Going Back Cold

by Kelley Rose Waller

  “How so?”

  “Pastor Michael’s been reminding me about David’s son who died after Bathsheba gave birth.”

  “The one who died to punish his parents for screwing each other on the roof while her husband was off at war?” Jane said, suddenly defensive.

  Lucas grimaced. “Jane, if you’re going to do this every time we talk, I don’t see the point.”

  “You think I haven’t considered the possibility that one of us did something to deserve this?”

  “Jane, you know that isn’t who God is!”

  “Isn’t that’s what he did to David? You’re the one who brought it up!”

  “Fine, never mind, let’s just go with that! Emily died because we’re sinners!” Lucas yelled back, then slammed his palm against the wall in frustration.

  Leaning his head against his arm, he begged God silently for patience and understanding. He waited until his pulse slowed down, then began speaking again.

  “I know you don’t mean this stuff, Jane. That kind of talk leaves us right back dwelling in the muck and losing our minds. Could you just give me a second and listen with an open heart?”

  She stared, her face blank. He took her lack of storming off as a willingness to continue.

  “MILO, would you show me 2 Samuel 12?” Lucas said. When it appeared, he scrolled down and highlighted a section.

  “David prayed to God for the baby,” he read. “David fasted and went into his house and stayed there, lying on the ground all night. The elders of David’s family came to him and tried to pull him up from the ground, but he refused to get up or to eat food with them. On the seventh day the baby died. David’s servants were afraid to tell him that the baby was dead. They said, ‘Look, we tried to talk to David while the baby was alive, but he refused to listen to us. If we tell him the baby is dead, he may do something awful.’ When David saw his servants whispering, he knew that the baby was dead. So he asked them, ‘Is the baby dead?’ They answered, ‘Yes, he is dead.’”

  “You read the next part,” he encouraged her.

  Jane rolled her eyes slightly, but obliged. “Then David got up from the floor, washed himself, put lotions on, and changed his clothes,” she read. “Then he went into the Lord’s house to worship. After that, he went home and asked for something to eat. David’s servants said to him, ‘Why are you doing this? When the baby was still alive, you fasted and you cried. Now that the baby is dead, you get up and eat food.’“

  “And?” Lucas prodded her.

  Jane sighed but continued.

  “David said, ‘While the baby was still alive, I fasted, and I cried. I thought, ‘Who knows? Maybe the Lord will feel sorry for me and let the baby live.’ But now that the baby is dead, why should I fast? I can’t bring him back to life. Someday I will go to him, but he cannot come back to me.’”

  Lucas let the moment hang. He felt awkwardly preachy but knew there was a lot of truth in the words that Jane needed to hear. He knew they’d given him hope.

  Finally, he spoke. “Jane, she’s gone. Emily is beyond us. Time isn’t some terminal illness she’s fighting. Death is final on earth. Don't act like I’m telling you to pull the plug.”

  They stared at each other until Lucas said, “Jane, I do believe we’ll see our daughter again. I know you do, too. But there's no going back. Psalms says, 'my times are in Your hands.' And just this morning, I read in 2 Peter, ‘But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.’ Jane, He's saying this to you, too. Time is His, just like everything else. You may make Niels Bohr or Stephen Hawking look like kindergarteners, but you're not outsmarting the Creator of the Universe.”

  He reached his hands out, waiting to see if she would accept his embrace. She didn’t offer any encouragement, but she didn’t move away. He pulled her into his lap in the chair and wrapped his arms around her, waiting silently until she relaxed into his shoulder.

  “Because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed,” he said, turning in his pain back to the bedrock of his faith. He was surprised once again by the relevance of words; as much power remained as the first time he'd read them. “It’s ok to move forward without moving on,” he whispered.

  She didn’t answer, but he felt his neck becoming wet with her tears. They stayed in that position until he realized his wife was asleep.

  He knew dinner would be done soon, and Sebbie would bounce into the lab with stories from his day to share. It was Lucas’s favorite time of the day.

  His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness, Lucas thought, holding his sleeping wife as he waited and prayed.

  Chapter 85

  MILO Personal Dictation: Jane Whyse

  I’m starting to question if my math is right. Not the numbers, of course, the calculations are precise, courtesy of MILO. But the actual logic behind it. I just keep staring at the formulas and trying to pretend I don’t know that the answer is impossible.

  This is all bull anyway.

  Did I somehow build into my premise a guarantee for success, and that’s why the math is telling me it works?

  The crazy thing is I don’t want to go back anymore.

  It all seemed so straightforward. Finish the project, achieve FTL. But once you've got FTL and the right motivation, why not more? Why not spin the earth the other way, Superman?

  I feel so arrogant looking back. Regrets. But not about Emily. The regrets now are the dwelling, the wallowing. The grief that blocked life. I still lived, but it was all through glasses stained with self-pity.

  Wow, that’s crappy to say out loud. How much of my grief was for her and how much of it was for me? Ugh, I’m starting to hate myself.

  Back to math.

  MILO, pull up the mathematic patterns for the jump sequence planning. Thanks. Can you isolate anything invalid in the setup?

  Ugh.

