A Gift of Time

by Merritt, Jerry

  I spent as much time with her as I could. She reminisced about growing up under Aunt Cealie’s tutelage, and about her college days, and a hundred other things. And I discovered a depth to her I had missed my first time through. It was the best time between us we ever had.

  But I finally had to tell Dad to get her to a doctor. He had noticed the change as well. It was obvious, though he had hoped it was from the diet she was always about to start. “Not that she ever needed it,” he would add.

  We were all together when the doctor told us she had an inoperable glioblastoma at the base of her brain and there was nothing they could do. Arlene’s sudden tears fell like those hot summer rains back in Stubbinville. She hugged Mom so fiercely Dad and I could only stand by in astonished silence. Even the doctor was taken aback for a moment before assuring us they would do everything possible. That, after just telling us there was nothing anyone could do. It was the same doctor from the first time through. And the same diagnosis.

  Mom was in the hospital for the last time in mid-January. I had decided to tell her what I had told Aunt Cealie when she had demanded to know who I was that first day in the swamp. And I brought Arlene along as well. She needed to hear it too. I knew she could keep a secret. She had lived with the fact her father had murdered her mother and passed herself off as a boy for the first fourteen years of her life. It was time she knew my secret.

  Arlene and I were alone with Mom that Saturday afternoon. I stepped over to the door and pushed it closed then pulled a chair up to the bed for Arlene. “Have a seat. I have something to tell both of you. No one else knows but Aunt Cealie, and no one else must ever know.” I glanced at Mom. “Not even Dad.”

  “My word, Cager. Then don’t tell me. I don’t keep secrets from your father. At least not for long.”

  “Well you kept the one about old Lige. You have to keep this one too. I have to have your promise. I know you never break your word.”

  “Does it have to do with that sudden change in you back in the fifth grade? Are you some sort of…? My god, has the government done some kind of experiment on you?”

  “No, no. It’s nothing like that. But it explains that change—and my sudden, otherwise inexplicable math ability.”

  I told them of finding Lovely Pebble and her time glider in my front yard near my eightieth birthday. In the telling, I modified my purpose in returning as saving both Joey and Arlie.

  “Then we knew each other before?” Arlene asked.

  “Only because we were always the last two picked for a ball game. But, no, we were never more than distant classmates. I had heard you killed yourself in the eighth grade for some reason and wanted to save both you and Joey.” I turned to Mom, “I wanted to save you too, but there was just no way.”

  ”So you’ve known all this time?”

  A flash of guilt swept over me. “Yes.” Then I noticed the horror on Arlene’s face.

  She turned toward me, her expression open, honest, puzzled. Then after a slight pause, she cried out, “It was Daddy. He killed me! I must have known too much. I would never have killed myself. I always thought things would get better someday.” She lifted her eyes up to catch mine. “Then you did save one of us, Cage. I’m just sorry it couldn’t have been Joey. No one wanted me. I wouldn’t have been a loss to anyone.”

  “That’s not true. You would have been a great loss to me,” Mom said.

  “Actually, Mom, you never knew her back then.”

  Mom glanced at Arlene and shook her head in perplexity “But it doesn’t seem possible I lived in another time when I never knew either Arlie or Arlene.” She swung her eyes back to me. “So this thing, this time travel, it actually makes such a difference that it saved her?”

  “Yes, it can make a big difference. That’s why you can’t tell anyone what I’ve told you. If anyone ever suspected I know the future, I would never be left alone to do what I need to do. Because what I haven’t told you yet is, for some reason, Lovely Pebble passed to me the equations that spell out the physical laws governing time travel.

  “I’ve failed Joey twice now, but I can still intercept that past. The math says so. But just like math told the Wright Brothers flight was possible, it didn’t tell them how to do it. They had to figure that out for themselves. That’s where I am now.”

  “You’re going to build a machine to travel through time?”

  “If I’m left alone to do it, yes. Even then, it won’t be easy. I’ll need nearly unlimited finances to pull it off, and I think it’s going to take me a long time. But I’ll never quit. When I figure it out, Mom, I’ll come back again for Joey. And for you too.”

