In Times Like These Boxed Set

by Nathan Van Coops

  “Starving actually,” Blake says.

  “Okay, good.”

  “This surprise is food-related?”

  That could work.

  “Yeah, Mallory has something special in mind, but the rainout sort of messed up the timing. She called me and asked me to divert you. Francesca was freaked out that you got there so fast.”

  I pull into a smoothie store parking lot and let the Jeep idle in the handicapped space in front of the door.

  “I think you should wait in here for a bit. I’ll come back and get you.”

  Blake eyes the building. “You aren’t coming in?”

  “No. You should probably get yourself a smoothie to hold you over. I wouldn’t eat too much though.”

  “I actually don’t think I brought any cash,” Blake says, feeling his pockets.

  “I can spot you.” I rummage in my pocket for my wad of bills.

  Shit. All I have is hundreds.

  I keep my hand out of sight from Blake as I gingerly extract a single bill from my pocket, trying to keep the rest from falling out.

  “Here you go.” I hand him the bill.

  “Whoa, high roller.” Blake smiles.

  “Yeah, sorry. It’s all I got. Just bring me the change later.”

  “Okay, so you’ll be back in a bit?”

  I look at the Blake next to me. He looks so stress-free. No sign of devastating loss on that face. Blake is going to be destroyed. My Blake.

  “Yeah, man. Maybe a half hour or so. Oh, and don’t call Mallory. She’ll know I botched the job,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  He glances at my pants as he’s about to get out. “Hey, how’d you change so fast?”

  “I’m ridiculously talented,” I say.

  He shrugs and hops down. He gives me a quick two-fingered salute and dashes for the cover of the smoothie store awning.

  I pull the Jeep back out to the street. As I sit at the stop sign waiting for traffic to clear, the rain slants into the Jeep and soaks my left leg.

  I hope this lets up. I’m going to need a change of clothes.

  The implications of what has just happened start to dawn on me.

  Shit. There could be another me, too . . . I should have told Blake not to call me either. I’m going to need to move fast.

  I rev the gas pedal and pull out into traffic. Racing back to Mallory’s house, my tires spray huge arcs as I blast through the rivers of rainwater pooling in the intersections.

  Francesca, Blake, and Mallory are huddled in the doorway of the front porch, watching for me as I pull up. Francesca tugs on Blake’s arm and sprints out to the Jeep, carrying my pack. Blake takes Mallory around the waist for another long kiss and then dashes out after Francesca. I tilt the passenger seat forward so Francesca can squeeze into the back. Blake is smiling as he climbs into the Jeep.

  “If I wasn’t so happy right now, I would seriously question your choice of vehicles. With all of our cars there, you chose mine?”

  I shift into gear and pull away from the curb. Mallory waves to us from the porch and Blake blows her a kiss in return. She pretends to grab it and stuff it into her back pocket.

  This is going to suck.

  I drive a few blocks north and wind my way into the Euclid neighborhood. I find a section of street where the heavy foliage from the trees is blocking most of the rain, and pull over.

  “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?” Blake says.

  I switch off the ignition and turn to face him. “Okay, man. This isn’t going to be fun to hear, but I have some really bad news.”

  Blake searches my face. “I’m flying pretty high right now. It would take a lot to bring me down. What’s going on? Did something happen to Robbie or Carson?”

  I look back to Francesca. She has tears rolling down her face. I face Blake. “We’re not back.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “Something is screwed up. We’re not back to our lives. I didn’t get your Jeep from the parking lot at softball. I got it from you. Another you.”

  Blake leans away from me. “You’re messing with me, right?” He looks at Francesca’s face and back to mine. “This isn’t funny.”

  “Blake, you know I wouldn’t joke about something this serious. I know how badly you wanted to get home.”

  “I am home!” Blake says. “We made it.”

  I point to the clock on Blake’s dash. “It’s seven forty-eight. Something’s different. The power line should’ve zapped us by now. I don’t know why, but that didn’t happen to you this time. We ran into you driving back from softball.”

