Second Time Around (12 page)

David gave them a salute. “Bonuses for everyone!”

They laughed, and a doctor and nurse stepped forward from one of the hospital beds, which took up positions at nine, twelve, and three o’clock. For the first time, David allowed himself to notice that two of the beds were full. Vanessa Caldwell and Lane Holloway lay in the beds at nine and twelve, a white, curved machine wrapped across their foreheads. An IV drip and monitors did their life-sustaining work.

“Remember, I dislike needles,” he said.

Mac motioned to the doctor standing nearby. “We are now entering your realm, Dr. Rodriguez. If you will please put the patient at ease?”

The doctor came forward and shook David’s hand. His eyes were kind, but he looked way too young to know much of anything about anything. Then he stepped back to display the equipment surrounding the bed. “I’m afraid there
will
be a few uncomfortable moments as we attach life-support tubes: an IV, a catheter, and sensors at vital points.”

“I define the most vital point as keeping me alive.”

“Exactly. And I assure you, there is little danger.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that.”

“Actually,” Dr. Rodriguez smiled, “yes, you will.”

The pretty nurse cut in. “Let me assure you, I am an expert at pricking and probing.”

He winked at her. “I’m sure you are, Nurse…?”

“Connor.”

“First name?”

“Doris.”

David sat on the bed. “With Doris by my side, I’m ready for anything.”
I just want to get this over with.

But Dr. Rodriguez wasn’t through showing off the tools of his trade. He moved to the curved machine that would soon wrap around David’s head. “The roots of this machine are in the fMRI—the Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging—that is used to map the body. Since we are only interested in the brain, we have minimized the size. To be even more specific, we have perfected a technique for pinpointing the neurocircuitry enabling system called the Loop—that part of the brain that’s activated by the stimulus of memory. Through this machine, we will continuously monitor the brainwave signature of the patient as the Loop uncoils.”

He patted the machine. “It works the same as a traditional MRI, through the use of non-ionizing radiation. We tap into the Loop through the use of the MRI’s magnet and radio waves and then go a step further and map your unique brainwave signature.”

It sounded good. And normally David would have enjoyed the tech-speak. But not today. Not now.

Doris touched his shoulder. “Would you like to lie down so we can get started?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Mac stepped away and they pulled a curtain around the bed. Nurse Connor was right. She was good at pricking and prodding. She also smelled wonderful. Like honeysuckle. When she was done she smiled down at him. “How are you doing?”

“Don’t leave me.”

She took his hand. “I won’t.”

Dr. Rodriguez pulled back the curtain, letting Mac back in. Then they positioned the MRI machine around David’s head. David was glad his eyes weren’t covered. It would have been unbearable not to see.

Mac came into view. “This is it, Mr. Stancowsky. Would you like to say anything?”

“Don’t screw this up, okay?”

He felt Doris squeeze his hand. It would be all right. In a few moments he’d be seeing his Millie again. That was worth any risk.

Dr. Rodriguez stepped beside him. “I’m going to give you a shot now. All you have to do is relax and think of the time you want to visit and the new choice you’d like to make. Don’t worry if nothing happens right away. The Serum will take effect within minutes and help you hold on to the memories. Bon voyage, Mr. Stancowsky.”

David felt the prick of a needle, then a warmth. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the past—his new present.
I live in Bangor, Maine. The year is 1958. My fiancée, Millie, and I are on a pre-wedding weekend trip to Bar Harbor. We’re staying at the Rocky Ledge bed-and-break
—

He was flying, weightless. Soaring through his thoughts until suddenly, the color of David’s memories intensified, as if a light had been turned on. He smelled the combination of salt air and cinnamon. He heard a scratchy record playing “Mona Lisa.” And there, standing next to a porch swing, was his lovely Millie. She turned and looked at him.

His body had weight again. He had substance. He smiled and moved toward her.

The VIPs had left and Mac stood alone on the balcony of the Sphere. He looked over his charges: Vanessa, Lane, and David. They appeared serene. Sleeping. But he knew their minds were busy, working hard in their Alternity, living out a choice that would take them to places undiscovered. It used to be said that space was the last frontier. Perhaps. But a frontier that was just as unfathomable, just as exciting, just as limitless, was the human brain. These ordinary people lying before him were explorers, every bit as brave and adventurous as Lewis and Clark or any astronaut.

He watched the technicians at the computer terminals, manned twenty-four hours a day. He saw Dr. Rodriguez make a notation on Lane’s chart, look up, and see Mac. He took a few steps toward the balcony, speaking softly, as if sound could disturb their sleep. “They’ll be fine, Mac. I promise. Go home.”

Mac nodded. He could leave now. The winners didn’t need him. And they were not alone.

Father, take care of them.

Never alone.

SEVEN

The fear of the L
ORD
is the beginning of knowledge,
but fools despise wisdom and discipline.

Proverbs 1:7

Athens, Georgia—1976

Vanessa stood at the curb and let the swarm of college students swell around her and past her. Their spring jackets were a rainbow above the common denim of their jeans. They all had somewhere to go.

So did she. If only she could remember where it was.

Her mind was blank.

