Slideways

by Jeffrey Grode

  “Excuse me.” Old Rob’s doppel-twin brushed past him carrying a birdcage with three yellow canaries. This Rob didn’t seem to know him, or Albert.

  Patrick walked through the terminal and spent a few minutes in the gift shop. As he passed a baked goods stand, he ogled the sugar covered pecan cinnamon rolls, but kept moving until he reached the taxi stand outside. A gum-chewing driver helped him into the cab.

  Unsure if he could impersonate her father, Patrick decided to wait for Patsy at her home rather than risk potential drama at her office downtown. He felt anxious, excited and curious about meeting Patsy and Jack. Would they accept him or turn him away?

  The cab dropped him in front of Patsy’s residence. A sleek red sports car with solar panels slumbered in the driveway. He didn’t recognize the model. The house looked similar to Patty and John’s house on Earth, except for the exterior.

  Scabs of yellow paint had peeled from the white surface beneath, giving the house a dappled appearance. He remembered helping John, Jack, and Ben scrape the Fuller house on Earth two years ago, just before the accident. He and John had spent a week painting the second floor, while the boys tackled the lower level. Never happened here.

  Patrick climbed the stairs to the front porch, set his suitcase down, and pushed the doorbell. The bell chimed inside, but no one answered. Trying the doorknob, he found it locked. He rang the doorbell again, and startled when a clatter of toenails sounded on porch behind him.

  Turning, he found an exact duplicate of Kipper, but without the wheels. Patrick knelt down and held out his hand for her to smell. “Hello Girl.” She sniffed, turned, and went back down the stairs. She disappeared around the side of the house.

  Betsy had told him that Terra’s Ben had died saving Ginger. His throat tightened. God bless his soul. He wondered if each universe had its own afterlife. If he could find his Betty in heaven, could he find Terra’s Ben as well? His mind shifted to his beacon, and new algorithms that might–

  Ginger barked again. She looked at him, tilted her head, and vanished once more behind the house. Patrick smiled. He’d seen enough episodes of “Lassie” as a kid and knew what came next. Follow Ginger to the well and rescue Timmy at the bottom.

  Patrick picked up the suitcase and followed her. The grass had grown halfway up his calf and stood almost as high as the green weeds in the untended garden to his left. He trailed the dog around the house, spied where she’d gone, and parked himself at a wooden picnic table near the back door. Ginger lay beneath a hammock occupied by a young couple under the shade of a cherry tree. The girl giggled and the boy laughed as they kissed each other.

  Patrick’s face stretched into a wide grin. He felt a cool breeze on his face, glanced up at the cherry tree, and watched the healthy canopy of leaves sway in the wind.

  “Hello,” Patrick said.

  Jack looked up in surprise and smiled broadly.

  “Pop-Pop,” Jack bounded out of the hammock and walked over to greet the man he thought was his grandfather. “Good to see you.”

  Patrick returned Jack’s hug with a joy he hadn’t anticipated. He’d loved and missed this boy.

  The girl followed after she fixed her blouse. Ginger trailed close behind. “This is my girlfriend, Lori. Lori, this is my Pop-Pop.”

  “Hello,” Lori said smiling. She appeared beautiful, happy, and unembarrassed.

  Patrick shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  She smiled back. The sun shone on her freckled face and made her blue eyes squint.

  Jack put his right arm around Patrick’s shoulder. “Good to see you, Pop-Pop. Come down to visit for a while?”

  This was the Jack he remembered. “Yep, I missed you, very much.” Patrick cleared his throat. “Happy Birthday.” He handed Jack a card he’d purchased at the train station. Patrick had stuffed $50 Terran in the envelope from the cash Miss Betsy had given him.

  “You remembered. Thanks.” Jack blinked as if he’d seen his grandfather for the first time.

  Patrick smiled, but his eyes misted over. He’d never thought he’d see this grandson again. How miraculous. He tried to hold the opposing thought at bay- this wasn’t really his Jack, and Miss Betsy wasn’t really his wife. Both had departed his world, but not Terra. He inhaled deeply and let the sadness pass through him. Keep breathin’.

  “Everything okay, Pop-Pop? Can I get you a drink of water or something?” Jack offered.

  He faced Jack. “I’m fine.” He took another deep breath and exhaled. “How have you been? I hear you earned a scholarship.”

