Liz swims and swims and swims and swims, always keeping the silver moon in sight. And the gondola grows larger and larger. And the rest of the watch seems to disappear. And Liz finally reaches the surface, gasping for air, gasping for life.
And when her eyes finally adjust to the daylight, the gondola is nowhere to be found. Instead, she sees a familiar white tugboat.
"Liz!" Owen yells. "Are you all right?"
Liz can't speak. Her lungs are too filled with water, and she is freezing. Owen notices that her lips are blue.
He pulls her onto the boat and covers her with a blanket.
Liz coughs for the longest time, trying to expel the water from her lungs.
"Are you okay?" Owen asks.
"I seem to have lost my clothes," Liz croaks, her voice scratchy and sore.
"I noticed."
"And I almost died," Liz says. "Again," she adds.
"I'm sorry."
"And I'm totally pissed off at you," Liz says.
"I'm sorry for that, too. I hope you'll forgive me someday."
"We'll see," she says.
"Shall I take you home now?"
Liz nods.
Exhausted, she lies down on the deck. The sun feels warm on her face. She thinks it is pleasant to be on a boat that is bound for home. She begins to feel better immediately.
"I might like to learn how to drive a boat," Liz says when they are almost back.
"I could teach you, if you want," Owen says. "It's a lot like driving a car."
"Who taught you to drive boats?" Liz asks.
"My grandfather. He was a ship captain here and back on Earth. He just retired."
"You never mentioned you had a grandfather."
"Well, he's about six years old now "
"Wait, he wasn't the captain of the SS Nile, was he?"
"Yes. The Captain. Exactly," Owen answers.
"That's the boat I was on! I met him the first day I got here!" Liz says.
"Small world," Owen replies.
Restoration
Liz recuperates for two weeks at a healing center. Although she feels better after a few days, she enjoys her period of convalescence. It is nice to be tended to by one's friends and loved ones (especially when one's recovery is assured).
One of her visitors is Aldous Ghent. "Well, my dear, it seems you are not on Earth," he declares.
Liz nods. "It seems that way."
"This situation creates much paperwork, you know." Aldous sighs and then smiles.
"I'm sorry." Liz returns his smile.
"I'm not." Aldous embraces Liz. He sniffles loudly.
"Aldous, you're crying!"
"My allergies again. I find they particularly act up during happy reunions." Aldous blows his nose.
"I finally read A Midsummer Nights Dream," Liz says.
"I thought one could only read Shakespeare for school."
"I've had some free time lately."
Aldous smiles. "And your opinion?"
"It reminded me of here," Liz replies.
"In what way?" Aldous prompts.
"You sound like a schoolteacher," Liz admonishes him.
"Well, thank you very much. I used to be one, you know. You were saying, Elizabeth?"
Liz thinks for a moment. "Well, there's this fairy world, and then there's the real world. And the way Shakespeare writes it, there's really no difference between the two. The fairies are just like real people with human problems and everything. And the human people and the fairies live side by side. They're together and they're apart. And the fairy world might be a dream, but the real world could be a dream also. I liked that." Liz shrugs. "I've never been much good at this English stuff. My best subjects used to be biology and algebra."
"Fine subjects, indeed."
"I'm reading Hamlet now," Liz says. "But I can already tell I don't like it as much as Midsummer."
"No?"
"Well, Hamlet's so obsessed with dying, like that's gonna solve anything." Liz shakes her head. "If he only knew what we know."
"If he only knew!" Aldous agrees.
One day, Curtis Jest visits.
"Lizzie," Curtis says in a more serious voice than Liz has ever heard him use, "I must ask you a question."
"Yes, what is it?"
"It's about Betty," Curtis whispers.
"What about her?" Liz asks.
"Has she any gentleman callers?" Curtis's whisper grows even sorter.
"No, I don't think so, and why are we whispering?" Liz asks.
"Is there a Grandpa Betty in the picture?" Curtis continues to whisper.
"No, Grandpa Jake is remarried and lives on a boat near Monterey, California."
