My palms were sweaty when I reached for the doorknob. I gripped it, swallowed and turned. Thank God it opened into a long narrow hallway, just as the TEMPUS team had said it would.
I shut my eyes in deep relief. This meant, at least for now, that I had arrived at the book warehouse precisely where I was supposed to land. The next question was: had I arrived in the right year and on the right date?
I shuffled down the dim, silent hallway, passing dark offices with glass doors and stacks of boxes shoved up against the walls, my hand sliding along the wall for support. My breath was labored. Where was that exit door? I had to find that door and get outside. I knew if I could just get outside, I’d be okay.
Just ahead, I saw it. On the right. An EXIT sign and a gray metal door only a few feet ahead. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move. I froze. I looked left. There was an office enclosed in glass. Seated inside the lighted office window, peering out, was a man, his face pinched in surprise and alarm.
Fear burned my face. I willed myself erect as he sprang out of his chair, rounded his desk and entered the hallway. He wore a short sleeve white shirt, dark tie and dark slacks. His steel-gray flattop haircut and black-rimmed glasses made him appear militaristic.
He put fists to his hips, narrowed his suspicious eyes, and then glanced up and down the hallway to see if anyone was with me.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked, frostily.
I gave him an innocent, grandmotherly smile. “How are you this morning?”
“Well, I’m fine. What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”
I used my rehearsed lines. “Perhaps you can help me. I’m lost.”
“Lost?”
“Yes… I’m looking for Mr. Wilson?”
“Wilson? I don’t know of any Wilson,” he said.
“Well, I’m sure he works here.”
The man seemed perplexed, which is just what was expected. My goal was to deflect him from suspecting me of anything and then fall on his sympathy.
“Ma’am, nobody will be working here for another two hours. It’s only five o’clock in the morning. Now, I am Seymour Haynes, the security manager. Is there something I can help you with?”
I acted flustered. “Well, I don’t know. I was supposed to meet my grandson around here someplace.”
“Ma’am, how did you get in this building? All the doors are locked. I checked them all just an hour ago, and I can assure you that all the doors, and I mean all, are locked.”
I managed a kind smile. “Well, they can’t all be locked if I walked in, can they?”
I’d put him on the defensive. Now, I had to get out of there.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Haynes,” I continued. “Obviously, I have entered the wrong building. I’ll just go now and try to find my grandson.”
Thankfully, Mr. Haynes decided to drop his guard and become chivalrous. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, no…” And then I had an idea. Why not turn this to my advantage?
As I turned to exit the side door, I looked back at Mr. Haynes.
“Mr. Haynes, forgive me, but what month and day is it?”
Mr. Haynes relaxed, his eyes registering understanding. My act had worked. He thought, “This old woman is senile and confused, and she needs my help.”
He cleared his throat. “It’s Thursday, May 30, 1968. Are you sure I can’t call someone for you?”
What had he said? Thursday, May 30, 1968. But I was supposed to land on Saturday, May 25th. No, it couldn’t be. I was supposed to have plenty of time to rest, to contact my younger self and persuade her not to leave her family alone the night of June 4th. I would need all that time and maybe more.
Mr. Haynes noticed my sudden alarm. I must have turned snow white. “Are you okay, ma’am? Can I call you a cab?”
I stared at him, not seeing him, my mind reeling.
“Ma’am… are you feeling alright?”
I turned from him, pushed open the side door and blundered out into the humid, soft pearl light of Thursday, May 30, 1968.
CHAPTER 14
The door slammed behind me as I staggered outside. The world flooded in, jarring and bright, and I shaded my eyes with a hand, almost falling. Grasping a wrought-iron railing, I descended two concrete steps, struggled across the sidewalk and leaned against a parked car. The heart pain returned, and I winced, gasping for air. Cyrano had instructed me to rest for several days after I’d landed, warning that my body would need to settle. From the deep, aching fatigue I felt, I’d be lucky to make it through one day. I needed my medication. I needed something to sustain me, to strengthen me.
I heard Kim Stein’s voice. “Relax and breathe, Charlotte. Take everything step by step. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t force. Don’t push. Allow things to unfold and then calculate your choices. Many things may not work out according to plan. Be patient and calm. Tell your heart to relax.”
How could I accomplish all I had to do in six days? As I stood there panting, squinting up into the brightening sky, I didn’t feel properly anchored in my skin. It was as though pieces of me were still scattered and hovering somewhere, lost, searching for the totality of me.
I don’t know how long I stood there, besieged with pain and doubt, taking deep breaths, my head bowed, my eyes shut. When I heard footsteps, I lifted my blurry gaze. A middle-aged woman with gray hair and bifocals moved closer.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
“Just a little dizzy,” I said, blinking, forcing a weak smile.
She was wearing a light pink summer suit and low heels. “Are you alone? Is someone close by to help you?”
I struggled to speak.
“Do you have a car nearby?”
“No...”
“Are you waiting for someone?”
“No…”
She stared at me, confused.
