When You and I Collide

by Kate Norris

  Schrödinger looked relieved. What had he been afraid she might ask?

  “Well, I can tell you,” Schrödinger said, laughing and shaking his head, “but I don’t know if you’ll believe it. Are you familiar with multiverse theory—the idea that this world is one of many parallel realities?”

  Dread twisted her stomach. If Hawthorn was interested in multiverse theory, he would be very interested in her, and he didn’t seem like a safe man to interest. But that would be an issue only if he found out about her ability. Father certainly wouldn’t give up that information, and neither would she.

  Winnie nodded her head and tried to keep her expression neutral. “I’ve heard of it,” she said, “but isn’t that pretty fringe?”

  “Oh, it is! But if nothing else, wartime does encourage innovation.”

  Winnie didn’t want to seem overly curious, but she’d already come this far—she had to know the specifics. Was Hawthorn trying to build a splinter device too, or something else? Should she tell Father about it? She didn’t think he would take the news well.

  “What, exactly, is Hawthorn trying to do?” Winnie asked.

  He cocked his head at her, looking rather like some type of sharp-eyed bird of prey behind his spectacles. Did she seem too eager?

  “Hawthorn is trying to develop a method of transportation between realities,” he answered finally. “An interdimensional travel machine.”

  Talk about outlandish! Trying to travel between realities was a bold—and in Winnie’s opinion, likely impossible—goal, and stupidly dangerous. If the machine weren’t manned, how could you ever know where it had gone, or get it back? And if a person were to make the trip, who could anticipate the impact it would have on the human body—not to mention the impact it might have on the world you entered?

  Of course, what did Hawthorn care for the danger, if he wasn’t the one making the trip. She imagined that was where an eager lab assistant came in handy.

  Poor James! Winnie could tolerate being an occasional specimen—barely—but only because it was Father’s experiment. Had James gotten involved of his own free will, or was it possible that he was locked in a lab at that very moment, being experimented on, poked and prodded? It was an awful scenario to imagine, and Winnie could imagine it all too well.

  Or . . .

  . . . What if Hawthorn had completed his machine already? What if James was missing because he was trapped in some other world?

  But that was crazy. This was a government project. Surely there must be oversight. If James was involved, even as a subject, it was much more likely that he was out of communication with Scott because he had to keep his work classified, not because he was being kept prisoner or had—beyond all odds—crossed the barrier between realities.

  “You know,” Schrödinger said, “it was your mother who first led me to believe there might be something to all this talk of alternate realities.”

  This revelation startled Winnie away from her worries about James.

  “Really? Why?”

  “She had quite”—he paused as if to think—“unique ideas on the topic. That’s what first attracted her to the field of physics, in fact—odd study, for a girl. I wonder if that’s something she’s shared with you? Those . . . ideas?”

  If he was implying what Winnie thought he was implying—

  No.

  She couldn’t think about that now.

  The last thing she wanted was for Hawthorn to find out that she was a girl with any “ideas” about multiverse theory.

  “We didn’t talk about things like that,” Winnie said firmly, which was true. Hopefully that would make it sound more convincing. “I was only seven when she died.”

  Apparently, it was Schrödinger’s turn to be surprised.

  “Astrid is dead?”

  Winnie nodded. “She died in a car accident, back in Germany.”

  Schrödinger stood there blinking at her for a moment, like he couldn’t quite absorb what she’d said.

  Why was he so upset? Winnie’s mother had been his student, but that was a lifetime ago, and they must not have kept in touch after she left school, or he would have known about her death before now.

  “But if your mother’s dead, who’s been taking care of you?”

  Winnie was confused by the question. “Well—my father, of course.”

  Schrödinger frowned. Could he could tell that although Winnie hadn’t lied, it wasn’t the full truth either?

  Sure, her needs were met, but no one cared for her like Mama had.

  “I knew Astrid was pregnant when she left Zurich,” Schrödinger said suddenly, “but I wasn’t sure a baby came of it until tonight.”

  What else would come of a pregnancy but a baby, Winnie wondered? Then she felt stupid. She was far from worldly, but even she knew that not all pregnancies came to term—some due to the mother’s intervention.

  Why had Schrödinger thought Mama might not want to keep her? She had been married, and in love. Unless . . .

  Wait.

  Mama had gone to school in Switzerland, then she and Father had moved to Germany and married after his graduation. If Schrödinger was right, and Mama was already pregnant when she left Switzerland . . .

  Winnie tried to make sense of it all.

  She had always assumed Mama didn’t finish her degree because she wanted to get married, and Father was done with school. But no. She’d had to leave because she got pregnant.

  Winnie felt a twinge of shame in her chest, which she immediately tried to stamp out. So, she had been conceived out of wedlock. So what? Her parents had married before she was born. It was no business of hers, really, and certainly no business of Schrödinger’s, nor anyone else’s.

  “If I’d known,” Schrödinger said, “when Astrid passed, I would have . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Well, I don’t actually know what I would have done.” He gave her a searching look. “Heinrich—he does take good care of you, though?”

