Eirik: A Time Travel Romance (Mists of Albion Book 1)

by Joanna Bell

  Joyce Williams looks at her crew members. The crew members look at Joyce Williams. Jim, who seems to be in charge in some capacity, nods to a couple of people. "Do it, set it up. Now."

  Less than ten minutes and one very short, very one-sided negotiation later I'm seated in front of the bright lights – bright enough that I can actually feel the heat coming off them. The camera is pointed at Joyce, though, and she's talking directly into it, explaining that my father has ended the interview early but that they now have me, Paige Renner, and that I've agreed to answer a few brief questions. It's one question, but I don't bother correcting my interviewer – if I have to walk off on live TV because she steps outside the bounds I've just laid out, that's her problem, not mine.

  "And now," Joyce says, "we have an exclusive interview with the young woman America has been waiting months to hear from – Paige Renner. Paige," she turns to me, along with one of the cameras. "Is it true you've given birth to a boy?"

  I control my breathing and keep my expression neutral. "Yes."

  "And what can you tell us about the time after you went missing?" Joyce starts.

  I shake my head, just a little. "I'm sorry, I don't want to talk about that. What I do want to say is that I am not mentally ill or delusional. I do not have amnesia or borderline personality disorder. I was not kidnapped by aliens, or any of the other insane theories I've seen floating around online."

  "But what about –"

  I keep going, ignoring Joyce's interruption. "What I want to say is that I love my son and I love his father. I won't be making any other statements to the media, and none of my friends at Grand Northeastern, nor any of the staff at River Forks Hospital, knows any more than any of you, so you can leave them alone. If I have anything else to say, I'll say it myself. Thank you."

  Joyce waits, the way interviewers do, to see if I'll leap to fill the awkward silence after I finish talking with more information. I do not. Finally, she speaks again. "And does your baby have a name yet?"

  I look right into the camera, realizing only at the moment the words come out of my mouth that yes, my son has a name. "Eirik. His name is Eirik."

  "Eric?" my interlocutor asks, raising one eyebrow conspiratorially, as if we're just two girlfriends having a chat – and that the conversation is not, in fact, being broadcast live to the whole country.

  "Eirik," I repeat myself, slowing down and pronouncing it carefully. "Ei-rik. Like 'eye' and then 'rick.' He's named after his father."

  Joyce Williams can't believe the scoop she's getting. People have been speculating about the identity of my baby's father ever since I turned up in that pharmacy in River Forks. "His father?" She repeats, not quite managing to contain the excitement in her voice.

  But I'm standing up already, removing the microphone that's been attached to my shirt even as Joyce pleads with me to sit back down. My dad steps in, getting between us.

  "No, you heard her, that's enough. You have to leave now."

  ***

  An hour later, my dad and I are sitting across from each other at the dinner table. The furniture still hasn't been moved back into its proper places but the CNN crew is gone.

  "You know they're not going to leave you alone?" My dad says dejectedly, picking at a pile of instant mashed potatoes on his plate.

  I meet his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I know. I was just thinking the same thing."

  "I hate this," he continues. "I hate that you – and my grandson – have to put up with this. With being stalked like animals. I wish I had enough money to just take all of us – I don't know, somewhere else, somewhere far away. I'm so sorry Paige. I'm so sorry I can't protect you. It's my job and I can't –"

  I reach out and put my hand over my fathers. "Dad, stop. This isn't your fault – none of this is your fault. And you couldn't stop it anymore than anyone could – including me."

  We sit quietly for a little while, picking at our unappetizing dinner. I'm thinking of how delicious a venison stew would be right now, straight from the gigantic clay pots that simmer for hours over the cooking fires in the Viking camp, when my dad speaks up again.

  "So his name is Eirik, huh? How do you spell that?"

  "E-I-R-I-K," I reply and my dad looks emotional. "Dad," I say, patting his forearm. "Dad. Dad! What is it? What's –"

  "I understand why you don't want to talk to the media," he say, breathing deeply, trying not to cry. "And I know I haven't been a good parent to you, Paige. But –"

  Suddenly, it becomes clear to me. My dad thinks I haven't told him anything about my life during the months I was gone because I resent him in some way, or I think he's been a bad father.