Curtis takes a deep breath. "So you're saying I might have a chance?"
"Curtis, a chance at what?"
"A chance with Betty."
"A chance with Betty?" Liz repeats loudly.
"Liz, lower your voice. For God's sake, I am telling you this in confidence." Curtis's eyes dart around the room. "I find your grandmother a most delightful creature."
"Curtis, are you saying you like Betty?" Liz whispers.
"I am a bit smitten with her. Yes, yes, you could say that."
"Isn't Betty a bit old for you?" Liz asks. "She was fifty when she died, you know. And she's around thirty-three now."
"Yes, exactly! She has so much wisdom! And warmth! And, for now at least, I am twenty-nine years old myself. Do you think she will find me too immature?"
"No, Betty's not like that." Liz smiles. "Tell me one thing. Does she know yet?"
"No, not yet, but I was thinking I might write her a song."
"Curtis, I think that's a wonderful idea." Liz smiles again. "Oh, and if you run out of things to say, compliment her garden."
"Yes, yes, her garden! I shall, and I thank you very much for the tip, Lizzie."
When Liz is allowed to return to Betty's house, she passes the days lazily in Betty's garden and continues to recover. Liz reclines on the hammock while Betty tends to her garden.
Without meaning to, Betty makes frequent stops just to check that Liz is still in the hammock where she should be.
"I'm not going anywhere," Liz assures her.
Betty inhales sharply. "It's just I thought I had lost you forever."
"Oh, Betty, don't you know there's no such thing as forever?" Liz swings in her hammock, and Betty returns to her gardening. Five minutes later, they are interrupted all over again by Curtis Jest.
Curtis is strangely attired in a white suit and dark round sunglasses.
"Hello, Lizzie," he says stiffly. "Hello, Betty," he says softly.
"Hello, Curtis," Liz mimics his tone.
Curtis winks at Liz. Liz rolls over in the hammock and pretends to go to sleep. Sadie curls up behind Liz. Since Liz's return, Sadie has stayed as close to Liz as possible.
"My, Betty," Curtis says, removing his sunglasses, "you do have a lovely garden!"
"Thank you, Mr. Jest," Betty replies.
"Would you mind if I stayed a while?" Curtis asks.
"Liz is asleep, and I was just going inside."
"Oh, do you have to?"
"I do."
"Maybe some other day, then," Curtis stammers. "Good day, Betty. My regards to Lizzie."
Betty nods. "Good day."
"Oh, Betty," Liz says as soon as Curtis is out of earshot, "you were very cruel to Curtis."
"You were the one who fell asleep as soon as he arrived."
"I think he came to see you," Liz admits.
"Me? Why on earth?"
"I think he had, um" Liz pauses "come to court."
"Court!" Betty laughs. "Why, that is the most perfectly absurd thing I've ever heard! Curtis Jest is a boy, and I'm old enough to be his "
"Girlfriend," Liz finishes. "You're only about four biological years apart actually."
"Darling, I'm through with romance, and I have been for some time."
"Saying you're through with romance is like saying you're
done with living, Betty. Life is better with a little romance, you know."
"After everything, you can still say that?" Betty raises an eyebrow.
Liz smiles a little and chooses to ignore Betty's question. "Give Curtis a chance, Betty."
"I highly doubt I'll break his heart if I don't. I'm sure he'll have given up by tomorrow," Betty says skeptically.
A week later, Betty and Liz are awakened in the middle of the night by the sounds of an acoustic guitar.
"This one's for you, Betty," Curtis yells from the garden below.
He begins to sing for the first time in almost two years. It's a new song, one Liz has never heard before, one that will later come to be known as "The Betty Song."
By no means is it Curtis Jest's best performance, nor is it his finest moment as a songwriter. The lyrics are (it must be said) rather trite, mainly about the transformative powers of love. In truth, most love songs are exactly the same way.
Owen is devoted to Liz during her recuperation. He visits her every day.