  Winnie nodded mutely. She felt her breathing pick up speed. She stared at Schrödinger for a minute more, trying to process everything, the meaning behind his words.

  What he was telling her, she didn’t want to know. But she couldn’t un-hear what he was saying, and she could no longer ignore his eyes. Winnie had finally realized where she recognized Schrödinger from—and it wasn’t just the odd magazine photo here and there.

  Winnie saw bits and pieces of him every time she looked in the mirror.

  “Does he know?” Winnie said, her voice sounding strangled in her own ears.

  Schrödinger looked at her thoughtfully. He must be trying to decide which was better, the truth or a lie.

  What criteria could he possibly use? Was it better if Father had no idea, and now she had to keep this secret, or if he’d known the whole time and never told her? It was awful, either way.

  “Yes, he knows,” Schrödinger said finally, laughing humorlessly. “Heinrich had words with me about it.”

  “And he married her anyway?”

  Schrödinger gave her a gentle look. “I imagine he married her because of it.”

  “Because you wouldn’t,” Winnie said, practically spitting the words.

  “Well, I couldn’t. I was married already, and besides—Astrid had no interest in me.”

  Winnie just stood there, eyebrows raised. No interest in him! How could he say that while she stood right there, eloquent evidence to the contrary?

  “I don’t know how to explain this,” Schrödinger said with a sigh. “Winifred, my dear, you’re very young.”

  Each moment that passed, this shocking new knowledge sunk in a little deeper, becoming worse and worse. Winnie took a shaky breath, trying to calm herself. It didn’t work.

  “I’m nearly the age she was when—when you knew each other. I’m old enough!”

 
“Well, then maybe you can understand that there are things young women do sometimes not out of love, but . . .”

  Here he trailed off, but he gestured around the room.

  Winnie couldn’t believe his gall. “You’re saying it was for her career.”

  Schrödinger shrugged. “Look at me, then look at Heinrich. I think I would be flattering myself to say otherwise.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Perhaps. But that’s the world.”

  If that was the world, she wanted no part of it.

  Winnie looked at the others in the room. What was the point of all this? For Hawthorn to show off his fancy house? For underlings to laugh too loudly at their superiors’ jokes? If Schrödinger was to be believed, Mama had made a terrible trade, trying to be part of this world—only to end up leaving the university with a pregnancy instead of a degree.

  It all repulsed her. Was that how Father felt about it too? Was that why he stayed away from events like this? Perhaps she was his daughter in that, if nothing else.

  This interaction with Schrödinger—this revelation—was this why Father wouldn’t let her come? He’d wanted to protect her. Either from Schrödinger, or from men like him.

  She had been conceived by the sort of man young women needed to be kept away from.

  She felt like she was about to be sick.

  Schrödinger took an elegant silver card holder out of his pocket and clicked it open. “Here,” he said, handing her a business card. “The world is hard on idealists like you and Heinrich. Even harder during wartime. If you need something, ask. I’m not a wealthy man, but I’m comfortable. I’ll do what I can.”

  Winnie accepted the card. Embossed letters on heavy paper stock. She tucked it into her evening bag mechanically. She imagined the card itself was more substantial than the offer. The way he said it—what did he think she might need? A new dress? A trip to Europe?

  The things she needed weren’t the sort of things that could be bought.

  It didn’t matter. She didn’t want his help anyway. She never wanted to see him again.

  Schrödinger grabbed Winnie’s hand and tried to look into her eyes, but she refused to meet his gaze. He put a finger to one of her earlobes. “I gave these pearls to your mother, you know,” he said.

  He took a breath as if he were preparing to say more, but Winnie didn’t wait. She pulled her hand away and walked off without another word.

  Had Schrödinger thought about Mama at all over the years? Had he thought about their child even once?

  What did it mean to be the daughter of such a man?

  . . . and what did it mean to be her mother’s daughter?

  She thought about what he’d said about Mama’s “ideas” about multiverse theory.

  How very little Winnie knew about what she might or might not have inherited.

  And Father. Was she still his daughter too?

  He had his flaws, but at least he had integrity. He paid Scott, not in extra credit or favoritism or vague assurances that he was part of important work—in money. Father would never use one of his students like Schrödinger had used Mama.

  Thinking about Father now made her feel sick. She didn’t know how she was supposed to face him.

  Winnie had often wondered how he could treat his daughter the way he did, and now she knew. It was simple. She wasn’t his daughter.

  She’d solved a mystery that evening after all.

  And she’d never felt worse.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Winnie found Scott, he was standing next to Hawthorn again, talking to a group of professors. Winnie didn’t dare approach. She felt sick. She didn’t trust herself to act normal. Finally, Scott glanced over at her and she must have looked awful, because he immediately excused himself and came over.

  “Winnie, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Could we go?” she asked. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “I’ll go say goodbye to our host, make some excuse—meet me by the door?”

  Winnie was so glad Scott was Scott. He didn’t immediately press her for details.