  Is there anything taken for granted? Hmm... anything assumed? Hmm, I don’t know how to phrase this so you understand.

  Stop blinking your little red light at me…

  Is there anything in these calculations that is inference? Unscientific? Left to chance?

  Red light, red light. Ugh, MILO, you’re not helping.

  Ok, try this. Take out all the numbers and show me only the variables. Thanks.

  Ok, add the numbers in one at a time, starting with the first ones I populated with figures.

  Ok.

  Ok.

  Ok.

  Keep going.

  No, no. Not that one.

  Ok.

  Ok.

  Ugh, this isn’t helping.

  MILO, are there any constants in my…

  Oh, for—Listen to me. What are the constants in my math? That’s what I’m worried about? Oh, geez. There’s only even been one constant in all this.

  In all of this.

  Fine.

  FINE!

  You win!

  FINE!

  This just doesn’t feel like much of a climax to my life. Like shouldn’t life change happen hanging off the mast of a shrimp boat in a storm? Or laughing in the rain outside Shawshank? Where’s my chance to drive a convertible into the Grand Canyon?

  Take me outside and let me get lost and wander in the snow! Let the helicopter nearly plummet into the ocean! Let the power go out and leave me alone in the dark!

  Where’s my dignity for learning I’m wrong? For seeing it’s time to change?

  Why is my moment here alone, talking out loud to a computer?

  Do you hear me, God? You win!

  Shouldn’t I be screaming this at the bottom of an ice cave? Or after an avalanche? How come this moment is so freakishly ordinary? I'm sitting at a desk! Where's the drama!

  Argh! Friggety hate the gzzzzzz I wish hsk ugh!

  Fshhhhhhhhhhh

  This was all too much. You never warned me it could suck so much. And I’d hate myself this much. Seeing myself and looki
ng back, I just…

  Gahhh

  It was all too much, but then somehow it wasn’t. Why isn’t it the variables that make the difference? The things that change should be what change me. But instead the one, rock-solid thing is what’s changing me.

  I just—

  It's like—

  Uhmmm

  God.

  Everything else swirling, ramming, threatening to tear me apart, and I don’t move. I charge ahead like a stubborn rhino.

  But then watching You not change changes me. Experiencing Your stability makes me unsteady in my resolve. I’m so quickly marching away but You don’t fade in the distance. You are always right here. I’m skydiving with no parachute just to leave You behind, and You’re still with me. Right here.

  I can run, but I can’t escape. Your unchanging, steadfast love. That's what my arm says.

  God.

  My hands are up. I surrender. Take the thing. Take this away. I don’t want to carry this anymore. It’s too heavy, and I don’t want it.

  I want to be free, and I know that won’t be from sciencing my way out of this. I know I’m not enough. I know that You are enough.

  Please let me find peace. I want to let this go as the thing that holds me back. I want to have my daughter in my heart as a memory, as a page in the book, but I don’t want her loss to be my whole story.

  I want the story to be You and me.

  Me following You.

  I’m ready now.

  Chapter 86

  Three weeks later, Lucas had gotten up early to start his rotation on breakfast, so Jane slid into bed with Sebbie. He was becoming a good snuggler again now that he was old enough to appreciate one-on-one time with Mommy.

  There was a good two years in the middle where snuggling Sebbie meant risking a bloody nose, Jane mused. Ah, toddler head thrashing.

  An hour later, her son stirred, and she heard his belly growl. Standing up suddenly, he padded across the floor in his socks to the small bathroom. She smiled as he tried to get back into bed without running through the lid-flush-wash routine she always drilled him on. She pointed it out, and he dutifully returned to the bathroom, this time smelling of hand soap as he crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up.

  “Mommy?”

  “Yep?”

  “Is Daddy making breakfast?”

  “Mmhmm, it’s his turn.”

  After a few minutes, Jane spoke. “Sebbie?”

  “Yep?”

  “Do you like it here?”

  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sad we can’t come back.”

  “Me too.”

  “But I’ll be happy to go home. I miss home, too.”

  “Home is in New York right?” asked Jane.

  “Or Washington. We are home there sometimes.”

  Jane pondered this for a moment. “Is it hard to have homes in different places?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied. “If you say it’s home, it is, then, right?”

  “I guess,” she said. “What makes it feel like home?”

  “I dunno,” he said. “Having a bed? And dishes? And my blankets. Daddy. Grandma. When my toys are there.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter where you are, right? What matters are the people and things you care about. You’re very resilient, Sebastian.”

  “RIght,” he said. “What does that mean again?”

  “Resilient means you adapt to change,” she said, propping her head up on her elbow. “Like you recover quickly when things are hard. You can withstand hard things without letting them affect you. Like a spring is resilient. If you pull it, it bounces back into its regular shape.”

  “Ok,” he said. After a few moments, he added, “But not always. You can break a spring. Like if, if you pull it really hard, you can bend it, and then it won’t coil back up.”

  “You know, you’re right, Seb,” Jane said. “Did you know people are like springs? That we can be resilient like you, or bend and break when things are hard.”

  “Are you talking about baby Emily, Mommy?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” Jane said, smiling at his insight. “Do I still talk about her too much?”