"Liz," Owen asks, "when you were at the bottom of the ocean, what gave you the strength to come back up?"
"I thought I saw my watch floating on the surface, but it turned out to be your boat."
"What watch?" Owen asks after a moment.
"When I lived on Earth, I had this watch. It needed to be fixed actually."
Owen shakes his head. "A broken watch brought you back?"
Liz shrugs. "I know it might not seem so important."
"You can get a new watch on Elsewhere you know."
"Maybe." Liz shrugs again.
The next day, Owen gives Liz a gold watch. Her old one was silver, but Liz doesn't tell him that.
The new one is also not a pocket watch. It is a ladies' watch with a band made of tiny golden links. It is not the sort of thing Liz would normally choose for herself, but she doesn't tell him that either.
"Thank you," Liz replies as Owen clasps the bracelet around her narrow wrist.
"It matches your hair," Owen says, proud of the little gold watch.
"Thank you very much," Liz repeats.
That same afternoon, Jen visits Liz. (She had returned to Owen's after Emily left for keeper-ofbooks training.)
"Did you like the watch?" Jen asks. "I helped Owen pick it out."
"It's really nice," Liz says, scratching Jen between the ears.
"He wasn't sure whether to get silver or gold, but I told him gold. Gold's a great color, don't you think?" asks Jen.
"The best," Liz agrees. "Say, Jen, aren't dogs supposed to be color-blind?"
"No. Who ever said that?"
"It's something they say about dogs on Earth."
"Those Earth people are funny that way," Jen says, shaking her head. "How do they know if we're color-blind if they never even ask us? I mean, they can't even speak the language."
"Good point," Liz says.
"Back on Earth, I once saw this television report that said dogs had no emotions. Can you believe that?" Jen cocks her head. "Say, Liz, I wanted to thank you for letting me stay with you all that time."
"It was no trouble."
"And I'm sorry for that time" Jen lowers her voice "I peed in your bed."
"It's forgotten," Liz reassures Jen.
"Oh good! I couldn't bear it if you were mad at me."
Liz shakes her head. "I wasn't mad at you."
"Owen's much better now," the dog says. "He's learning to speak Canine and everything."
"You aren't mad at him, even a little?" Liz asks.
"Maybe a tiny bit at first, but not anymore. I know he's a good person. And he said he was sorry.
And I love him. And when you love a person, you have to forgive him sometimes. And that's what I think."
Liz nods. "That's a good philosophy," Liz says.
"Would you mind rubbing my belly?" Jen asks, flipping happily onto her back.
Later that night, Liz stares at the gold watch. Ah well, Liz thinks to herself. The watch isn't exactly like the old one, or anything like it, for that matter. But the intention is good. Liz shakes her wrist, causing the links to make a pleasing bell-like tinkle. She puts her wrist to her ear and enjoys the tick of the second hand. Five ticks later, Liz resolves to forgive the watch for its imperfections.
She kisses its face with tenderness. Really, what a marvelous gift, she thinks.
Before long, Liz forgives Owen, too. Yes, he is flawed, but he is also an excellent driving teacher.
If you are going to forgive a person, Liz decides, it is best to do it sooner rather than later. Later, Liz knows from experience, could be sooner than you thought.
************************************
Part III: Antique Lands
Time Passes
There will be other lives.
There will be other lives for nervous boys with sweaty palms, for bittersweet rumblings in the backseats of cars, for caps and gowns in royal blue and crimson, for mothers clasping pretty pearl necklaces around daughters' unlined necks, for your full name read aloud in an auditorium, for brand-new suitcases transporting you to strange new people in strange new lands.
And there will be other lives for unpaid debts, for one-night stands, for Prague and for Paris, for painful shoes with pointy toes, for indecisions and revisions.
And there will be other lives for fathers walking daughters down aisles.
And there will be other lives for sweet babies with skin like milk.
And there will be other lives for a man you don't recognize, for a face in a mirror that is no longer yours, for the funerals of intimates, for shrinking, for teeth that fall out, for hair on your chin, for forgetting everything. Everything.