In a strained, whispering voice, I said, “I don’t know. I think I was waiting for someone…”
The woman glanced about, her mind active. She examined my face and clothes in speculation.
“My office is right over there,” she said finally, pointing. “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll call you a cab. Can you make it that far?”
I could have said no, but I didn’t want the police cruising by. If Mr. Haynes had seen me stumble onto the sidewalk and lean against a parked car, he might have called them.
“Thank you,” I said. She offered me her arm, and we slowly made our way through the parking lot toward her office. Not far from the door of the building, pain shot through my chest and I stopped, bending forward.
Just then, a car drew up and stopped. The driver rolled down his window.
“Do you ladies need some help?” he asked.
I peered through slitted eyes. He was a silver-haired man in his late sixties, with a pleasant face and a concerned expression.
“This woman is faint. I offered to take her to my office and call a cab.”
The man emerged from his car. “There’s a hospital nearby. I can take her there.”
My head felt as heavy as a bowling ball, but I managed to lift it. His voice was soft and kind.
“No, no. I don’t need a hospital. I just need a cab. I need a ride to the Willard Hotel.”
“I’ll take you there.”
I blinked, not sure what to do. “Are you certain it’s not out of your way?”
“No, no. I’d be happy to drive you there.”
Mechanically, I turned by head, facing the woman. She nodded encouragement.
I turned back to the man. “Do you know where it is?” I asked.
“Sure. Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“Well then, I’d be grateful.”
“Thank you for your help,” I said to the woman. She still held my arm at the elbow.
“I hope you feel better,” she said, releasing it.
I stepped forward.
“Do you need a hand?” the man aske
d, noticing I faltered.
“Yes, I’m afraid I do.”
He took my outstretched hand and carefully ushered me toward his car, a light blue Chevy Belair four-door sedan. He opened the passenger door and lowered me into the seat, closing the door behind me. I’d never felt so frail and old and alone. Had I aged when I returned to the past? How ironic that would be.
I waved a final goodbye to the woman and then massaged my tired eyes as we lurched ahead, moving into early morning traffic.
“I hope I’m not taking you away from anything,” I said.
“No, no. I was just on my way to meet a couple of friends for breakfast. They can talk your arm off. They won’t miss me. By the way, I’m Jay Anderson.”
“Charlotte Wilson.”
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, some.”
“Are you from out of town?”
“Yes and no.”
“A mysterious woman,” he said going for a little joke. “I like mysterious women.”
My energy was nearly gone, and all I wanted to do was lie back and go to sleep, but I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, I would die. I decided to ask questions to help me stay awake. “What do you do, Jay?”
“I’m retired. I was in the construction business. My company helped build the Woodward and Lothrop department store, and the Arena Stage, among others.”
“Sounds like you liked your job.”
“Yes, I did like it. And what about you, Charlotte? Are you still working?”
I looked at him. He had a lined face—the face of a man who had worked hard in his life, but it was a good face; a trusting face.
“I worked for the government.”
Jay laughed. “Nothing like narrowing it down there, Charlotte. Most of Washington, D.C. works for the government.”
I smiled a little, feeling stronger now that I was seated. I looked out the window, eagerly taking in the streets, the cars, the people and their dress. To see 1968 again was a surreal experience, and I was excited, confused and nervous. The edges of everything seemed too bright and too sharp, as if my eyes had not quite adjusted to it. My emotions felt like a turgid sea, rolling, splashing, thundering toward shore.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Charlotte?” Jay asked, softly.
I snapped back to the present. “Yes… I’m sorry. I guess I was lost in thought. What were you saying?”
“You said you worked for the government and I said that most of Washington works for the government.”
I struggled to focus on the conversation. My mind was blunted and dull, my body sore, my heart drumming.
“It was secret work, Jay, and it was a long time ago.”
“Do you have family around here?” Jay asked.
I shivered a little. That’s right. If the world is as it should be in 1968, then my family is here. Now. They’re alive, and they are here. And I’m here. How weird and bewildering. How wonderful and impossible.
Jay must have sensed my sudden change of mood. “Did I say something wrong, Charlotte?”
“No. It’s just been a long night—a very, very, long night.”
“Been traveling?”
I laughed. “Yes. I have definitely been traveling.”
I noticed that Jay took a few wrong turns, but I didn’t say anything since I was enjoying the scenery. As we came to the corner of New York Avenue and 15th Street, NW, I glanced out to see the old Savings and Trust Company Bank, which in 2018 is the Sun Trust Building. I’ve always loved the Queen Anne-style red brick, with its distinctive gold-domed corner turret and clock. I smiled, recalling that in this time, 1968, I bank there. I have money in there or, to be more accurate, my younger self has money in there. The thought gave me a ripple of goose bumps. I’d be meeting her soon. Me, as I was in 1968. What an incredible thought. What an absurd thought. What a frightening thought.
Jay turned onto F Street NW and drew up to the curb of the Willard Hotel, with its four welcoming Ionic columns.