She looked around the University of Georgia campus, trying to get her bearings. What day was it? She looked at her watch, but it didn’t help with anything but the time. 10:20. If it was Monday, Wednesday, or Friday she should be heading to Russian History. But if it was Tuesday or Thursday, she should be heading back to the dorm after Business Fundamentals. The trouble was, she wasn’t on the right corner for either. And her arms were empty of books.

Suddenly queasy, she put a hand to her stomach. Then she knew. Then she remembered.

She was pregnant. The building in the next block was the clinic where she’d take care of it, make it all go away. In the purse on her shoulder was cash from Daddy, tearfully obtained, but obtained nonetheless.
“How could you do this to me, young lady? You must take care of it immediately.
”

Which is what she was about to do. No thanks to Bruce. The creep. She’d never speak to him again. Not that she wanted to.

A lie.

She heard a new wave of students coming up behind her to cross the street. She’d cross with them. She’d let them sweep her up in their wave and move her toward her destiny.

Don’t do it.

She turned around, looking for the voice. At the edge of the sidewalk a girl argued with her boyfriend. No one was speaking to Vanessa. Yet the voice had
seemed
real and had been accompanied by the oddest flash.

She let her own voice sound—and was surprised to find it amazingly strong. “I don’t have to do this.”

Then, without permission, her legs moved. Walked. Away from the intersection. To stop would be to argue with herself, so she let her feet take her away, let them lead her to a grassy spot under a tree. There they gave out and she sat. If it wouldn’t have caused a scene, she would have tipped onto her side and pulled herself into a fetal curl.

Fetal. Ha.

Instead she leaned against the trunk, closed her eyes, and rubbed her abdomen, hoping the confusion would pass with the morning sickness.

“Oh… my… goodness! Nessa!”

Vanessa’s eyes shot open. No. It couldn’t be.

It was.

Her mother.

Dorian Pruitt skipped over the grass, her granny dress dancing around her legs. In one final motion, she fell to her knees and scooped Vanessa into a hug. “My dear, dear daughter. I barely recognized you! How are you?”

She was better when she was free of the embrace. Her mother was the one who was unrecognizable. Vanessa hadn’t seen her for five years, and
that
mother figure had not been the wild-and-free woman before her. Always a bit different, but never this far-out. “What are you doing here, Mother?”

Dorian sat on the grass cross-legged, arranging her dress. “I’ve come back to get my master’s. The grade school gives me Tuesday and Thursday mornings off. My teaching assistant takes over.”

“You’re still teaching?”

“Of course. I don’t dare let a year of munchkins slip by without the pleasure of my company.”

“Since when do you need a master’s degree to teach second grade?”

“Since I want to be the best teacher I can be.” She swatted Vanessa on the knee. “Learning for the joy of learning… you should try it sometime.” She didn’t wait for her daughter to defend herself—not that Vanessa could. She’d never been a good student. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Vanessa didn’t believe that one. If her mother missed her, wouldn’t she have tried to contact her? Not a card. Not a phone call.

Her mother plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger. She audibly let out one breath before taking another. “So. Are you happy, Nessa?”

“Sure.”

“‘Sure’ is the answer of the uncommitted.”

You want me to jump up and down?
These last five years alone with her father had been busy ones, taking care of him. They’d been okay. Fine.

Okay and fine.
Two more words of the uncommitted?

A reply was needed. Vanessa drew her knees closer to her chest, a barrier between her heart and this woman. “College is awesome.” It was a huge exaggeration but definitely not an uncommitted word.

Her mother squinted. “Hmm. What’s wrong?”

At first, all she could do was stare. She wasn’t used to someone reading her. Vanessa could be crying and her father wouldn’t ask that question. Someone else’s emotions were always an imposition to Daddy, so Vanessa had learned to keep them in check. Yet suddenly, crying was a reality. The tears flowed and she bowed her head into her knees.

Her mother stroked her hair. “Oh my. Oh dear. I see it was no coincidence I passed this way and found you here.”

Vanessa looked up. “But it was! I didn’t plan to be here. I was heading—”

Her mother hooked Vanessa’s hair behind an ear. “Heading where?”

Vanessa got to her feet. “Nowhere. I need to go home.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Dorian pushed herself to standing, her feet getting caught in the long skirt of her dress. “I’m not letting you loose just yet. We’re going to lunch.”

“I can’t. I don’t have time. And it’s not even eleven.”

“Oh pooh. You
are
your father’s daughter. Or you were. But today you’re mine, and my philosophy is to eat when there’s reason to eat, not when it’s scheduled or proper. As far as time?” She linked her arm with Vanessa’s. “This is a time of celebration. I’m getting to spend time with my daughter, and nobody, not even your father, can interfere.”

What’s that supposed to mean?
But how could she object? She had nothing better to do.

Something to do, but certainly not something better.

Frankie’s Cafe sat directly across from the arches on the edge of campus, catching students—and their dollars—as soon as they hit Broad Street. Vanessa had been there only once because close proximity was all it had to offer. The floor was sticky, the food greasy, and the tables were stained aqua Formica with chrome legs that wobbled. Once had been more than enough.

And now, entering the student hangout with her mother dressed like an over-the-hill hippie… Vanessa was proud of the clean lines of her own wide pants and belted tunic, her long, straight hair compared to her mother’s frizz-bomb.