Second Time Around

by Nancy Moser

  He popped a slice of cheese in his mouth. “You’re a mooch. The pretty one gets famous and the dumpy one hangs on.”

  “You’re one to talk about looks. What happened?”

  He lifted his chin, trying to find some dignity. “I was defending my honor.” He wiped a cracker crumb off his chin.

  She laughed, then stopped herself. “I don’t really blame you for coming forward, you know.”

  “Laney started it when she mentioned me. When she lied.”

  “Yeah, I saw your interview. Bummer.”

  He sat on the stool. “I’ll never live it down.”

  Brandy stopped with a cheese-topped cracker halfway to her mouth. “So that’s what caused…?” She nodded to his injuries.

  “Becoming a somebody then being thrown back to being a nobody. It’s cruel, man. Real cruel.”

  “Yes, it is. The media is. Lane has to deal with them all the time. She can’t even go to the store without one of them hounding her, trying to get a picture of her without makeup, or so they can critique her clothes. Who dresses up to get a gallon of milk? That’s why she has me.”

  “You’re a gofer. An errand girl.”

  She got herself a Diet Coke. “Part of the time, sure. But I don’t mind.” She traced the top of the can. “I owe her. She saved me.”

  Toby remembered now. A drunken mom. Bruises. “Your mom still in Dawson?”

  “She died five years ago.”

  “Sorry.”

  Brandy shrugged. “You still got family there?”

  Toby didn’t answer as a wave of dizziness hit him. He grabbed for the edge of the counter, toppling his can of Coke.

  “You okay?”

  He shook his head, making it hurt worse. “I gotta lie down.” He got off the stool and headed for the couch, then backtracked and grabbed the gun.

  “Here, let me help—”

  He pushed her away—into an end table. The lamp toppled. They reached for it. He tripped.

  The gun went off.

  Sixteen

  But you, O LORD, be not far off;

  O my strength, come quickly to help me.

  Psalm 22:19

  Present-Day Kansas City

  Mac woke up smiling. And why not? He was engaged to an amazing woman, the world knew about their relationship so there was no need to hide, and tomorrow was the day the Time Lottery winners would be coming home.

  Or not.

  Either way was fine. Either way was good. Either way the winners had gained more knowledge and more insight into their life and their purpose. Knowing a little more about the “Why am I here?” question was a plus in anyone’s life.

  Mac glanced at the clock. He didn’t have to wake Andrew for a half hour, so he reached for the remote and bathed the room in the bluish light of the television. Might as well see what had happened in the world during the night.

  A reporter stood in front of a house, but police could be seen going in and out of the door behind her. “…Lane Holloway’s home, which was the site of a shooting last night.”

  Mac sprang to a sitting position, upping the volume. “Toby Bjornson, a high-school boyfriend of Time Lottery winner and movie star Lane Holloway, was the object of recent reports and interviews concerning their relationship. Bjornson was shot last night in the presence of Ms. Holloway’s personal assistant, Brandy Lopez. Ms. Lopez was not hurt, and Mr. Bjornson was taken to the hospital. His condition is not known at this time. Police are calling the incident accidental, though there are still questions about what Bjornson and Lopez were doing in Ms. Holloway’s Malibu home. As a winner of the Time Lottery, Lane Holloway is due back tomorrow from her adventure into her Alternity. Ms. Holloway returned to 1987 under the auspices of renewing her relationship with Mr. Bjornson…”

  Mac hit the MUTE button and pulled the phone into his lap. As he was doing so, it rang. “Hello?”

  He was glad to hear Cheryl’s voice and not Wriggens’s. “Mac! Did you see it? Did you hear?”

  “I heard.”

  “Do you think it was a suicide attempt?”

  He let out a breath. “I never thought of that.”

  “You should. Public humiliation does wonders for undermining self-esteem. Especially when it’s fragile to begin with.”

  Mac saw his bedroom door move. Andrew appeared in the gap. He motioned him to the bed. “I should call the hospital, but they didn’t say which one.” He pulled aside the covers, giving Andrew access. The little boy snuggled into a pillow.

  “Let me see what I can do. Surely my hospital has connections. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  Mac stroked his son’s rumpled hair. “Thanks, luv.”

  “Anytime. I’m surprised Wriggens hasn’t called.”

  “He doesn’t get up this early.”

  “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you wake him up for once?”

  It was tempting. But then Andrew pulled on his arm. “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

  Fatherhood called. The rest could wait.

  Malibu

  Brandy leaned her head against her husband’s cheek, though the armchairs in the hospital waiting room prevented the close contact she craved. It was six a.m. but she hadn’t slept. Between calling 911, pressing a towel to Toby’s side… police… questioning… Sometime in there she’d called Randy. They’d come to the hospital together to wait for news about Toby. The check-in attendant had asked Brandy for information about the patient, assuming they were close, but Brandy hadn’t even been able to give an address. And was there family? A wife?