  “We’ll both be gone by then.”

  “Only from the future. But information is never lost. That’s a basic tenet of modern physics. Like a massive computer, the universe calculates everything from one instant to the next using simple physical laws. It’s already calculated our existence. We are nothing more than information encoded in a data stream of time. And time is just one of the dimensions of what we call reality. It’s all perfectly, mathematically consistent.” Mom and Arlene stared at me, incomprehension in their eyes. I tried a different approach.

  “Look, day-to-day events might seem like chaos, but they’re not. They’re incredibly ordered. In an explosion, every particle follows exactly the trajectory spelled out by equations that work as well running backward in time as running forward. That time-reversible nature of physics has always puzzled cosmologists and quantum physicists. Just like light being the ultimate speed limit. But, knowing what I know now, it all makes perfect sense.

  “While this universe is a formidable computer, it has limits. The reason nothing can travel faster than light is the universe can’t calculate any faster, so the fixed speed of light is built into its program. And it’s possible to reenter its program at any point and pick things up from there. To use our own actions as a new starting point in the calculations.”

  I paused. I had not thought along those lines before. For the first time, I realized I would have to account for atomic interactions in the quantum world. This was going to be far harder than I had anticipated. But Mom was speaking.

  “I didn’t understand a thing you said. And what is this computer you keep talking about?”

  Then it hit me. Mom had never seen a computer. “Sorry. Let’s just say the universe follows inviolate rules, but, just as rules allow kids to swap out turns on a moving jump rope, it’s possible for us to step into the universe’s calculations at any point and continue from there. To use our own actions as new input to the game.”

  ***

  Two weeks later Mom was hardly recognizable. She lay in the hospital bed mostly quiet but for an occasional reflexive shudder in one arm. She seemed asleep but intermittently carried on a low, mumbling conversation, her whisperings hoarse from labored breathing. Joey’s name came up frequently. And Aunt Cealie’s. It chilled me.

  The first time through, I had been unable to confront her death in those final days and facing it a second time was no easier. I didn’t want to be there with her on the brink. She was a stranger to me now. And a reminder I had once stood under an indifferent moon only minutes from the same fate. Before Lovely Pebble had pulled me both literally and figuratively from my own brink there by the crater in my front yard. But now Arlene led the way in and sat next to her and tried to feed her as I stood by. When she couldn’t eat, Arlene held her hand and stroked her face and told her she was the most beautiful person she had ever known. When I couldn’t stand it any longer and tried to leave, Arlene pulled me back.

  “We can’t leave her here to die alone and afraid.”

  I figured if anyone knew what alone and afraid was, it was Arlene. “I know. You’re right.”

  “We can take turns if you want or, better, we’ll just settle in together. We might miss a day or two of school. That’s all.”

  Already Arlie, now become Arlene, was more emotionally capable than I ever was. I marveled that I had ever ma
naged to amount to anything. Life was a strange passage. Even without running into Lovely Pebble. Or Arlie.

  Mom died two days later while Dad was at work. It came without warning. Her eyes had been closed for two days when, unexpectedly, she opened them and looked at me. “Oh, my,” was all she said, her voice raspy from days of struggling to breathe. She drew in five more tortured gasps before closing her eyes for the last time and falling silent. I knew not to call the nurse. Arlene grasped my hand.

  “God speed, Mom,” was all she said before her bravado finally collapsed.

  We were in tears holding each other when a nurse came in with medication and realized what had happened. I had lived through Mom’s death twice now. A spectator, in spite of my desire to be more. But I was simply incapable.

  Chapter 36

  My assistance, or lack thereof, in caring for Mom during her final days brought home to me I was still unable to be more than cold comfort to those closest to me. Though my failing left me hollow, I finally accepted my plight. It was not something I desired, but apparently that was my lot and my working to improve it was having little effect. On the other hand, I knew no one had ever had a greater sense of mission in life. I would make up for my lack of compassion, or courage, or whatever it was; by sheer force of will in my drive to go back and set straight my past mistakes.