  Jack squinted against the bright sunlight. “I’m doing well. I’ve got a track scholarship from Pitt, and I start the last week of August.” He looked at his girlfriend. “Lori has two more years of high school left. We hope to visit each other as much as we can.”

  She forced a smile as worry lines creased her face. She seemed a smart girl. Probably concerned about a long distance relationship. Just enjoy the summer.

  “Congratulations, Jack. I’m sure your parents are very proud.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been running to stay in shape. Between work outs and work, I don’t have a lot of free time.” He checked his watch. “I have to be at the restaurant in an hour. Hey, are you hungry? Come inside. Mom’s still at work, but there’s food in the fridge. You can use the guest bedroom.”

  “Sounds good. I’d like to freshen up before Patsy gets home.” So far so good.

  “She’ll be back around 5:30.”

  They all walked into the house through the back door. Ginger scrambled inside before it slammed shut.

  Chapter 13

  Ben smiled and stared out the window as his bus pulled into the depot. Just like going home, but on the wrong side of the mirror. There may be a million differences between Earth and Terra to catalogue, but finding Jack and GranPat were foremost in his mind.

  “Carlston!” called the driver as the bus lurched to a stop. The driver opened the door, stood, and stepped outside, followed by eight of the twenty-five passengers.

  Ben ducked down in his seat. Shit. Through the window, he spied one of the men who had attacked Albert in GranPat’s basement. The heavy man with the big round nose, probably a CSD agent, studied the arriving bus passengers as they disembarked. Ben’s chest tightened. He dropped his head and shoulders down toward his lap and pretended to sleep.

  Time passed slowly as he waited for the agent to search the bus. Footsteps moved toward him. Would the agent use his gun? Someone slid into the aisle seat next to him. He opened his left eye and saw an older woman with a brown scarf and a few white whiskers on her chin. He sighed in relief. Minutes later the door closed, the electric motor whirred, and gravel crunched as the bus left Carlston.

  After a few miles, Ben snuck another peek out the window, but didn’t see any suspicious cars following. He sat up straight, stretched as if he’d been sleeping, and looked around at the passengers. The CSD agent wasn’t on board. He glanced again at the woman next to him. “Excuse me, ma’am, what’s the next stop?”

  “Tibbetsville.”

  Shit. Ben hoped it might be somewhere closer. Tibbetsville was forty-five miles away and the delay might put GranPat in danger.

  “Thanks.” His stomach growled. He opened the brown paper bagged lunch Grandma Betsy had given him this morning, and found a bacon and egg sandwich and a dark green apple.

  The woman watched him. He held up the apple to her and raised his eyebrow. She nodded, took the apple, and slipped it into her purse. He finished his sandwich well before Tibbetsville.

  Once off the bus, he checked on the return local to Carlston, and found out it wouldn’t arrive in Tibbetsville for another three hours. He frowned. Maybe there was a faster way to return to Carlston.

  Back on Earth, Ben and his family had visited Grandma and Grandpa Fuller in Tibbetsville every year for the holidays. Grandpa Fuller, a retired coal miner, enjoyed whiskey, cigars, and poker, but grew a little crusty if anyone brought up politics or the New England
Patriots. Grandma, a former army vet, loved her husband, but hounded him about his drinking. He’d died from black lung three years ago and Grandma followed two months later.

  The old Fuller house stood eight blocks from the bus depot. What if one, or both, still lived on Terra? Maybe they could take him back to Carlston, or at least let him borrow their car. He didn’t want to upset them, but he would take the chance for GranPat’s sake. Ben jogged toward the house on 1808 Prescott Avenue.

  Car after quiet car zipped past him with the funky solar panels. He had to be careful crossing the street because you couldn’t always hear them coming. Ben slowed at the intersection as a woman whooshed by in a blue Chevrolux.

  The town looked similar to Earth’s version, but with more trees and shrubs. The Lickity Split ice cream store he and Jack had loved as kids still stood on Main Street, but here the sign read Ice Dreams. Jack had told him their chocolate milkshakes were so thick because the owner fed the cow Hershey Kisses all day.

  With only three blocks to go, Ben slowed to a walk. What would he tell Grandpa Fuller if he found him at home? He ran the conversation though his head

  “Hi, Grandpa. Can I borrow the car for a few days?”

