywhere, to everyone who wanted it.
The children's section was its usual determinedly cheerful self. Nicole approached it quickly, but with a kind of reluctance. Yes, there was the book she'd noticed a week or two beforeâor a year and a half, depending on how she wanted to look at it. She pulled it off the shelf, taking a moment to enjoy the heft and feel of it, before she let her eyes focus on the cover. There was the bear in ceremonial armor, and the small pig beside him bearing a legionary standard. Both were accurate as to details. She remembered that pleated skirt, oh too well. And that standard as it had gone by in parade.
So maybe that was what she'd spun the whole of the dream out of, from this and from any number of movie epics. Maybeâ
With trembling fingers, Nicole opened
Winnie Ille Pu
and began to read. And she could. She could read the Latin translation of the book she'd read to Kimberley so often in English. She read it just as easily as she'd read
Winnie the Pooh.
Winnie Ille Pu
and began to read. And she could. She could read the Latin translation of the book she'd read to Kimberley so often in English. She read it just as easily as she'd read
Winnie the Pooh.
“I was,” she whispered.
“I was there.” Nothing
could have happened to her in six days of unconsciousness at West Hills Regional Medical Center to make her read Latin as easily as she read the daily paper. Liber and Libera had given it to her as a gift, a sort of bonus for traveling in time. Obviously they'd let her keep it when they sent her back.
Forgot I had it, probably,
she thought, not uncharitably. Gods were busy beings. Why shouldn't they leave her with a gift she couldn't use, and a proof she needed?
“I was there.” Nothing
could have happened to her in six days of unconsciousness at West Hills Regional Medical Center to make her read Latin as easily as she read the daily paper. Liber and Libera had given it to her as a gift, a sort of bonus for traveling in time. Obviously they'd let her keep it when they sent her back.
Forgot I had it, probably,
she thought, not uncharitably. Gods were busy beings. Why shouldn't they leave her with a gift she couldn't use, and a proof she needed?
She almost took
Winnie Ille Pu
up to the register, but she stopped. She'd found the proof she needed. If she took the book home with her, someone would ask questions she didn't
want to answer. She could do without the bookâand if she could, she would. There was a lesson of Carnuntum in action.
Winnie Ille Pu
up to the register, but she stopped. She'd found the proof she needed. If she took the book home with her, someone would ask questions she didn't
want to answer. She could do without the bookâand if she could, she would. There was a lesson of Carnuntum in action.
She had to get herself home. Yes, that came next. She was desperately eager to see Kimberley and Justin, and yet she was almost afraid. What if they saw something in her, some change? Frank would never notice, and Dawn was too conscientiously nice to say anything, but kids were kids. If Justin started to scream at the sight of her, and Kimberley wanted to know, loudly, why Mommy was differentâwhat would Nicole say? What could she say?
That she'd been sick and now was better, that was what. And that she was really, really glad to be home with her kids again.
Frank's Acura was in the driveway, filling it. That was Frank all over. Nicole sighed and parked on the curb. Her heart thudded as she extricated herself from the car, shouldered her purse, and walkedânot so briskly as usualâtoâward the front door.
It had been only a week for the kids, but so much longer for her. There were going to be things about them she'd forgotten, things that might arouse questions. Butâshe shrugged. She'd got by with Lucius and Aurelia. She'd manage here. Here, at least, she knew what she was doing. Even with all the strangeness, the sense of belonging, of
fit,
was unmistakable. This was her world. She knew its rules. She could improvise without getting into trouble.
fit,
was unmistakable. This was her world. She knew its rules. She could improvise without getting into trouble.
Just for a moment, she wondered how Umma was faring, back on the other side of time. Had her own spirit returned, to be confused by all the changes? Or was her body lying in her bedchamber as Nicole's had lain in the hospital: empty, untenanted? In that world, that was a death sentence. There were no facilities for maintaining people in comas. She'd die, or her body would, if her spirit was already long gone.
No. Nicole wouldn't think that way. Gods didn't have to be fair, but she persisted in thinking that they might choose to be. They'd have brought Umma back. And she'd have found a way to cope with the sudden shift in time. Lucius would do well, and Julia, who'd been both friend and ally
to Nicole for so long. She even paused to mourn Aurelia, and Titus Calidius Severus who'd been her lover and her friend.
to Nicole for so long. She even paused to mourn Aurelia, and Titus Calidius Severus who'd been her lover and her friend.
Then she stood in front of the door. Before she could fumble for her keys, it opened. Dawn stood there: blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, cheekbones, and ripe figure on display in tight T-shirt and short cutoffsâBarbie come to life. She was smiling. She actually lookedâand soundedâpleased to see Nicole. “Nicole! I'm so glad you're feeling better.”
“Thanks,” Nicole said, returning civility for civility. Then, out of the year and a half she'd been away, she said as she wouldn't have done before, “And thanks for looking after the kids.”
“Hey, no problem,” Dawn said, as if she meant it.