“Well, here we are.”
He ducked down and stared at the hotel entrance. “Too rich for my blood, Charlotte. Do you have a reservation?”
“No… I’ll have to throw myself on their mercy.”
“No suitcase?”
“No…”
Jay looked me over, curiously. “Fast trip, I would guess.”
I nodded, not looking at him. “I hope so.”
“Do you want me to help you inside?”
I had a sudden idea. Time was short, and my energy was low. I’d have to move fast, and I realized that Jay might be a godsend.
“Jay… I was wondering… I was wondering if you’d be free to drive me around while I’m here. Just a few days. I’ll pay you well. Very well, in cash. I know this sounds a little crazy, coming from a perfect stranger, but I have some things I need to do and very little time to do them in.”
Jay shrugged, amiably, smiling broadly. “Of course. Why not? You just say where, Charlotte, and old reliable Jay will take you there.”
“That’s very kind of you. We can work around any previous commitments you might have.”
Jay placed his hands on the top of the steering wheel, turning reflective. “My kids are grown and gone, and my wife, Sally Ann, died two years ago. Do you know how bored I get with nothing to do? I’d be happy to be your chauffeur.”
I smiled at him in gratitude. “Thank you so much for helping me back there.”
I reached into my purse and took out a 20-dollar bill. I handed it to him.
He stared at it, puzzled. “What’s that?”
“That’s for you. That’s for helping out an old woman in distress.”
“Stop it with the old woman, okay? If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re a very attractive woman, Charlotte. I can see that you have class and character.”
His sincere compliment touched me, and I nearly choked up with emotion. It wasn’t like me, but then, I had changed over the last few months.
“Please take the money, Jay.”
“Put your money away. Hey, old Jay is always good for a helping hand. If you want to give me a little something later on, fine, but not for this. This I did because I wanted to do it, okay? Don’t insult me.”
Reluctantly, I returned the money to my wallet. “You’re a very nice man, Jay. Thank you.”
“Stop it, Charlotte. What the hell are we living for if we don’t help out people now and then? You got a pen and paper? Something to write on?”
I searched my purse, but I didn’t have either paper or pen. Jay found paper and pencil in his glove compartment and scribbled down his name and telephone number. He handed it to me.
“Day or night, Charlotte. I’m a lonely man with a lot of time on his hands, and I’m not so happy about what’s on TV these days… Except for Gunsmoke and the late movie shows. I love the westerns with Gary Cooper, Jimmy Stewart and Kirk Douglas. Last night I watched Last Train to Gun Hill. That’s one helluva good western. Do you like westerns?”
I smiled, warmly, gratefully. “Yes, Jay, I do.”
He jerked a nod. “Good. So maybe sometime you and me will watch a western together.”
I liked Jay. I liked his kind and open energy. “I think that would be fun.”
“Okay, well, let me help you into the hotel. I see the Porter standing there looking at us, wondering if we’re coming or going. I’ve always wanted to climb those limestone stairs, enter that lobby and walk across that red carpet.”
“If you don’t mind, Jay, I’ll go in alone. Another time?”
I looked away from his disappointed eyes.
“All right, Charlotte. I’ll take you up on that.”
CHAPTER 15
Inside my hotel room, I collapsed onto my queen-sized bed and fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, I was spooked and panting for breath. It took a few frantic seconds before I realized where I was and what time I was living in. It was 2 p.m. on Thursday May 30th. I had so many things to do. So many things to think about.
I needed clothes. There was no overnight delivery in this time. Okay, what did we used to do? First, I called room service and ordered a club sandwich and a pot of coffee. Then I dialed the Concierge, a man named Oliver, and asked if he could arrange for someone to shop at the nearest department store and buy me some clothes.
He assured me that that would not be a problem. The hotel would purchase my items on hotel credit. I would forward cash to the front desk and that would be applied to the overall cost when the clothes arrived.
I gave him my order and sizes for lingerie, two simple but fashionable dresses—colors green, navy blue or rust brown—and two pairs of shoes, one with low heels. I added two pairs of slacks and two matching cotton tops.
When the bellhop knocked on my door, I handed him a sealed envelope containing 700 dollars, sure that would easily cover the cost, being somewhere in the neighborhood of $4000 in 2018. A few minutes later, Oliver called to say he’d have my order delivered to my room by six o’clock that evening.
After I ate the sandwich and drank two cups of the delicious hot coffee, the first cups I’d had in months, I stood up slowly, testing my legs, pacing the room, discouraged that the dizziness had not entirely passed. My legs were steadier, but I worried about my erratic pulse. With no heart medication, I speculated about seeing a doctor. Did I have time? If the tests were negative, would he insist I spend some time in the hospital? No time for that.
In the luxurious bathroom with its thick, fluffy towels and roomy shower, I washed my hair and lingered under the warm spray, hoping to wash away fatigue, doubt and worry. Afterwards, I belted on the white terry robe provided by the hotel, sat on the bed and stared down at the phone.
Time Sensitive Page 6