  “How is that possible?” Blake says.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you left earlier, maybe we didn’t all hang around when it started raining at the field. Maybe the power line never struck the bench this time. I don’t know.”

  “Did you and Francesca still go back?”

  “I don’t know. I just know you definitely didn’t, because you’re sitting in a Tropical Smoothie right now, waiting for me to come pick you up.”

  “Why am I still sitting here then? Why haven’t I disappeared or something?” Blake says.

  “It doesn’t work like that, remember?” I say. “Quickly said time is not strictly linear when—”

  “I don’t believe you. This can’t be happening.” Blake raises his hands to his head and grabs his hair. He turns and slides out of the Jeep.

  “Blake —”

  “No. This is not happening.” Blake paces back and forth next to the Jeep, still fidgeting with his head. “You’re sure it was me?”

  “Yes.” I climb out of the Jeep and join him by the tailgate.

  He looks at Francesca. “Mallory. What about Mallory?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know what’s going on. I just know there are two of you.”

  “Quickly did tell us about this,” Francesca says. She’s staring out the windshield of the Jeep. “He said there can be alternate timelines. Paradoxes.”

  “That was an alternate Mallory?” Blake asks. “And the alternate me . . . so he’s going to . . .” Blake stops moving. “I gave her the ring. We’re in the wrong life and I gave her the fucking ring?” He spins away from me and yells at the sky. He turns back and grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Where is she, Ben? Where’s MY Mallory?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” I say, putting my hands to his shoulders. He brushes them away and forces his way past me to the back of the Jeep. He reaches across the back seat and pulls his bat bag toward him. He jerks his bat out of the bag and takes a firm two-handed grip.

  “Blake, what are you—”

  He doesn’t look at me as he strides toward the curb. A “No Parking” sign has the misfortune of being in his path. He unleashes his fury upward, smashing the left face of the sign backward to a ninety-degree angle with one swing. He recoils and smashes the other side as well. The bat clangs and reverberates as he takes fierce swings at the post.

  Somebody is going to call the cops.

  When he finally lets up, the No Parking sign is lying on the ground, missing a corner, and the post is dinged and notched. He lets the bat dip and touch the ground as he stares at the wreckage. He turns to us, walks to the back of the Jeep, and hands the bat to me. Standing still, staring at the ground below the back bumper, he closes his eyes and grabs the back of the tailgate with both hands, then leans his forehead against his knuckles. “This just can’t be happening.”

  Francesca’s eyes are red. She sits silent.

  “I think you cracked your bat,” I say.

  Blake lifts his head and looks at the bat in my hands. He snatches it from me, and with a two-handed swing, hurls it across the street. The bat just clears a parked car on the other side before bouncing off the sidewalk with a clang and crashing into a fence. He turns and starts walking away down the middle of the street.

  “Blake. We need to figure out what to do next,” I say.

&n
bsp; He turns around. “You figure it out, Ben. You’re the one who’s having such a great time with all of this. You should just keep hooking us up with more of your time traveling buddies, cause that’s worked out sooo well.”

  “Blake. You know that’s not—”

  “It’s fine, Ben. Do what you want. But just because you don’t have anybody in your life you care enough about to get back to, don’t drag us along with you. You should just take your little diary, and your little gizmos, and go find your time traveler girlfriend, and leave. I’ve got a life already. I’ve got my family waiting for me. I’m going home.”

  He turns and walks away.

  I watch him reach the end of the block and turn left.

  You’re my family, you stupid jerk.

  “He’s just upset,” Francesca says. “He didn’t mean it.”

  “I know,” I say. I turn and find her watching me. “I know.”