  "No," I say. "No, Dad. No, that is not – that is not what any of this is about. I don't think you've been a bad father, that isn't why I haven't said anything. Oh my God, is that what you think? We talked about this a long time ago –"

  "Why then?" He replies plaintively. "Paige, why? Why won't you tell me?

  "I can't," I reply. "I can't tell you. But I can show you."

  My dad looks at me, confused. "You can – what? You can show me? What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean I can show you, Dad. I can explain it to you by showing you. Not right now, not today. Soon. Tomorrow, maybe. I need to talk to someone first."

  "To Eric? Eirik, I mean?"

  "Dad," I say, taking both his hands in mine and looking into his eyes. "Will you trust me? If I tell you that soon you'll find out everything, you'll understand everything about where I went and who I was with, will you just trust me?"

  He sits back, still looking mystified, but he nods his head. "OK. I mean, I don't understand anything that's going on here right now, Paige, but OK. I trust you."

  I force myself to eat a few mouthfuls of mashed potato, mindful of the need to keep my calorie intake high because I'm breastfeeding – and because I'm about to go back to a place where calories aren't always in such easy supply. A couple of minutes later, I ask my dad another question.

  "Did you mean what you just said?"

  "About what?"

  "When you said you'd take us away if you could, somewhere far away, somewhere where no one knew who we were?"

  My dad's face falls. He feels that he's let me down, and that hurts my heart. "Yes," he says quietly. "Yes, Paige. I'm not sure you understand that the only thing keeping me here – in this particular house, and this particular town – is you. Well, now it's you and little Eirik. I don't care where I am, as long as the two of you are with me. Even when you went away to college, the only reason I stayed here is so you would have somewhere to come back to – a home."

  My heart fills with love. "Oh Dad," I whisper. "Is that true?"

  "Of course it's true, Paige. You and your mother are all that ever mattered to me. When she died, it was down to just you. I know I let you down –"

  "No!" I say, standing up and going to him, wrapping my arms around his stooped shoulders. "No, Dad. Don't say that. No one let anyone down, OK? I told you this before, remember? Before I went to college? It's not what I feel, it's not what happened. We both lost mom, and losing her broke both of us. I've never resented you. Never."

  My father's voice is very, very soft now. "You mean it?"

  "Yes!" I cry. "Yes of course I mean it. I love you, Dad. I've always loved you. And I'm not going anywhere, OK? We're going to stick together from now on, all three of us."

  As if on cue, Eirik begins to fuss and I reach down into the bassinet near my feet to pick him up.

  Chapter 29

  21st Century

  "Paige?" Emma sounds suspicious.

  "Yes," I reply. "It's me."

  As soon as she hears my voice I hear a big sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. "Ugh, thank God. The media is going totally nuts right now – they're following me home! I thought maybe someone had hacked your phone or – actually, fuck it, it doesn't matter. How are you? I saw you on TV last night – that was so crazy! You totally handled Joyce Williams – ha ha! And – oh my
God, Paige – when can I meet the baby? It's a boy? When can –"

  "Emma!" I laugh, because this feels just like old times – begging my friend to calm down as she talks a mile a minute and loses me about halfway through. "Slow down!"

  She laughs, too. "Yeah, sorry about that. I just – damn, I have so many questions that I don't even know where to begin. When can I see you? I mean, I'm not sure you can leave your house right now, I keep seeing shots of all the media trucks outside. It looks like a total nightmare."

  "It is," I agree. "And I don't know if I can get out – not without getting bombarded anyway, and not anytime soon. They even followed my dad to the grocery store this morning, and then some stupid website posted that I must be breastfeeding because there was no baby formula in his shopping cart. They're seriously spying on groceries!"

  "But we can talk on the phone, right?" Emma asks.

  "Oh yeah. Eirik's sleeping right now and I'll have to feed him if he wakes up but I can talk at the same time. And as for visiting, I was actually kind of calling about that."