  No, not a wife. Toby wouldn’t have been on those talk shows proclaiming his love for Lane if there’d been a wife. Though even that was uncertain. Kids? She hoped they were taken care of someplace. She’d never felt so helpless.

  And so at fault. If she hadn’t tried to help Toby to the couch, she wouldn’t have spooked him, he wouldn’t have pushed her… She’d had trouble telling the police exactly what had happened. The few seconds that had transpired from point A to point B were a blur. Only the sound of the gunshot was clear. And Toby’s scream. And the blood.

  She looked at her jeans and spread a hand across her thigh, trying to cover the stain. If only it were so easy.

  Toby had come out of surgery okay. The doctor had told them that much. He’d be in recovery awhile. They could go home. But Brandy wanted to see him, really see him. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was. She didn’t want him to be in a hospital room hurting, scared, and alone.

  Nobody deserved to be alone at a time like this—though with her four kids, Brandy wouldn’t have minded a bit more solo time. Yet such time would come. Soon enough or too soon? Either way, she was well aware that the chaos of motherhood was temporary and should be cherished.

  Yeah, right.

  She glanced at her watch. Six-thirty. She’d left thirteen-year-old Marianne in charge of things and was totally confident in her sibling-sitting abilities. But today was show-and-tell for Emmanuel, and the twins were out of lunch money, and—

  Brandy pulled away from the comfort of Randy’s arm. He startled awake. “What?”

  Oops. She’d kept him here when he should have been home sleeping. He had to go to work today.

  Enough. She stood and pulled him up with her. “Go home. The kids need you.”

  He tucked his shirt in the back of his pants while checking his watch. “Did the doctor come out again?”

  “No. So I’ll stay. I’ve come this far.”

  “But you need sleep, too.”

  “I’ll sleep later. I have to talk to Toby. For him and for Laney. She’ll have enough to deal with later. I need to know firsthand how he is.”

  “But your car’s at her house… How will you get home?”

  “I’ll take a cab. Bus.
” She pushed him toward the door. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way home. I always do.”

  Toby heard snoring.

  He opened his eyes and saw a woman slumped in a chair close by. He blinked a few times to focus. It was Brandy.

  Then he remembered the gun. The shot. The pain.

  He moaned as the memory of the pain proved to be more than memory.

  In one motion, Brandy opened her eyes and sat upright. “Toby!” She rushed to his bedside and touched his arm.

  He didn’t know what to ask first: Why was she here? How was he doing? What happened? or—

  “The bullet hit a kidney. You had surgery,” she said. “The doctor doesn’t know how you ever managed to shoot yourself at that angle, and even the police had a hard time understanding how it happened, but—”

  “The police?”

  “Shootings attract police, Tobe.”

  “Am I going to be arrested?”

  She hesitated. “When I talked to them I tried to downplay what happened, but you did hold me at gunpoint.”

  “Only when you scared me by coming out of the house.”

  “To find you sleeping on Lane’s deck. All bloody and beat up.”

  “Because she humiliated me in front of the entire country.”

  Her hand found her hip. “And how did she do that? She wasn’t even here.”

  His mind was too fuzzy for this conversation. He closed his eyes and let a moan escape. What had started as a ploy had turned into reality. He wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the gunshot surgery or the beating.

  “Oh, Tobe. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have argued with you. The truth is, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “I just wanted to see her one more time. Talk to her.”

  “Me, too. And tomorrow’s the day she might come back.”

  Whatever. What did it matter? Everything was ruined. “I’m tired.”

  She touched his shoulder. “I’ll leave you alone then.” She hooked her purse on her shoulder. “I’ll try to come back tomorrow.”

  “No.” He sounded more certain than he felt.

  “But—”

  “No. It’s over and done, Brandy. Let it die.”

  With a nod, she left. He was sorry to see her go.

  His fifteen minutes of fame was over. Fade to black. Cut.

  Santa Monica

  Brandy was wiped out. She was glad the kids were at school, and even glad Randy was at work. It made the house quiet for sleeping—though the boxes of Trix and Captain Crunch on the counter, and the coloring books and crayons spread over the table, were proof that in spite of shootings and Time Lotteries, life went on.

  Her purse hit the kitchen counter, and her shoes were off by the time she crossed the threshold of the master bedroom. She had her top pulled over her head before she reached the dresser. The pants came next, then the nightshirt went over her head. Door to bed in twenty seconds, tops.

  Speaking of bed, she noticed Randy had pulled down the covers on her side. What a sweet—

  There was something on her pillow. It was a single sheet of paper with a sticky-note on it. The note said,

  Go. Be there for Lane. The Time Lottery people know you’re coming—I called them. I love you through all time, Randy

  She peeled the note away and saw that the paper was a computer printout of an e-ticket to Kansas City, including hotel reservations for two nights. She knew what a financial stretch this was for them, and yet…

  She held the ticket to her chest. “I love you, too, Randy.”

  She looked at the departure time. She had four hours.

  Where was that suitcase?

  Kansas City

  Mac finished making a statement regarding Toby Bjornson in the Time Lottery auditorium. He dreaded saying the last two words but said them anyway. “Any questions?”