  I returned to the speaking circuit on weekends and holidays. Dad and Arlene accompanied me. The speaking fees were, from my point of view, exorbitant but I took the money gladly. I had more reason than ever to get my time travel work underway. I was now certain it would take decades. I also knew time travel was too dangerous to let escape from my control. So I worked on preparing to vanish when the time came. To redefine myself so I could work without interruption and in utter secrecy.

  When I turned sixteen I got my driver’s license then went back two weeks later and got another under the name of Dan Shepard, the name on the bogus birth certificate. Next I bought a beat-up Volkswagen bus so anonymous and popular with the hippy crowd back then. Mostly as a test to see if I could pull it off in the name of a fictitious person.

  I soon had insurance cards, vehicle registration, a library card, and a savings account; all in Dan Shepard’s name. The possibilities of vanishing in that pre-computer world were endless. I eventually had a separate wallet with all of Dan Shepard’s stuff. I suggested to Arlene we do the same for her but she was never as paranoid as me. But, then, she wasn’t eighty. What did she know.

  Eventually I opened an account with a stockbroker across town to see how well Dan Shepard’s IDs worked in the financial world. They worked fine. Things seemed to be going quite well—until I overplayed my hand.

  I think that happened when photos of Dad, Arlene, and me attending seminars ended up in a few issues of the Pensacola paper and someone back home realized I was a former area resident and asked themselves who that girl was in all those photos. The Fentons didn’t have any girls in their family.

  I suspected something was up the Saturday Arlene and I came around the corner and spotted a black sedan with government plates parked in front of our house. I pulled her up short.

  “I don’t like the looks of that,” I said indicating the sedan.

  “You think maybe the cops? Looking for me?”

  “Could be.” My mind raced. Had they actually swept the Goodwillough house and recovered Arlie’s prints? “Listen, if they are cops, they may want your fingerprints. You should refuse to give them, but they have a ruse of handing you a photo or a card to hold and leave your prints behind. Don’t touch anything they offer you. Just keep your hands at your side.”

  Arlene swallowed hard but seemed otherwise okay. “All right. Hands at side. Keep quiet. Got it.”

  When we strolled into the living room, Dad was sitting on the sofa across from a stocky, crewcut man in a dark suit. A dusky Hispanic woman redolent of cheap perfume sat in Dad’s usual chair. Her dark brown hair and sharp face contrasted with the man’s fleshy, Nordic mien.

  Dad looked up, worried. That immediately worried me because I had no idea what he had already told them. Both visitors rose and studied Arlene like two rattlesnakes might study a cornered mouse. She wilted under their scrutiny.

  “So, you are Arlene Trask? Is that correct?”

  At that, she recovered somewhat and offered her hand. “Yes. I don’t believe I caught your names.”

  That set them back for a second. “I’m U.S. Marshall Burton Heimer. This is Officer Mila Santos of the Santa Barbara Police Department.”

  Officer Santos, dour even in her cloud of fragrance, nodded. “We have some questions for you.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Nicely played, I thought. But Marshall Heimer wasn’t deflected more than a few seconds.

  “Miss Trask, who are your parents?”

  I stepped in at that point. “What’s this about, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  Heimer shot me an irritated, sidelong glare. “I do mind. I know you’re the little whiz-kid that does the math thing, but I’m asking the questions here.”

  “I see.” We locked eyes. “Well we little kids learned in civics class one should never answer questions of law enforcement officials if one doesn’t have a clear understanding of their intent.”

  “Well, as you might recall, Master Fenton, your former acquaintance, Arlen Quintin, murdered one boy and severely injured another …”

  “So this is a criminal investigation?”

  Marshal Heimer ruffled up noticeably. “Obviously. So…”

  “Then we have nothing to say without a lawyer present.”

  Heimer feigned a sympathetic sigh. “You know that only makes you look like you have something to hide.”

  “Actually, I think it makes us look rather intelligent. We kids get grownup professional legal assistance to make sure none of our little constitutional rights are violated and that nothing we say can be twisted in meaning later to suit your purposes. We have nothing to hide and will be more than happy to confer with you after we obtain legal counsel. Until then,” I turned to Dad, “they should leave.”