  “No, Ben. You can’t drive, you’re dead.”

  “But I have a valid learner’s permit.”

  “Yea, but do you have the Triple A?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Ok then, here’s the keys, but take Grandma with you.”

  His Grandpa Fuller had last owned a Ford LTD Country Squire station wagon from the seventies. Ben thought it was a junker, but Dad called it vintage frugal. If Ben saw the old Ford in the garage, then he might still catch a ride. He picked up the pace.

  With two blocks to go, the road ran up hill. Large maple and oak trees shaded the neighborhood of two-story colonials and attached garages. Two women across the street passed each other on the sidewalk. One pushed a baby stroller while the other walked a Dachshund. The dog watched him as it passed.

  One block away, he turned left on Prescott and smelled freshly cut grass. The cement sidewalks, old and uneven, contained cracks that zigzagged in every square ahead. Two doors away at 1808, a large red pickup truck with silver lined solar panels sat in the drive. Though Grandpa Fuller may not have bought such a fancy vehicle, the mailbox held a better clue. It read Fuller.

  A six-foot high wooden privacy fence surrounded the back and side yard. The gate near the driveway stood one quarter open. A shiver ran through Ben’s body. Was this a big mistake? Should he knock on the front door, or play it safe and run back to the bus depot? No. GranPat needs me in Carlston.

  As he approached the red brick house, he knew someone was home. The front door stood wide open behind the closed screen door. He jogged up the steps, rang the doorbell, and waited. No reply. Before he could press the bell again, he heard a small child laugh somewhere behind him and to his left. Turning, he saw a red haired toddler in a yellow jumpsuit. She carried a small stick and waved it like a wand.

  “Hello,” he said. She must have come through the open gate.

  The girl looked at him, slowed, and turned toward the sidewalk.

  Ben knocked on the door. Still no answer. Over his shoulder, he saw the girl had walked halfway along the red truck and toward the busy street. Shit and double shit. He sprinted to cut her off, knelt in front of her, and scooped her into his arms.

  “Where’re you going, princess?” She had purple juice stains on her yellow jumpsuit. As he walked her back to the house, she squirmed and kicked her legs. A pretty woman with full-length red hair appeared inside the screen door.

  “Johnnie, come here quick!” she screamed.

  “What’s wrong now, Lucy?” a familiar voice boomed. “Can’t I get a minute to myself?”

  Johnnie? Ben glanced at the woman with red hair and then to the large silhouetted figure inside the house.

  “He’s got Suzie!” She bolted outside, down the steps, and grasped for child. “What the fuck are you doing with my baby?” Her face mottled pink from anger and fear.

  Ben handed Suzie to the woman, who enfolded her daughter into her protective arms.

  Suzie’s face crumpled as she bawled.

  Ben balked at Lucy’s ferocity. “She was heading toward the street,” Ben said, “I just . . .” His face turned crimson.

  The big man came out of the house barefoot and wearing a white tank top. He wielded an aluminum baseball bat like a club.

  Ben swallowed. Dad?

  “Lucy, step away from him. I’ll take care of—” Johnnie frowned and tilted his head. “Ben?” he said softly. He took two stilted steps off the front porch onto the sidewalk. The aluminum bat fell to the ground with a clank and rolled into the grass. “Is it really you?” he croaked.

  Ben’s feet moved backward toward the street. Why was Dad living in Grandpa’s house with another woman? “No. I’m . . . Charlie. I was just trying to help. Sorry.”

  Johnnie’s eyes grew as red and painful as when Ben’s father had learned of Jack fate.

  “I’m really sorry. Got to go.” Ben spun around and walked toward the street. He turned right on the sidewalk and ran.

  “Ben, wait. Come back.” Johnnie called from the driveway.

  Ben jogged along the cracked sidewalk toward the intersection and glanced back over his shoulder. Johnnie watched him from the sidewalk, while Lucy rocked Suzie in her arms.

  Charlie? Geez. I used my middle name.

  Ben ran all the way back to the bus stop wondering if he’d just been a hero or a coward. Maybe both. Why had he run? He’d just saved a little girl from walking into a busy street. Was she his step-sister? Was Lucy the same woman Dad had called from the Gas Mart? No. Think doppelgangers. Terra is different.