  I climb back into the driver seat of the Jeep and start it up. The rain has lessened to a light drizzle. I make a U-turn and then follow Blake. When I pull up alongside him, he continues to stare straight ahead. “Hey, I know you need some time or whatever,” I say. “I’m going to go over to Mr. Cameron’s house and look for some sign of Robbie and Carson. If you need a direction for your walk, maybe head that way.” He doesn’t say anything, but I can see from his eyes he’s listening. “We’ll meet you over there.” I shift into second and pull away. He still says nothing, but I know he’ll go. What choice do we have except stay together?

  Francesca and I cross Fourth Street and splash through the brick streets of Old Northeast. “Where are you going?” she asks. “This isn’t the way to Mr. Cameron’s.”

  “I want to check something first.”

  Turning north on Oak Street, Francesca identifies my destination. “We’re going to your apartment?”

  “Well, I’m not. I was hoping you might check it out for me though. I really want to know if all of us are still here, or if it’s just Blake.” I pull up to the curb across the street from my second story apartment. The blinds are down but lights are on.

  Did I leave my light on?

  “I look a mess,” Francesca says, pulling down the sun visor to check herself in the mirror. She tries to straighten out her hair and rubs away the tearstains from under her eyes.

  “It’s just me,” I say.

  “Well yeah, but what if the other you is hotter?” She grins. “Never hurts to look good.”

  “Hey! Not possible.” I smile. It feels good to smile. At least Francesca seems to be taking this okay. Haven’t screwed up everyone’s life yet.

  She decides she’s done the best she can and unbuckles her seat belt. “What should I say?”

  “I don’t know. I guess just be friendly. See if he had any weird experiences at softball tonight.”

  “Okay.” She steps down from the Jeep.

  “Oh hey, do you still have your phone?”

  “Yeah. Should be in the backpack.”

  “Do you mind if I use it?”

  “Sure, if you think it will work.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I rummage through the pack as Francesca makes her way toward the apartment. I find the phone and power it on as she’s knocking on the door. From my angle, I can’t see the person inside as the door opens, but she smiles, and after a moment goes inside.

  The cell’s battery is low but not completely depleted. It has a decent signal. I dial the number into her keypad and wait three rings till someone picks up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mom. It’s Ben.”

  “Oh hi! This is a nice surprise! Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. I was just calling to say hi.” Just needed to hear your voice.

  “Oh, that’s very sweet. I was just talking about you to one of the neighbors. Do you remember the Hammersteins? Their oldest is back from college. Rachel, or might have been Carly; I think Rachel is the younger one. Very pretty girl, though. I told Deborah that next time you’re visiting we’ll have get you two together.”

  I remember the Hammerstein girls taking prom pictures in their yard the last time I was home. Hard to believe they could be graduating college.

  “Have you been seeing anyone lately in Florida?”

  “No. Not right now.” Met a cute time traveler from 1986. Not sure that counts.

  “Well, I’m sure she’s out there somewhere,” she says.

  She tells me about the latest trip to the vet with the dog and how my dad sprained his ankle coming down the steps from the attic. In a few minutes Francesca reemerges from the apartment. I catch the glimpse of an arm hugging her as she leaves but I don’t see the other me.

  “I have to get going, Mom. Tell Dad hi for me.”

  “Oh I will, sweetie. He’ll be happy to know you called. He’d want to thank you for your package you sent, too.”

  What package?

  “That will make a great gift for Father’s Day. I peeked, but I won’t tell him what it is.”

  “Okay, thanks, Mom.” Father’s Day. At least this other me is staying on top of things.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mom, very much. Talk to you again soon.”

  I hang up the phone as Francesca climbs back into the Jeep. She’s struggling a little because she has a cup in her hand.

  “Who were you talking to?” she says, finally making it into the seat.

  “My mom. Well, wrong mom, I guess. Still felt good to talk to her. What’s that?” I point to the cup of pinkish something in her hand.

  “Oh. Yeah. You were making smoothies, so you gave me some.”

  “You took his cup?”

  “What? You’re a nice guy. What do you want me to do? Apparently you really like smoothies after softball. Plus, don’t look at me for stealing a cup, you stole a whole Jeep!”

