Second Time Around

by Nancy Moser

  “Is he married?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “That’s too bad.” She sighed. “And yet…”

  “And yet what?”

  Lane had to walk away from her. Brandy, Mrs. Susie Homemaker, would not understand what she was about to say. “Did you ever think that maybe some people are not supposed to be married and have children?”

  “You’re just saying that because you’re manless at the moment.”

  Lane faced her. “I don’t think so. Back in the past, I met up with a woman who said something that stuck with me: ‘Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.’”

  “That could apply to a lot of things.”

  “Including getting married and having children. The thing is, Brandy, I’m not sure it’s possible to have it all. And by coming back here, I made my choice. Acting is my talent—my God-given talent if I want to give credit where it’s due. The fame and opportunities I’ve been given shouldn’t be tossed away. They were too hard-fought. Giving them up wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Fair to whom?”

  The next word didn’t come easily for Lane. She’d never been one to talk about God much. But with Grandma Nellie’s voice still fresh in her head, she said it. “It wouldn’t be fair to God.”

  Brandy’s eyebrow raised. “Since when do you mention the G-word?”

  “Don’t act like I’m some heathen. I believe in God.”

  “Good, ‘cause He believes in you.”

  “Really?” She hated the way her voice sounded. So needy. Like a child desperate for approval.

  “Cross my heart.”

  There was a knock, then Alexander MacMillan popped his head in. “Ms. Holloway? Can I interrupt your reunion for some Time Lottery business? Just a short debriefing. Then you can meet up with Mrs. Lopez again.”

  “Of course.” She gave Brandy a hug. “Later, friend.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  When Lane reached the hall she looked toward the Sphere. “Has anyone else come back yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Mac led Lane into another room. Wriggens was supposed to be there waiting for them. Now he was making them wait. Mac suspected it was on purpose. That man.

  Mac pulled out a chair for Lane. “Chief Administrator John Wriggens will be joining us in a moment.”

  “Actually, I’m glad for the chance to get to talk to you alone.”

  “Oh?”

  “My friend Brandy said there was a leak to the media regarding my true motives for visiting 1987.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid—”

  “And that leak caused Toby Bjornson to be humiliated, which caused him to be beat up, which caused him to be in a situation where he was shot?”

  Mac was taken aback. She certainly got to the point. “Yes, I suppose one led to the other.”

  “How many people knew about my true motives?”

  Uh-oh. “Three.”

  “You, the doctor who got me there, and…?”

  Mac glanced at the door, hoping Wriggens wouldn’t choose this moment to enter. He considered some double-talk, stating that anybody could have found out.

  “The truth, Mr. MacMillan. At the moment I hold truth in the highest regard.”

  “John Wriggens was the only other person who knew.”

  “The man we’re waiting for?”

  Mac nodded.

  “Are you the leak?”

  “No!”

  “Do you think the doctor did it?”

  “I would trust Dr. Rodriguez with my life—with your life.”

  “Which leaves John Wriggens.”

  “There is no proof, Ms. Holloway. And I assure you the TTC is a highly respected—”

  She stopped his defense with a raised hand. “The TTC organization is a prize to be prized. But it doesn’t necessarily follow that every employee is above reproach.”

  What could he say?

  She leaned toward him across the table. “Do you, Alexander MacMillan, think John Wriggens leaked the information?”

  “I…”

  The door opened and Wriggens entered. “Well, well, here you are. Finally. Did you have a nice trip?”

  “Yes, I did. But if you’ll excuse me a moment.” She turned back to Mac. “Regarding that particular piece of information, I just want you to know that I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Wriggens pulled out a chair at the head of the table. “Everything? What’s this? What did I miss?”

  Everything.

  Lane patted Wriggens’s hand and smiled her Hollywood smile. “Now, Mr. Wriggens, would you like to hear about my experience?”

  Mac sat back in awe—of her charm, her acting ability, and her integrity.

  He could hardly wait to see how this turned out.

  Dina watched as Mr. MacMillan led the Caldwell family out of the Sphere to take them to their hotel. Like David, Vanessa hadn’t come back yet, and it might be tomorrow before they knew for sure what was happening. As it was, it was nearly tomorrow now: 11:45. They’d been waiting in the Sphere for nearly twelve hours. And it had been a good ten hours since Lane Holloway had awakened.

  The VIPs had left their balcony perch, and the team of doctors and technicians had been relieved. Only Dina stayed behind. Only Dina stayed loyal to the end.

  The end. Was that what she was waiting for? The end of David’s life—as he knew it. Which would mean the end of my life as I know it.

  She stood by his bed for the umpteenth time. As the hours had passed, they’d allowed her to move her chair from the perimeter to his side. Though they hadn’t said anything, and though she hadn’t asked, she knew it was an act of sympathy. Let the grieving loved ones move close for the final hours.

  She lifted his hand and linked her fingers through his. How many times had she longed to hold this hand, to feel his skin against hers? The only contact they’d ever made had been perfunctory, yet in her dreams.. .