  There's a brief pause before Emma replies. "So you named him Eirik? After his, um, his dad?"

  She's afraid of saying – or asking – the wrong thing and upsetting me. But it doesn't matter anymore, because I'm not going to be around much longer. That means I can talk about it more freely, even if I do still have to be careful with the specifics.

  "Yeah," I reply. "I did. We can talk about that if you want but I'm just also wondering if you can come over tomorrow afternoon? It's important."

  "Tomorrow?" Emma replies, skeptical. "To your house?"

  She's worried about the media. It's understandable. "Yeah, to the house. If you park in the driveway all you have to do is run to the front door. It's really important that I see you, Em. And it has to be tomorrow."

  "Well I really want to meet the baby," she tells me. "And I guess I don't see any other way of doing it – not without you having to leave, anyway, and I'd rather it was me dealing with those reporters than you. Sure, yeah, I'll come tomorrow. Afternoon? How does one o'clock sound?"

  "It sounds great! And Emma?" I ask.

  "Yeah?"

  "Can you do me a favor?"

  "Sure – you need me to pick something up? I can do that, just –"

  "No, it's not that – it's actually kind of a strange request."

  Emma chuckles. "Just tell me, Paige. Everything is so strange lately it'll probably be fine."

  "OK. It's – uh – can you wear something plain and boring? Like a plain t-shirt and skirt, in normal colors? Like not bright pink or anything like that?"

  "Uhh..."

  "Just humor me!" I tell her, trying to keep my voice cheerful. "Please, I'll explain it when you get here. You'll understand."

  "OK," Emma replies, sounding amused. "Fine. You're such an oddball, Paige."

  I end the call as quickly as possible after Emma agrees to come over the next day, because I don't want her to start asking questions again and I know she's going to if we keep talking.

  She's coming at one in the afternoon. That means I have just under a full day to get ready. I look at Eirik, asleep in his bassinet, and my heart melts. Was I ever that innocent? That blissfully relaxed?

  I suppose I was at some point. No longer. Now it's my job to protect him. I search my mind for doubts, because I am a naturally doubtful person and almost every decision I make is beset by worries and anxieties. There are very few this time, and it surprises me. Surely taking your baby and your dad – your only family in the world – to live in the 9th century, would produce some questions? And yes, it has. Will we have enough to eat? What if one of us gets sick? What if the Jarl is dead?

  If Eirik is dead, we come back to 2017, we make a life here in the future, we make the best of it. If Eirik is alive, we won't have to worry about having enough to eat. We won't have to worry about our son growing up weak and sickly, like the villagers in Caistley, because he'll get the best of everything. And should tragedy befall us, should any of us ever fall sick in a way the healers can't deal with, there's always the tree – a way back.

  Sure, we could stay. We could stay where there are hospitals and schools and paved roads and Google. It would be easier to stay, in so many ways. But I know if I stay, it will be a decision made based on fear.

  Something inside me has changed since giving birth and escaping Dr. Lawson and the hospital room I spent so many weeks of my pregnancy in. Something is different, and it's not just my body. I feel it, bone-deep, when I look down at my son. The days of Paige Renner making decisions based on her fears are over. I don't hope they're over, I'm not willing them to be over – they simply are over, already in the past.

  I must be brave. For my baby, for my dad, and for the man who, whether or not he is still alive, has taught me the value of bravery. I grab a piece of paper and write down a list of items. Later, when I hand the list to my father, he gives me a look.

  "What's all this, Paige? Are you planning for the zombie apocalypse?"

  I laugh. "No, Dad. It's just some things I need."

  "Antiseptic cleanser? Antibiotic cream? Sterile bandages? Meal replacement drinks? Multivitamins? What's all this for? It's going to cost a fortune."

  I could tell my dad that his money is only going to be useful for around the next twenty hours, and then he's literally never going to use it again, but that would just get him thinking that maybe Dr. Lawson was right, that maybe I really am crazy. So I just smile and reassure him that I definitely need the things on the list.

  "Merino wool socks?" He continues. "Can I even get those at Costco? I might have to go to the outdoors store for those. And five pairs? Paige, what the –"

  "Dad!"