  Once at the bus depot, Ben purchased a one-way ticket to Carlston using the paper money Grandma Betsy had given him. The bills had green and blue ink on silvery paper. The dollar bill showed a farmer in a cornfield on one side, and a picture of George Washington on the other. The Commonwealth coins were stamped with a condor, a shining sun, and an American Indian on horseback.

  While Ben waited for the bus and watched people use telephone booths and telephone books. These had become practically obsolete on Earth since almost everyone used cell phones with access to the Internet. He’d seen a few people with flip phones here, but not anything like a smartphone. Terra was a bit behind in some technologies, but certainly ahead in solar power.

  The bus wheeled in two hours later and Ben rolled away to Carlston. Would GranPat be at Jack’s house? What was Jack’s mother like? What if Johnnie showed up in Carlston for dinner with GranPat and Ben?

  “Hi Honey. Says Dad. How was your day? Hey Benzo, thanks for saving my little girl. By the way we thought you were dead.”

  Mom would say, “Ben looks okay to me. Hey, wait a minute, what little girl?”

  “Suzie,” says Ben.

  “Suzie who?”

  “Suzie, my little sister. Red hair. Yellow jumper. Lucy’s kid.”

  “Oh, that one. Pass the rutabagas.”

  Ben’s stomach churned as the bus whirred toward Carlston. He hoped to find GranPat and Jack before the CSD agents found him first.

  Chapter 14

  Patrick dropped his bag in Patsy’s guest room - previously Ben’s bedroom until his accidental death. Unlike Jack’s room on Earth, this room looked like a bed and breakfast unit, rather than a shrine to a lost son. The beige walls were decorated with two floral prints and a watercolor of a pale blue fountain in the center of a busy farmer’s market. A stack of old magazines lay heaped in a wicker basket on the floor.

  He saw no family photographs, trophies, or textbooks. Not one reminder of Ben. Clean slate. He shook his head. Something wasn’t quite right.

  At breakfast this morning in Carmichael, Miss Betsy had told him Patsy and Johnnie had divorced two years ago. Patsy had been devastated after losing Ben, and Johnnie had been drawn to another woman. The marriage fell to pieces.
She’d returned to work full time to cover the bills, while Johnnie helped with child support.

  Small towns had a way of knowing your business, and Johnnie’s scandal must have weighed heavily on Patsy and Jack. Though Patsy was Albert’s daughter, not his, Patrick still wanted to meet her and help her if he could. Apparently, Albert had often been too busy to visit.

  Patrick laid down on the comforter, rolled to his left side, and then to his right. The bed felt soft, but he was all hard edges. Patrick sat up and blinked at his tired reflection in the mirror. How much should he tell Patsy and how might she react? He couldn’t relax, not here, not yet.

  Patrick dressed, walked downstairs, and drank a tall glass of water. Ginger watched while her tongue lolled in expectation. He filled her empty water bowl and gave her dry dog food from a bin he found in the kitchen closet. As she lapped her water, he ventured into the living room.

  An old picture of Patsy, Ben, and Jack hung on the wall. None with Johnnie. An old-fashioned black and white photo of Albert and Miss Betsy stoked his memory. His Betty had posed with him for a similar photograph at the Knights of Columbus Easter dinner. Such a long time ago. He would give anything to relive that moment.

  Patrick felt useless standing in a room full of sad memories. Outside the window, the tall grass waved in a light breeze. Walking through the foyer, he ventured back outside with Ginger on his heels.

  The garage bay door opened with a sharp squeal from rusty hinges. Once inside, he saw dusty cardboard boxes, old bicycles, and tools scattered on a wooden workbench. An old red gas lawnmower sat like a dusty relic in the corner. The tank was empty, as was the five-gallon container hidden behind the wheelbarrow.

  Near the far garage door, he found a green John Deere electric push mower already plugged into a wall receptacle. Patrick had used electric mowers in the past with long extension cords. This model had a light weight storage battery and didn’t need a cord. The motor started with a push of a button. It wasn’t self-propelled, but it would get the job done.

  The mower included an attached Weed-Whacker on the left side, allowing him to zip the weeds along the house and garden. After an hour of cutting, he gathered the clippings in the wheelbarrow and started a new mulch pile in the corner of the overgrown garden. The day remained cool, but he worked up a light sweat. The physical exertion helped him burn off the tension he’d felt since he’d been abducted.