  Dad stood up and rubbed his hands together nervously. “I agree.”

  Officer Santos was digging through her valise, though, and pulled out a glossy photo of a man. “If you wouldn’t mind looking at this before we go, it might save us all a lot of time and make a follow-up visit unnecessary.” She held the photograph out to Arlene. “Have you ever seen this man?”

  Arlene leaned in and studied the photo carefully. “Nope. I have no idea who he is.”

  “Could you take the photo and look more carefully. It’s very important.”

  “No need. I have 20-20 vision. Never seen him.”

  Santos shot Marshal Heimer a look of defeat. So they did have Arlie’s fingerprints and were trying to get Arlene’s for comparison. My worst fear. Even with Arlene being female, it wouldn’t be long before someone thought to pull the birth certificate on Arlen Quintin using his parents’ names and note the name was Arlene and the sex was female. Then it would be crystal clear that, for whatever reason, Arlene had been passing as a male for fourteen years. I had to give whoever figured it out credit. Of course, all this was my fault for not seeing the outcome of the Fentons’ pictures plastered all over the newspapers. The attention had all gone to my head. Now the notoriety had done us in. Big time. The whole family.

  The time had come to either get a lawyer or run.

  I knew enough about the law from my former corporation lawyers to know we could probably delay extradition back to Florida but there was no way to stop a judge issuing a warrant for local law enforcement taking fingerprints, if they had sufficient reason to suspect Arlene was a fugitive wanted on a murder charge. And, if Florida had matching fingerprints from the Goodwillough’s house, the game was over. There would be no explanation for the match other than Arlene was Arlie, no matter how arcane the reason for the two being the same person.

  I asked Dad if he
knew the whole story on Arlie. True to her word, Mom had filled him in that first day. He had agreed with Mom that she and I were doing the right thing. Over the months he had never let on he had any idea. But now Dad could be charged with harboring a fugitive. We might try to explain that Mom and I had pulled the whole thing off. Mom was gone and I was a minor so wouldn’t be held accountable. But it was a longshot whether anyone would buy that story. Of course, they would have to prove Dad knew, and we reasoned that might be difficult, but a lawyer had once told me, “Never let yourself be found in front of a jury of your peers. Ever.”

  And Arlene would still face a return to Florida where District Attorney Colcraine waited expectantly for his show trial to begin.

  And what a story it would be now. Tiberius Colcraine would be a household name by the time it was over. That sort of exposure could propel an ambitious, unprincipled man to state attorney general and, later, perhaps governor or senator. Provided he won the case, of course. Which meant he would spare no effort to convict. Certainly, Arlene would be tried as an adult due to the nature of the attack. It was an ugly scenario. One from which, I suspected, Arlene would find herself convicted of manslaughter as well as the attempted murder of Carrot Top.

  “I can only think of one plan that has any chance of working, Dad. Arlene and I have got to leave. Without Arlene, they can’t prove she was Arlie. That lets you off the hook on harboring a fugitive.”

  “Leave? Cager you haven’t even finished high school. Both your pictures have been in the newspapers. They’ll find you within a week. There’s no place you can hide.”

  “Actually, there is, but we have to move fast.”

  Chapter 37

  We spent the rest of that afternoon wiping down surfaces in the house and car that might harbor fingerprints. I wanted neither mine nor especially Arlene’s to end up in a law enforcement database.

  Next morning we visited my stockbroker and closed out my account. I requested a bearer bond for the amount so no record of Micajah Fenton reinvesting the funds elsewhere would exist. The amount was nearly seventy thousand dollars. Then we went to Arlene’s account and did the same. She had nearly twenty thousand. I slicked my hair down, put on my Dan Shepard slack-jawed look, and carried the bonds over to his accountant. I deposited them together so the total amount would obscure the amount from my account in case anyone dug hard enough to uncover a withdrawal and deposit of the same amount on the same day and got the idea Dan Shepard and Micajah Fenton might be the same person. I drew a few astonished looks as I left with a receipt for the new amount.