Oh, there are so many lives. How we wish we could live them concurrently instead of one by one by one. We could select the best pieces of each, stringing them together like a strand of pearls.
But that's not how it works. A human's life is a beautiful mess.
In the year Liz will turn thirteen again, she whispers in Betty's ear, "Happiness is a choice."
"So, what's your choice?" Betty asks.
Liz closes her eyes, and in a split second she chooses.
Five years pass.
When one is happy, time passes quickly. Liz feels as if one evening she went to bed fourteen and the next morning she woke up nine.
Two Weddings
Someone from Earth's been trying to Contact you," Owen announces one evening after work.
Now the head of the Bureau of Supernatural Crime and Contact, he is usually one of the first people on Elsewhere to know about these matters.
"What?" Liz barely looks up from her book. Recently, she has taken to rereading her favorite books from when she first learned to read on Earth.
"What are you reading?" Owen asks.
"Charlotte's Web" Liz says. "It's really sad. One of the main characters just died."
"You ought to read the book from end to beginning," Owen jokes. "That way, no one dies, and it's always a happy ending."
"That's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Liz rolls her eyes and returns to her reading.
"Aren't you at all interested in who's trying to Contact you?" Owen asks. From his coat pocket, he removes a green recorked wine bottle with a sticky palimpsest where the label had once been.
Inside the bottle is a rolled-up ecru envelope. (The envelope is really more pleated than rolled, because of the thickness of the paper.) "It washed up on the wharf today," Owen says, handing the bottle to Liz. "The boys over in Earth Artifacts had to uncork it to see who it was for, but the contents of the envelope haven't been touched. When we get an MIB, we try as much as possible to preserve the person's privacy."
"What's an MIB?" Liz asks, setting her book aside to examine the bottle.
"Message in a bottle," Owen answers. "It's one of the few ways to get mail from Earth'to Elsewhere. No one knows exactly why it works, but it does."
"I've never gotten one before," Liz says.
&nb
sp; "They're not as common as they used to be."
"Why's that?" Liz asks.
"People on Earth don't write letters so much anymore. Messages in bottles probably don't occur to them. And it's not always a sure thing."
Liz uncorks the bottle. She removes the thick envelope, which is remarkably well preserved considering its watery voyage. On the front is an address in elegant calligraphy done with a rich, black-green ink:
"Very thorough," Owen says, "but they never write Elsewhere."
"No one on Earth calls it that," Liz reminds him. She turns the envelope over. The return address is in the same calligraphy:
"That's Zooey's address," Liz says as she lifts the flap. Inside, she finds a three-paneled ecru wedding invitation and a long handwritten note. Liz slips the note into her pocket.
" 'You are invited to the wedding of Zooey Anne Brandon and Paul Scott Spencer,' " Liz reads aloud. "My best friend's getting married?"
"You mean your best friend before you met me, right?" Owen teases her.
Liz ignores him. "The wedding's the first weekend in June. That's in less than two weeks." Liz tosses the invitation aside. "She certainly took her time inviting me," Liz huffs.
"You should probably forgive her. It's pretty hard to send things here, you know? She probably sent this months ago." Owen picks up the invitation. "Good-quality paper stock."
"Isn't she too young to get married?" Liz asks. "She's my age." Liz corrects herself, "I mean, she was my age. Actually, she was a month older than me, so I guess that makes her almost twentytwo."
Owen takes out a pen and begins filling out the response card. "Will madam be bringing a guest?"
"No," Liz replies.
"What about me?" asks Owen, his eyes wide with mock offense.
"Sorry to disappoint, O," Liz says, taking the response card from him, "but I think we'd have a little trouble making travel arrangements." She carefully slips the response card and the invitation back into the envelope.
"We could watch from the OD," Owen suggests.
"I don't want to watch," Liz says.
"Then we could dive," Owen says. "From the Well, you could congratulate her and everything."
"I can't believe you're even suggesting that." Liz shakes her head. "In your line of work."
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