  Blake.

  “Yeah, he’s going to be so pissed at me. Well, he’ll probably be pissed at the other me.”

  “What did you do with him?”

  “He’s still over at Tropical Smoothie waiting for me to pick him up for his surprise.” I frown.

  “Ah. See? Smoothies!” Francesca points at me. I shake my head. “So, what? You’re just going to leave him there?” Francesca sips her drink as I put the Jeep in gear.

  “I don’t know what else to do. I know it’s kind of mean, but I already have one angry Blake to deal with. I don’t think I can handle two.” I pull into the street and drive us west toward Mr. Cameron’s house. “Did you learn anything from the other me about the softball game?”

  Francesca nods and finishes a gulp of her drink. “Yeah, he said they left early because of a rainout. Nothing about anybody getting hit by lighting, or power lines breaking. It sounded pretty normal.”

  “That’s interesting,” I say. “At least we know why they never left. No power lines breaking means no power surge, so no gravitites, and no time traveling. These versions of us won’t be going anywhere unless they randomly get exposed to gravitites some other way. That’s not very likely.”

  “It’s so weird talking to another you, by the way. I mean, it’s you, so that part isn’t weird, but him not knowing anything that has been happening to me the last few weeks is just surreal.”

  “I know what you mean. I felt the same way with the other Blake.”

  “So what do we do?” Francesca says. “We can’t go back to our lives if someone else is already living them.”

  “Yeah. I know. I want to find out what happened to Robbie and Carson. If they made it back, then they might be as confused as we are, but maybe they know something we don’t.”

  The lights are on in Mr. Cameron’s house as we pull into the alley driveway. “Do you think his family is living here?” Francesca says. “How old would Mr. Cameron be if he’s still alive?”

  “Pretty darn old,” I say.

  The yard gnomes are still on the back porch, watching me as I knock on the door.

  “Feels like d�
�jà vu,” Francesca says.

  The black woman that answers the door is a stranger to us. Middle-aged and pear shaped, she’s dressed in colorful floral scrubs and white Velcro sneakers.

  “Hello. Can I help you?” Her greeting is friendly, but I note she hasn’t opened the door very far.

  “Yes. We’re looking for Robert Cameron.”

  “Are you selling something?” she asks.

  “No ma’am,” I say, “We’re friends of his.”

  She gives us both an appraising stare and then opens the door wider. “I’ll see if he is awake and willing to have visitors. Who shall I tell him is here?”

  “I’m Benjamin and this is Francesca,” I say. “We’ve been his houseguests before.”

  “I don’t remember you,” she says. “I’ve been working here eight years.”

  “It was a while before that.”

  She nods and shows us into the library. The birdcage in the corner sits still and vacant. The house is quiet with the exception of the sound of raindrops dripping off the gutters outside. The library is much how we left it, though dust has settled on most of the books, and a flat screen television has been installed on the wall opposite a recliner.

  We are sitting for only a couple of minutes when the nurse comes back and gestures for us to follow her. She leads us upstairs and down the hall to Mr. Cameron’s bedroom door.

  “He’s pretty tired, and none too strong, so try not to get him worked up.”

  “Okay. We won’t. What’s your name, by the way?” I offer my hand.

  The woman takes her hand off the doorknob and accepts my handshake. “My name is Delilah, but everyone calls me Dee.”

  “Thank you, Dee,” Francesca says.

  She opens the door for us and we enter. The door closes quietly behind us. I set my pack down near the dresser. Mr. Cameron is propped up against a stack of pillows in his four-poster bed. The curtains have been pulled back and the windows are open so the sounds of the dripping rain come through. Mr. Cameron smiles at us as we walk to opposite sides of his bed. His green eyes are still bright, though age has taken much of the substance from his body. His hair is only wisps of white, and the bones of his hands protrude sharply through his pale skin. He smiles at us as we draw closer, and I see he still has all of his teeth.