  She went and got the butler to bring their coats. Once they were outside, away from the light and chatter, away from Hawthorn, away, thank god, from Schrödinger, Winnie felt like she could breathe.

  She and Scott walked down the street in silence. After about a block, he stopped, looked at her, and began, “Winnie—”

  She cut him off with a shake of her head. Winnie knew he wanted her to tell him what was wrong, but she wasn’t ready.

  Even so, there was one thing she’d found out from Schrödinger that she could share.

  “I learned what Hawthorn is working on,” she said, pleased that she sounded almost normal. “Project Nightingale is trying to build a device that can transport people between alternate realities.”

  Scott considered a moment, then nodded. “There’s always been gossip about Hawthorn’s interest in multiverse theory, so that makes sense.”

  “You’re not as surprised as I expected. What does it have to do with building a bomb? I don’t see the military application.”

  “Don’t you? An interdimensional travel machine would be the ultimate bunker. If the government has one group of scientists working to make an atomic bomb—a weapon with the potential to devastate this planet—wouldn’t they want a second group working on the escape hatch?”

  It made sense, but a terrible kind of sense. She didn’t want to believe it.

  Winnie frowned. “I doubt any machine Hawthorn makes could transport many people.”

  “Most lifeboats don’t,” Scott said. “I doubt Hawthorn cares about any of that, though. He probably just wants to see if it can be done.”

  Scott seemed to think this interest of Hawthorn’s was just happenstance, but he didn’t know that there were people who knew alternate realities were fact, not theory. People like her. Were there others?

  Was Hawthorn one of them?

  Was that why he seemed to study her with extra care when she’d seen that splinter? Was he able to recognize that something was happening behind her eyes, though no one else could?

  The prospect made her feel obscenely exposed. Like she’d been cut open, pink organs pulled out for Hawthorn to play with.

  If he did know . . . what would he do?

  Winnie gave herself a sharp mental slap. She couldn’t give in to panic now. There was still more to tell Scott.

  “I also heard a rumor—” Winnie began, then stopped. She swallowed nervously—she didn’t think this would be easy for Scott to hear. “One of your classmates insinuated that James wasn’t just Hawthorn’s assistant, but the subject of his experiments somehow.”

  Maybe it was James who saw splinters, she thought suddenly. That could explain why she felt such a kinship with him in the splinter she’d seen.

  Scott clenched his teeth and nodded. “He never told me that himself—not outright. But I think it’s true.” He gave her a gentle look. “I know it must be shocking,” he said. “It’s a terrible thing, but not all scientists share the same ethics. Some aren’t above experimenting on humans.”

  Winnie felt a wave of shame on Father’s behalf—and some shame herself. After all, she let him.

  But why would James allow his professor to experiment on him? How could you do that, unless it was for someone you—

  And then Winnie suddenly understood the mocking gesture that student had made.

  “Is James homosexual?”

  “Does that matter?” Scott asked sharply. He shoved his glasses up his nose and jutted out his chin, as if daring her to voice some disgust. “Do you think that means I shouldn’t be his friend? Or that I shouldn’t try to find him? Or do you think the same thing as everyone else in the department—that with a ‘character flaw’ like that, it makes perfect sense that he would d
rop out midsemester, tell no one, and just disappear?”

  “No! Scott, of course not!”

  Winnie’s only experience with homosexuality was as an accusation giggling girls lobbed in the locker room when somebody didn’t keep their eyes down while changing. She knew she was supposed to find it unnatural and repulsive, but she certainly hadn’t chosen the way she felt about Scott, and she assumed there wasn’t much choosing for anyone else either. Why condemn people for something out of their control?

  Besides, how hypocritical would Winnie be if she judged someone for being different?

  “I’m sorry,” Scott said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s just—people can be awful. I should have known you wouldn’t be.”

  “It’s all right—I understand. And normally I wouldn’t think it was any of my business, but it seems pertinent.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it makes him vulnerable.”

  Winnie thought about Schrödinger. And she thought about her mother.

  Was James taken less seriously than the other students, like her mother had been—and forced to compromise himself as a result, like her mother had? Was that why he agreed to be Hawthorn’s subject? Or was there something more still?

  “Do you think he and Hawthorn were having an affair?” she asked.

  Scott looked surprised for a moment, considered, then shook his head. “No, I really don’t think so. Hawthorn has always treated him almost paternally. Why do you ask?” Scott frowned. “Winnie,” he asked softly, “what happened in there to upset you?”

  This conversation had been a welcome distraction from her earlier one with Schrödinger, but now that all came rushing back. Mama had slept with Schrödinger—and he was Winnie’s real father. She had to tell Father that she knew, didn’t she? But how?

  “I—” Winnie began, but immediately faltered. “I had a—an upsetting conversation—with Erwin Schrödinger,” she finished limply.

  Then she burst into tears.

  “That son of a—” Scott shook his head furiously, hands clenched tight into fists. “Winnie, I’m so sorry. He has a terrible reputation. I shouldn’t have left you to fend for yourself. I really didn’t think anyone would bother you there, but I should have known better. Would you believe that once, at Princeton, he—”