  Feeding frenzy.

  “Was Toby Bjornson stalking Ms. Holloway?”

  “Will he be arrested?”

  “Will this incident change Time Lottery policy?”

  Insipid questions that could be handled with a sprinkling of common sense. He let it go on for a generous amount of time before saying, “I’ll allow one more question, then I have work to do. After all, tomorrow is the day the winners return.”

  But the final question pushed his hot button. “Why do you think this year’s Time Lottery has been plagued with such conflict among the people the winners left behind, as well as leaks, and—”

  Because of you! Mac raised a hand, stopping the rest of the question. He was tempted to give them a lecture, tempted to tell them it was Wriggens who’d leaked the Toby story, tempted to yell at them for keeping him and Cheryl apart one moment. Yet he knew that to explain and defend would feed the frenzy even more. But what could he say? Should he say? Give me the words.

  He scanned the room, waiting until he had every eye. “The essence of the Time Lottery is based on emotion, wanting to change a negative to a positive, a sadness to happiness, a failure to success. Change elicits more emotion. As does the threat of being left behind. And that is what drives the family and acquaintances of the winners into the limelight. Fear and worry that they are going to be left behind, that their loved one is not coming back. And as the day of that climax is imminent, emotions run high.”

  Good segue, Mac. Good segue.

  “Which leads me to this moment. By the end of tomorrow, all three winners of the Time Lottery will have made a decision that will change their lives—and the lives of their family and friends—forever. Who will come back? Who will stay in their Alternity? I think in light of these life-changing moments and choices, our little intrigues will pale.” He leveled them with a look. “Don’t you?”

  He could tell that a few of them wanted to say more, but he left before they could sully the moment.

  Bangor

  Dina stared at her empty desk. She knew she should offer to help one of the other secretaries. Mariner Construction was busy, even if Dina was not. Yet in her current mental and emotional condition, doing was difficult.

  “Hello? Earth to Dina.” Linda, the head estimator, stood in front of her desk.

  “Sorry,” Dina said. “Did you need something?”

  Linda looked to the right, then the left. Then she leaned on Dina’s desk. “I need you to stop playing the martyr.”

  Dina straightened her flip calendar so its edge was parallel with the desk. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about you pining for David for over half your life and continuing to pine for him now.”

  “I do not pine.”

  “Semantics. He comes back tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And you need to be there.”

  “There?”

  “In Kansas City. Sitting beside his bed.”

  “I would never sit beside Mr. Stancowsky’s bed.”

  Linda leaned even closer, her voice soft but full of power. “You need to be sitting next to his bed at that Time Lottery place so that when he wakes up and opens his eyes, the first person he sees is you—the woman who loves him.”

  If anyone else had talked to her that way, Dina would have objected. But Linda had guessed the truth a long time ago. She was the only one who knew the state of Dina’s heart.

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  Linda straightened. “That’s your problem. After all these years, if you’re waiting for David Stancowsky to invite you to be anything but his slave, you haven’t learned a thing. You aren’t getting an invitation.”

  “I can’t push myself on him.”

  “You’re not. If the man comes back it means his dearly departed Millie was not the woman of his dreams. Hey, she’s made her true feelings pretty clear in this ti
me zone, so I wouldn’t doubt she did it back in his second pass through ’58. Which means he’ll have a broken heart that needs mending. He’ll need the comforting arms of a good woman.” She raised and lowered her eyebrows as a hint.

  Dina’s pulse rate had doubled. She’d always assumed David would continue to pursue Millie no matter where he was. Linda had brought new insight into the matter. “Do you really think…?”

  Linda came around the desk and nudged herself in front of Dina’s computer. “Move over.” She commandeered the mouse and clicked away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you an airplane ticket to Kansas City.”

  “But…” Dina stopped herself with a nod. “Okay.”

  “Now we’re talking.”

  Kansas City

  Rachel looked out the window of the airplane as they made their descent into Kansas City. It was odd to come back for her mother’s return when her mother might not return.

  Yet how could she not be there to say welcome back—or good-bye.

  Rachel looked at her father in the aisle seat. His hands were clasped across his middle, his eyes closed. She thought he was sleeping, until his forehead tightened and his eyebrows dipped. He took a deep breath and she realized he was fighting off tears. Nearly thirty years of marriage was not something easily discarded, especially in this bizarre manner. If her mother didn’t come back, it was final. She would be dead to them; in fact, her body would die. There would be no second chance to say what should have been said. To hug. To kiss. To hold.

  Rachel drew in her own breath and put her fingers over her eyes against the tears. Then she felt a touch on her arm. She turned and found her father’s hand reaching toward her.

  They held hands across the empty seat.

  Seventeen

  In his heart a man plans his course,

  but the LORD determines his steps.

  Proverbs 16:9

  Dawson—1987

  Lane, as Juliet’s nurse, put her hands on Melissa’s shoulders, sending the girl off to meet the man she was to marry. “‘Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.’”