  “Not too much,” Seb replied, shaking his head. “Just a lot more when we’re down here. Semotus makes you think about her.”

  “Well, why do you think I brought up the spring? Do you know of anyone who was resilient like a spring?”

  “You said I was,” he replied.

  “Sure, anyone else?” she prodded.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yeah, I think Daddy was pretty resilient.”

  “Do you want me to say that you were?” Sebbie asked.

  Jane smiled and placed her forehead against her son’s. “No,” she said. “I didn’t want you to say me. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Sometimes different people handle things differently.”

  “And you felt less springy about being sad?”

  “I think I did, yes.”

  “But this is our last time at Semotus, right? So you won’t have to think about being sad anymore?”

  “Well,” Jane said, “it isn’t just the place that makes me think of Emily. But what I’ve been thinking lately is that maybe I need to get back into my spring. I need to make sure I’m looking forward, and at you and Daddy today, not just back.”

  “I think you’ve been doing pretty good, Mommy,” Sebbie said.

  Jane smiled at the simplicity of his statement.

  When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “Did you want to tell me something?”

  “I did, sweetheart, I was actually going to say 'I’m sorry,'“ she said with a tear in her eye.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “Because I worry that I’ve been too focused on being sad and missing Emily rather than on just being your mommy.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m sad sometimes, too, and so is Daddy.”

  “Thanks. I’m trying my best, you know. But I think I’m going to keep getting better each day.”

  “You know, Mommy, in Sunday school, they told me I can pray when I’m sad.”

  “You’re right, sweetie. That’s a great idea,” Jane said, kissing his nose.

  “But you know what? I’ve prayed with Daddy about you being sad, and I don’t always feel better right away. So I don’t think praying works like people pretend it does.”

  Jane sighed. “Sebbie, how right you are,” she said.

  “I think we weren’t praying that you would stop being sad,” he continued. “I think that sometimes we were just praying to love you best when you were sad. That’s what Daddy would say.”

  Jane stared at the wall. “Is it hard to love me when I’m sad?”

  “No,” Sebbie said. “You love me when I’m sad.”

  “I do,” Jane said, tucking him under her chin. “I love you all the time and forever.”

  “Me too!” he said. “And you know, Daddy and I were sad, too, but maybe we were sad different.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “Sad because of our baby, but because of you, too. Sometimes you looked mad-sad, but Daddy and I were only ever plain sad, I think.”

  Jane’s eyes prickled with regret but she prayed to hold onto the peace. “I think you’re right, Sebbie,” she said when she could hold her voice steady.

  “Mommy? Who were you mad at?”

  Jane sighed. “You know, Sebbie, I can't decide if I was mad at God or at myself.”

  “Oh.”

  A few more moments passed in silence.

  “Mommy?”

  “Yep?”

  “Are you mad still?”

  “You know, sweetie,” Jane said, “I think it took me a while, but I don’t feel mad anymore.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, first of all, I’m tired of it. Being mad-sad is exhausting,” Jane said. “And also, I think it’s hard to stay mad at someone you love. And I love God.”

  “Do you think it wa
s His fault?”

  “That’s a tough one. What do you think?” Jane asked, curious to hear his answer.

  “I think I don’t know, but I didn’t make the ocean, either,” he said. “I guess if God can make the ocean and the animals and me, he probably knows what he’s doing. And maybe I’m too little to understand.”

  “You know what, Sebbie? I think I’m too little to understand, too,” Jane replied. “But I’ve decided not to be mad anymore, and to make sure my sad isn’t too big.”

  Chapter 87

  A few days later, Jane’s tablet emitted a soft ding. She was surprised to see an email from Colonel Edwards.

  Call me now, it said. Alone.

  Jane’s heart started banging in her ears as she excused herself from the physics lab.

  Should I call Lucas? she thought as she walked to her bedroom. After a beat, she decided against it. Colonel Edwards had included him previously, and he specified 'alone' this time.

  She sat on the side of the bed softly and pressed the buttons on her tablet to open the video chat, feeling like she was being overheard. She put on her headset to lower the volume of their conversation.

  I’m so sick of secrecy and isolation, she thought. I want to go swimming at an extremely crowded beach or shop on Black Friday in the world’s craziest mall.

  “Jane?” Colonel Edwards’ voice said. The screen lit up as his face appeared. He wasn’t at his desk.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is the FTL real?”

  “What?”

  “Answer me honestly, Dr. Whyse,” he said, stone-cold. “I just got wind of your insane time travel hoax, and I need to know how badly I’ve been played. Is the FTL real?”

  Jane’s mouth opened but no words came.

  “Dr. Whyse.”

  “Yes, yes, the FTL, the instantaneous travel, it’s very real,” she finally managed.

  He sighed. “I’m not sure why I believe you.”

  “I didn’t—I never—” she started, but she didn’t know what to say. “The time travel wasn’t a hoax, just… mostly unsuccessful.”

  “Nineteen seconds, I know. I saw it.”

  Jane stared at the screen, waiting and scared to hear what her future might be.

  “I would never call off several billion dollars in possibly very fruitful research without a good reason,” he said. “The only problem is, you’ve given me one.”