  Those dreams were dead now. She’d been such a fool. Pining after a man for nearly fifty years. Hope springs eternal. Wasn’t it Shakespeare who’d said, “Lord, what fools these mortals be”? And wasn’t she being a fool now, staying deep into the night beside a man who had never loved her? A man who’d chosen to stay in his past with a woman who hated him enough to die because of him, rather than return to a woman who would willingly die for him.

  She swiped away a tear, not sure if it was a tear of sorrow or anger. Probably both. Her lifetime spent on the periphery of David’s life had always elicited conflicting emotions.

  There was a sudden flurry by the computer console. “He’s going.”

  Going? The doctor and nurse moved close and Dina took a step back, giving them room. They checked his vitals. Then the doctor looked at her. “He is dying, Ms. Edmonds. Dying here, that is. He must have decided to stay in his past.”

  Must have.

  Then, without consciously deciding, Dina found herself walking to the exit.

  “But don’t you want to stay—?”

  No, thank you. She’d finally had enough.

  Nineteen

  For you, O God, tested us;

  you refined us like silver.

  Psalm 66:10

  Present-Day Kansas City

  The phone woke her.

  Rachel reached to the left, then realized she wasn’t at home. She was in a hotel and the phone was to her right. “Yes?”

  “It’s Dad, honey. Mom’s gone.”

  The words did not compute, and she sat up and found a light switch. “What?”

  “I got a call from Mr. MacMillan. Your mother just passed away.”

  “We weren’t there? We weren’t there!”

  His voice took on
an edge. “Neither was she, honey. She stayed in the past. She chose not to come back to us.”

  Though they’d expected this might happen, to have it be over…

  “MacMillan says we’ll need to make arrangements for the funeral. But there’s no need to hurry over there unless we want to.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to go back there. Ever.”

  “I know. Me neither. Do you want me to come to your room?

  “No. I’m fine. I just want to be alone.”

  His voice caught. “Yeah. Me, too. I’ll call you in a little while, okay?”

  She hung up, not wanting to hear his tears. She was surprised to find none of her own. The closeness she’d felt toward her mother—since her mother had left for the past—suddenly seemed contrived. And way too late. However, the closeness she’d felt for her father since then…

  She looked in the direction of his room. Why did that seem more real?

  Because he’s real. He’s here. You still have time with him. A lifetime with him.

  A second chance with him. One she didn’t intend to waste.

  She got dressed.

  Alexander MacMillan stood before the media, ready to make his statement. Lane Holloway—the only winner to return— stood in the wings. They began peppering him with questions, but he held out his arms, quieting them. “Thank you for coming to this post-Time Lottery press conference. I know you’re eager to know who stayed in their Alternity and who returned. So here’s the answer to that question: Vanessa Caldwell and David Stancowsky did not return.”

  “Do we get to talk to their families?”

  “Not at this time. As you can imagine, they are in mourning and need to be afforded the respect that goes with their grief.”

  “And their $250,000 in life insurance.”

  Their laughter aggravated Mac. Though the life insurance policy was a necessary accoutrement to the Time Lottery, there always seemed to be someone who focused on the money rather than on the experience. He moved on. “However, as you have deduced, since I have mentioned the two who stayed behind, that means one has returned to us and is thus able to share her experiences.” The applause started before he said her name. “I give to you Lane Holloway.”

  As soon as Lane heard the applause, she knew she’d made the right decision to come back. Her soul was like a sponge, soaking in the life-sustaining refreshment. She strode across the stage, waving to the audience, and took her position beside Mr. MacMillan.

  As soon as the applause died, she spread her arms and said, “I’m back!” More applause. Hoots and hollers, too. “Thank you for that wonderful welcome home. And I am glad to be home. Though it was an interesting experience returning to my childhood roots, I came to realize that the blessings I’ve been given through acting opportunities in this lifetime are not to be thrown away without cause and—”

  The back door of the auditorium opened and a man rushed in. “Toby Bjornson is dead! He died!”

  Bedlam. Lane felt her knees buckle. She was glad Mr. MacMillan was there to steady her. “Is it true?” she whispered to him.

  “I don’t know. But I’ll find out.” He motioned for the man who’d run in with the news to come toward the stage. They conferred a few minutes, then Mr. MacMillan returned to his place beside her, giving her the slightest of nods before speaking. “I am sad to report that it’s true. Though Mr. Bjornson’s condition was thought to be stable, he took a turn for the worse this morning and died.”

  “Oh, Laney!” Lane turned toward Brandy’s voice calling from the wings. She wanted to go to her but could not. Not now. For inside her, besides the sorrow and shock, a fierce anger brewed. One that could not be denied. One whose time had come.

  Questions were tossed in her direction, but she ignored them. She left Mr. MacMillan, moved to the edge of the stage, raised her hands, and waited for them to be quiet. She needed their full attention.