  My dad looks up. "What?"

  "Please. I need everything on that list. it just took me over an hour to write, and I've been thinking about it for days. I'm so tired, and I need to give Eirik a bath. Can you please get those things for me? I promise you I need every single one of them."

  My dad stares at me for a few more seconds and then shrugs. "Ok. Sure, fine. But you've got baby formula on this list, Paige. I thought you were going to keep breastfeeding –" he stops when he sees the look on my face and holds his hands up. "OK, OK! I'll head out right now, then, because this might be a long trip."

  I stand up and kiss my dad on the cheek. "Thank you."

  And then I stand behind the heavy, closed drapes in the living room, peeking out as the reporters surround the car, shouting questions as my dad tries to pull out onto the road. Thinking about how they're going to react when it slowly becomes clear that my dad, myself and baby Eirik have apparently disappeared into thin air causes a grim smile to spread across my face.

  I can't enjoy it for long, though, because I'm fretting now over whether I put everything on the list. I think I did. I mean, I must have, because Eadgar, Willa and Willa's kids have survived this long without any modern help – I just want to make things a little easier for them. And if they're confused by the pull-tabs on top of the meal replacement cans, so be it, because I don't mean to return to 2017 and I want to make sure those kids and my two friends go into winter with full bellies and all the vitamins and warm blankets they need. I'll worry about explaining what 'vitamins' even are when I get there. The medical supplies are for me to bring north, to where I will hopefully find the Vikings and the man whose unknown status as alive or dead I cannot quite force myself to face at this time, because doing so would make it impossible for me to take care of all the things I need to take care of. No one in the past – neither Viking nor villager – will know what to do with sterile bandages or antibiotic ointment. I'll keep them with me, just in case.

  Eirik wakes as I stand at the window, hidden from the media, and then takes to my breast with such enthusiasm it actually has him panting. I stroke his cheek as he stares up at me, drunk on love and mother's milk.

  "We're going to meet your daddy's people soon, my love. Your people. And you're going to grow up in the mea
dows and the woods, fat and happy and surrounded by people who love you."

  I leave the second part of that statement unsaid, the part where I admit I don't have a crystal ball, that I can't actually know the future, and that sometimes bad things happen. My heart is still filled with courage, even as my mind is fully aware of all the possibilities. My son needs things he cannot get in 2017. I cannot be his father. I cannot be a full, functional community of people who care about him. I cannot be the deep, clean streams and the fields of white and yellow wildflowers he will play in, if everything goes well.

  And if everything doesn't go well? I'll cross that bridge if I come to it. In the meantime, I claim ownership of my own destiny.

  Chapter 30

  21st Century

  "Why can't we just use backpacks?"

  It's just past noon on my last day in the 21st century. My dad and I are packing the items he bought yesterday into a series of plain burlap sacks he had to go to an agricultural feed store to buy, and he's full of questions. I ignore the one about the backpacks – not be rude, but just because I know answering it won't satisfy him and the interrogation will continue.

  The burden of responsibility is on my shoulders, and it isn't just for myself and my son – it's for my dad, too. Although he isn't chronologically old, he has never recovered, not the way I have, from the loss of my mother. He barely coped without her for years, and I know he won't cope on his own at all. He's said as much to me over and over since I came back from my time away, repeating that I am all he has, that he doesn't care where we are as long as we're together. The Antarctic, he says sometimes when we talk, Siberia, Timbuktu, the middle of the Australian outback – it doesn't matter, as long as we're together.

  Well, I think, as I carefully place a flat-pack of meal replacement drinks at the bottom of a sack, we're definitely going to find out if that's true or not.

  Emma shows up just before one o'clock, dressed in a white t-shirt and a plain ankle-length skirt. Good. Both she and my father can feel the strange anticipation in the air – I can tell from the way they're watching me, waiting for me to tell them what's up. Before we go, I insist that we all sit down and eat the rest of the pizza we had delivered last night – and that I deliberately ordered way too much of. I want our bellies as full as possible.