Second Time Around

by Nancy Moser

  He walked softly into Andrew’s room. The boy lay sprawled on his bed, covers askew. Mac tucked in arms and legs and smoothed the blankets on top. Safe as a bug in a rug.

  Andrew stirred and opened his eyes. “Daddy…”

  Mac stroked his head, smiling down at him. “Son.”

  What else could be said?

  Six

  Even youths grow tired and weary,

  and young men stumble and fall;

  but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.

  They will soar on wings like eagles;

  they will run and not grow weary,

  they will walk and not be faint.

  Isaiah 40:30-31

  Kansas City

  Vanessa Caldwell felt guilty. Here she was, in the waiting room, moments away from being taken into the Sphere to be hurtled back in time, and her overriding desire was to be alone.

  But she wasn’t alone. Her loving family had gathered to see her off. As her father argued with Dudley about why there was air, and as her twenty-one-year-old daughter, Rachel, cowered on a chair like a wallflower afraid of social contamination, Vanessa envied the other winners’ decisions to do it alone, to not have anyone see them off. If only she’d been so brave.

  As if she’d had a choice.

  During the last week, Dudley had come to terms with her choice to revisit her twenty-first year, her pre-Dudley life. He’d come around when she’d begun to stress her desire to explore life with her mother rather than the life she’d have had with her aborted baby.

  It had been the same in regard to Rachel. In fact, Vanessa had decided not even to mention the baby-detail to her daughter. Rachel had enough self-esteem issues. Rachel Frances Caldwell had often been teased by her grandfather that the F initial of her name stood for Frumpy. Though cruel, it was an apt description. Vanessa had hoped going to an Ivy-League school would help Rachel find a style. Any style would do. But the girl was decidedly blah and boring. Brilliant. But boring.

  Not that Vanessa couldn’t have benefited by a makeover herself. She’d been pretty once. But in the last few years, her skin had lost its glow and was being betrayed by wrinkles; her thick, blond locks had darkened and thinned into the short layered style she wore now, whose only attribute was that it was easy to take care of; and her dark eyes had paled, reminding her of the bleached-out eyes of her Tiny Tears doll after she’d given her too many baths with Bab-O.

  Dudley, Rachel… which left her father. Yardley Pruitt had not come to terms with her choice. It didn’t matter if she focused on the aborted baby or her desire to spend time with the woman Yardley had divorced. Neither option was acceptable to this man who had placed himself in the center of her life in so many ways. Too many ways.

  In his defense, it wasn’t that Daddy was controlling. Vanessa liked to help him and felt most in control when she was doing so. She found her identity in being capable, organized, and dependable. She liked nothing better than to have someone comment on one of her good deeds, and fed on their awe and gushing gratitude, knowing that her offerings lifted her above the lowly recipients who wouldn’t know what to do without her. Only one person refused to play the game by needing her or paying homage: Rachel. Ever since she was old enough to form her own opinions, Vanessa’s daughter had rejected her mother’s favors, advice, and help with a cold, nearly disdainful scorn. Which is why Vanessa spent as much time as possible away from home. She’d be the first to admit she was a mediocre mother. And in psychobabble terms, perhaps she hadn’t tried too hard out of spite for her own mother’s abandonment.

  Only now she knew it wasn’t an abandonment. Ostracism was a better word. Her mother had been banished from her life by a vengeful father.

  She stole another look at Rachel. The girl returned a faint smile, then looked down. Vanessa had wanted to have a talk with her before leaving, confess all the mistakes she’d made, and tell her the truth about her grandmother, but she’d chickened out, supposing it was ridiculous to think she could develop a maternal backbone and a close mother-daughter relationship in a week.

  What she had done was leave her mother’s letters on the dresser in Rachel’s room. Her mother was much more eloquent than she; let Dorian Pruitt Cleese tell Rachel the truth. The letters had changed Vanessa’s life; she only hoped Rachel would let them change hers, because Rachel was indeed the product of a too-busy father and mother. It would have taken a miracle for their progeny to develop any other way. And miracles had been decidedly absent in their lives.

  Until now.

  Vanessa hugged herself. Any moment now Mr. MacMillan would come in to get her. Any moment now she’d be rushing back in time—or rather, her mind would take the trip while her body stayed here. It was unfathomable and she shook her head, not willing to ponder the idea long. She was more than willing to accept and enjoy the perks of technology as long as she wasn’t expected to figure out how they worked.

  Suddenly, the door opened and thought became reality. Mr. MacMillan came in, smiling at her. “Are you ready?”

  She put a hand to her stomach and nodded. At least she thought she nodded.

  Dudley came to her side. “This is it?”

  “This is it,” Mr. MacMillan said. “Time to say your farewells.”

  Vanessa turned to Rachel first. The girl had stood but did not step forward, forcing Vanessa to go to her. She held her daughter’s face in her hands. “I love you, honey.”

  She waited for Rachel to break down, tear up, offer some hint of emotion. But Rachel merely nodded and accepted Vanessa’s hug before reclaiming her chair.