  Finally, she had it. “I am deeply saddened to hear that Toby has died. Although I had not seen him since 1987, I wished him no harm. Obviously, in my absence I was unaware of all that has transpired this past week with him coming forward and receiving media attention—and humiliation. I cringe at the pain he must have gone through that led directly to his death.” She pointed to her chest. “I am partly responsible.” She pointed to them. “But so are you. We all are. This obsessed fascination we have with so-called news, with butting into the private lives of others to fulfill some kind of sick need…”

  She heard a stirring but quieted it with a hand. “I’ve chosen a life of fame and celebrity. The media is a necessary part of my life. I need you. In part, you have made me what I am. But there has to be a balance. We each have public and private parts of our lives. And when the private is shoved into the public domain… could your own lives survive such scrutiny?

  “I am partly to blame for Toby’s humiliation because I lied about my true motivation for visiting the past. I didn’t want the bad press that would surely come out of my choice to explore a life without fame. And so I lied and offered you a choice I hoped would satisfy yet keep my reputation intact. The choice of young love. For whatever reason, Toby latched onto my words and stepped into your path—and was run down because of it. More specifically, because of a leak of information.”

  She looked at Mr. MacMillan. It was payback time. “Although the wisdom of my initial lie is questionable, it was never meant to hurt anyone, and it never would have hurt anyone if the truth would have remained secret. But without me here to explain and soften my true choice, the leak created havoc—and now death.” She shifted her weight to the other foot. “I can only assume that the person who created the leak did so out of a sick need for scandal and publicity. Unfortunately, I have discovered that the person responsible for the leak is the chief administrator of the TTC, John Wriggens.”

  The audience responded with shouted questions. She gave them a nod, said thank you, and left the stage.

  She grabbed Brandy’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

  Mac fell into his office chair. He had not seen Wriggens since the press conference. After Lane had left the room it had been chaos. But chaos that he had enjoyed handling. If the Time Lottery caught a little heat, so be it. Fire refined silver and made it stronger.

  For now it could be stronger without John Wriggens at the helm. And though Mac hadn’t heard anything from the higher-ups, he couldn’t imagine them allowing Wriggens to keep his job. Of course, there was a possibility that Mac’s job was in jeopardy. If so, he would make the sacrifice. For the good of the Time Lottery.

  “Busy day at the office, hon?”

  He looked up to see Cheryl in the doorway. “You could say that.”

  She came in and closed the door. “Is he gone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Lane did a boffo job. You couldn’t have planned it better yourself.” She looked at him through her lashes. “Unless…?”

  “She’d told me she was going to handle it. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t know she’d accuse him in front of the world.”

  Cheryl took a seat in the guest chair. “He deserves whatever he gets. After he took that bribe from Phoebe’s husband last year, we all knew he was working on borrowed time.”

  Mac cleared off his desk, ready to leave, to go with her anywhere. “You know what’s odd? I feel sorry for him.”

  She laughed. “You’re way too godly for me, Mac. For the world.”

  Not at all. “He’s a bitter man. The only time I’ve ever seen him joyful is when he got one up on someone.”

  She stood. “You ready to go?”

  “You mean am I ready to surrender myself into your capable hands?”

  She pulled him close. “You have no idea.”

  At the last second, Mac backtracked to Wriggens’s office, feeling the responsibi
lity to check on him, offer some word, some comfort. But it was dark. He flipped on the lights. The desk was cleared. There was a bare space on the wall where a modern art reproduction used to hang.

  “He’s gone,” Cheryl whispered.

  That he is. Thank You, God, for large favors.

  Mac shut off the light and closed the door.

  Epilogue

  And we know that in all things

  God works for the good of those who love him,

  who have been called according to his purpose.

  Romans 8:28

  Present-Day Buckhead—Two Weeks Later

  Yardley Pruitt sat in the leather wing chair by the fireplace. The fire had grown cold.

  When?

  He’d lost track. He pulled the afghan around his shoulders, causing his feet on the ottoman to stick out the other end. He was missing one slipper. He reached to find it and saw that his glass of milk had tipped over on the side table, making a gooey mess of the crackers there. It smelled bad.

  He smelled bad.

  He felt bad.

  He felt tipped over, missing, and cold. Extinguished.

  He had no idea what day it was. All he knew was that it was post—Vanessa. She hadn’t come back. She’d chosen a life with her mother rather than come back to him. Never again would he see her smiling face or put his arms around her to tell her he loved her.

  Not that she’d smiled much. Not that he’d ever hugged her or told her how much he cared. And now it was too late.

  He ran a hand over his face and found days’ worth of stubble. He felt old. He was old. Too old to start over without her. He put a hand to his chest. His heart ached. Could a person die of a broken heart? He closed his eyes, willing to glide into that place of nonbeing. Maybe if he slowed his breathing enough his body would allow him to slip away. He started when he heard a key in the front door. Who—?

  Then Rachel’s voice. “Look at all these newspapers, Dad. I know there’s something wrong. I know it.”