Then Nicole didn't have to bother about being civil. Two small figures erupted past Frank's girlfriend, in a hot contest to see who could run the fastest and scream “Mommy!” the loudest. Kimberley probably won on points, but Justin took the prize for enthusiasm. They launched themselves at her like a pair of rockets. She had just enough time to brace herself before they knocked her down.
She let her knees give way, and sank down on the front step, hugging the warm wriggling bodies, kissing whichever was handiest, babbling at themâshe never did know what, nor care. They were so small. And so
clean.
Her fingers combed through their hair, automaticallyâaffection, no doubt of it, but habit also, checking for lice as she'd done with Lucius and Aurelia whenever she could get them to stand still for more than a few seconds.
clean.
Her fingers combed through their hair, automaticallyâaffection, no doubt of it, but habit also, checking for lice as she'd done with Lucius and Aurelia whenever she could get them to stand still for more than a few seconds.
These two were even more wiggly and even more boisterous than Umma's older, larger children. They calmed down eventually, enough to each take half of her lap and cling there. Just as Kimberley sucked in breath, probably to start regaling Nicole with a rapid-fire account of every event of the past six days, Frank's voice said, “Nicole. Hi.”
Nicole had got so wrapped up with the kidsâliterally and figurativelyâthat she hadn't even noticed his taking Dawn's
place in the doorway. “Hello,” she said coolly from the bottom of the pile of kids. Frank was exactly the same as ever, early-middle-aged, his dark hair thinning, and his sturdy bodyâso much like Justin'sâbeginning to get paunchy, with that supercilious expression Nicole had mistaken, very early on, for an indication of superior intellect. She couldn't imagine what Dawn Soderstrom saw in him. A year and a half in Carnuntum hadn't made it any clearer.
place in the doorway. “Hello,” she said coolly from the bottom of the pile of kids. Frank was exactly the same as ever, early-middle-aged, his dark hair thinning, and his sturdy bodyâso much like Justin'sâbeginning to get paunchy, with that supercilious expression Nicole had mistaken, very early on, for an indication of superior intellect. She couldn't imagine what Dawn Soderstrom saw in him. A year and a half in Carnuntum hadn't made it any clearer.
But Dawn plainly adored him. The way she stood, deferring to him, the way she looked at him, her whole attitude and posture, must have struck him as profoundly satisfying and perfectly right. Nicole had been awed enough by him when she first knew him, and she'd bought into it enough to marry him. But she didn't think she'd ever worshipped the ground he deigned to walk on.
He frowned down at her. No doubt he didn't think it was dignified of her to be sitting on the step of her own house, half drowned in kids.
Too bad,
she thought as he said, “So they think you're all right. Do they have any idea what happened to you?”
Too bad,
she thought as he said, “So they think you're all right. Do they have any idea what happened to you?”
“Not a one,” Nicole answered. “All the tests came back negative. The neurologist wants to see me again next week.”
“Dr. Feldman,” Frank said, precise as usual. “Yeah, I talked with her. She does seem to know what she's doing, but people don't just go to sleep for six days. Did she say whether you'd be likely to do it again?”
“She didn't know,” Nicole said, not without malice. Frank looked sour. He liked definite answers, and he very much disliked disruptions. It must have been a dire inconvenience to have to give up Cancún in favor of a week of looking after his own kids.
Nicole bit her tongue. Time was when she would have said all that to his face, and taken active pleasure in the fight that followed. But she'd come too far and seen too much to indulge herself now, and the kids were starting to wriggle. Kimberley spoke up in her clear, precise voiceâjust like Frank, but by as many gods as it took, Nicole wasn't going to let her grow up to be just like her father. “I called nine-one-one,
Mommy, just like you told me to,” she said.
Mommy, just like you told me to,” she said.
Nicole hugged her so hard she squeaked in protest, then hugged Justin, who was demanding equal time. “I know you did, sweetie. They told me in the hospital. You did just what you were supposed to.”
Kimberley looked thoroughly pleased with herself. She got to her feet, and watched as Nicole unknotted herself and stood, still holding Justin.
“We're going to Woodcrest now, Mommy,” Kimberley said.
“Woodcrest,” Justin agreed.
“My teacher is Miss Irma,” Kimberley went on, “and Justin's teacher is Miss Dolores, andâ”
She'd have gone on, and probably at great length, if Frank hadn't interrupted. “I signed them both up to start Monday, and paid the first month up front.”
Nicole's eyes widened slightly. “All right,” she said. “Good. How much is that going to cost?”
He told her. She winced. It didn't take long to do the mental calculations. “If I'm going to be paying that every month, you'll have to keep up with the child support.”
“I know, I know,” he said, as he always did. That was his way of taking the easy way out. Promises, promises. Well, Nicole thought: words were cheap, but court-ordered support payments were a whole lot more concrete than that.
She was going to have to work to get what was legally due her. She resented like hell having to struggle for it, but the fact remained that if she pressed her case, she could get what was coming to her. No need to put up and shut up. She was entitled to that money, and she would get it.
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