  Her father held out his arms. “Vanessa. Dear girl. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” She let herself be enveloped by his protective force. Oddly, the Elvis Presley song “Make the World Go Away” sang in her head. That’s what Daddy counted on Vanessa to do—make his world easy and snug. The term enabler came to mind, but now was not the time to entertain such psychoanalysis. Besides, that reality meant little right now when another kind of reality screamed in her ear, one she was going to have to face alone. Not just reality, but her Alternate Reality: Alternity.

  She shivered, but the movement was absorbed within her father’s arms. Then he kissed her head and let her go.

  It was Dudley’s turn. When she turned to her husband, it was as if she were seeing him for the first time. He was not a handsome man. Never had been. She’d married him soon after the abortion to escape her pain. To be needed amidst her own need. Ardor had never been a part of their lives. They were pros at nice-ing each other to death.

  As they did now. Dudley gave her a quick hug, kissed her cheek, and said the right words. One, two, three, and she’d be on her way…

  She suddenly found herself all out of politeness. The need to be alone returned, and she stepped toward the door with such purpose she made Mr. MacMillan scramble after her. Out in the hall she hesitated. “Which way?”

  “To your right, Ms. Caldwell. Down to the last door on the left.”

  She captured the hall with her stride, causing Mr. MacMillan to pull up on her arm, slowing her. He brought her to a stop. “It’s all right, Ms. Caldwell. Families mean well, but they don’t always help.”

  She looked back at the door, then slapped a hand to her mouth, hating the emotion that had suddenly welled up inside. “I may never see them again! I need to go back. If only—”

  With a firm hand, Mr. MacMillan stopped her from bolting. He nodded toward the door at the end of the hall. “The ‘if onlys’ are addressed in this direction.”

  The door leading to the Sphere beckoned. Forget the new choice she was planning to make in the past; she had the biggest choice of her life to make right now.

  She looked at Mr. MacMillan. He raised an eyebrow and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  Lane sat in the waiting room. She bit a fingernail
, made herself stop, then resumed biting. Her nails were a small sacrifice at the moment.

  I should have let Brandy come.

  But no. Though Brandy might have made her laugh or held her hand—saving her manicure—the final good-byes said here, just moments before it happened, would be too much. It was better they’d said good-bye back in California.

  The sad thing was, there was nobody else she could have asked. No boyfriend, no friend-friend, no family. Her parents had died a few years earlier—her father of a heart attack and her mother of cancer—and she had no siblings. She was alone in the world.

  How ironic to be recognized by millions, loved by millions, yet known by so few. The cost of fame was high indeed.

  Help me. Please help me.

  When she realized she’d just prayed, she nearly took it back. Surely God didn’t appreciate people like her who called on Him only when they were in deep need. Indeed, hers was a foul-weather faith. Help me! Fix it! Make it all better! When was the last time she’d called on the Almighty with good news? Happy prayers?

  Sorry. I owe You so much. I’ll try to be better. Just get me through this.

  The door opened and Mr. MacMillan entered. “Are you ready?”

  Lane’s butterflies dive-bombed her toes but she nodded and found the strength to stand. “It’s show time.”

  It didn’t surprise David that his first reaction to the inside of the Sphere was business related. As soon as he was through the door, he stopped and stared. It was like walking into the inside of a globe, except all the surfaces were painted sky blue. “Exquisite.”

  Mac laughed. “Glad you like it.”

  David did a three-sixty. “But one observation… there are thousands of wasted cubic feet. The TTC has money to burn?”

  “We have a message to send. A square room with eight-foot ceilings may provide function, but it would not portray the dream properly, nor excite the senses.”

  David snickered. “You excite the senses of your victims before putting them in a medically induced coma?”

  Mac put a hand on David’s back and pointed to the people in the balcony encircling the room. He whispered, “I’m afraid it’s more for them than you.”

  “Ah. VIPs. Can’t budget without them.”

  “I see you understand.”

  “I haven’t been in construction for nearly fifty years without understanding what’s what. What scares me is putting my life into the hands of the lowest bidder.”

  Mac laughed. He extended an arm toward a team of employees in lab coats who were seated before a bank of computers and other machines. “These are the people who will make sure your trip is safe. As you so aptly deduced, the building has nothing to do with your trip. These people are the key.”

  David gave them a salute. “Bonuses for everyone!”

  They laughed, and a doctor and nurse stepped forward from one of the hospital beds, which took up positions at nine, twelve, and three o’clock. For the first time, David allowed himself to notice that two of the beds were full. Vanessa Caldwell and Lane Holloway lay in the beds at nine and twelve, a white, curved machine wrapped across their foreheads. An IV drip and monitors did their life-sustaining work.

  “Remember, I dislike needles,” he said.

  Mac motioned to the doctor standing nearby. “We are now entering your realm, Dr. Rodriguez. If you will please put the patient at ease?”

  The doctor came forward and shook David’s hand. His eyes were kind, but he looked way too young to know much of anything about anything. Then he stepped back to display the equipment surrounding the bed. “I’m afraid there will be a few uncomfortable moments as we attach life-support tubes: an IV, a catheter, and sensors at vital points.”

  “I define the most vital point as keeping me alive.”

  “Exactly. And I assure you, there is little danger.”

  “I’ll have to take your word on that.”

  “Actually,” Dr. Rodriguez smiled, “yes, you will.”

  The pretty nurse cut in. “Let me assure you, I am an expert at pricking and probing.”

  He winked at her. “I’m sure you are, Nurse…?”

  “Connor.”

  “First name?”

  “Doris.”

  David sat on the bed. “With Doris by my side, I’m ready for anything.” I just want to get this over with.

  But Dr. Rodriguez wasn’t through showing off the tools of his trade. He moved to the curved machine that would soon wrap around David’s head. “The roots of this machine are in the fMRI—the Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging—that is used to map the body. Since we are only interested in the brain, we have minimized the size. To be even more specific, we have perfected a technique for pinpointing the neurocircuitry enabling system called the Loop—that part of the brain that’s activated by the stimulus of memory. Through this machine, we will continuously monitor the brainwave signature of the patient as the Loop uncoils.”

  He patted the machine. “It works the same as a traditional MRI, through the use of non-ionizing radiation. We tap into the Loop through the use of the MRI’s magnet and radio waves and then go a step further and map your unique brainwave signature.”

  It sounded good. And normally David would have enjoyed the tech-speak. But not today. Not now.

  Doris touched his shoulder. “Would you like to lie down so we can get started?”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  Mac stepped away and they pulled a curtain around the bed. Nurse Connor was right. She was good at pricking and prodding. She also smelled wonderful. Like honeysuckle. When she was done she smiled down at him. “How are you doing?”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  She took his hand. “I won’t.”

  Dr. Rodriguez pulled back the curtain, letting Mac back in. Then they positioned the MRI machine around David’s head. David was glad his eyes weren’t covered. It would have been unbearable not to see.

  Mac came into view. “This is it, Mr. Stancowsky. Would you like to say anything?”

  “Don’t screw this up, okay?”

  He felt Doris squeeze his hand. It would be all right. In a few moments he’d be seeing his Millie again. That was worth any risk.

  Dr. Rodriguez stepped beside him. “I’m going to give you a shot now. All you have to do is relax and think of the time you want to visit and the new choice you’d like to make. Don’t worry if nothing happens right away. The Serum will take effect within minutes and help you hold on to the memories. Bon voyage, Mr. Stancowsky.”

  David felt the prick of a needle, then a warmth. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the past—his new present. I live in Bangor, Maine. The year is 1958. My fiancée, Millie, and I are on a pre-wedding weekend trip to Bar Harbor. We’re staying at the Rocky Ledge bed-and-break—

  He was flying, weightless. Soaring through his thoughts until suddenly, the color of David’s memories intensified, as if a light had been turned on. He smelled the combination of salt air and cinnamon. He heard a scratchy record playing “Mona Lisa.” And there, standing next to a porch swing, was his lovely Millie. She turned and looked at him.

  His body had weight again. He had substance. He smiled and moved toward her.

  The VIPs had left and Mac stood alone on the balcony of the Sphere. He looked over his charges: Vanessa, Lane, and David. They appeared serene. Sleeping. But he knew their minds were busy, working hard in their Alternity, living out a choice that would take them to places undiscovered. It used to be said that space was the last frontier. Perhaps. But a frontier that was just as unfathomable, just as exciting, just as limitless, was the human brain. These ordinary people lying before him were explorers, every bit as brave and adventurous as Lewis and Clark or any astronaut.

  He watched the technicians at the computer terminals, manne
d twenty-four hours a day. He saw Dr. Rodriguez make a notation on Lane’s chart, look up, and see Mac. He took a few steps toward the balcony, speaking softly, as if sound could disturb their sleep. “They’ll be fine, Mac. I promise. Go home.”

  Mac nodded. He could leave now. The winners didn’t need him. And they were not alone.

  Father, take care of them.

  Never alone.

  Seven

  The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge,

  but fools despise wisdom and discipline.

  Proverbs 1:7

  Athens, Georgia—1976

  Vanessa stood at the curb and let the swarm of college students swell around her and past her. Their spring jackets were a rainbow above the common denim of their jeans. They all had somewhere to go.

  So did she. If only she could remember where it was.

  Her mind was blank.

  She looked around the University of Georgia campus, trying to get her bearings. What day was it? She looked at her watch, but it didn’t help with anything but the time. 10:20. If it was Monday, Wednesday, or Friday she should be heading to Russian History. But if it was Tuesday or Thursday, she should be heading back to the dorm after Business Fundamentals. The trouble was, she wasn’t on the right corner for either. And her arms were empty of books.

  Suddenly queasy, she put a hand to her stomach. Then she knew. Then she remembered.

  She was pregnant. The building in the next block was the clinic where she’d take care of it, make it all go away. In the purse on her shoulder was cash from Daddy, tearfully obtained, but obtained nonetheless. “How could you do this to me, young lady? You must take care of it immediately.”

  Which is what she was about to do. No thanks to Bruce. The creep. She’d never speak to him again. Not that she wanted to.

  A lie.

  She heard a new wave of students coming up behind her to cross the street. She’d cross with them. She’d let them sweep her up in their wave and move her toward her destiny.