Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “EA?”

  “Exponential Absorption.” She wrote another formula.

  I(s)= I0.e-τ(s)

  “This complicates it,” she added.

  “Certainly. Still, it’s not exactly rocket science.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “What about little sigma?” He stood and pointed to the σ in the first equation.

  “It’s independent of the intensity of the radiation,” she said.

  He stared at it for a few seconds. “That’s the belief, but what if you assumed that it wasn’t? Also, have you considered photoionization or its inverse, radiative recombination?” He took the grease pencil from her and added to the refrigerator chalkboard.

  σnRec(ε)= 3.7.10-17.√(A/T).n2.4.h(ε)

  “Yes,” Annie said and then stared at the equation for a time. “No. I guess I haven’t. Should I have?”

  Steven handed the grease pencil back to his daughter. “Worth thinking about.” He took a huge gulp of his coffee and looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get going.”

  “But it’s only a numerical approximation.”

  “And your point is? If you don’t feel good about the paper, you don’t have to turn it in. It’s only extra credit, right?” He kissed her on the forehead. “See you tonight, Sweetie.”

  Annie continued to stare at the refrigerator door until the sound of her father’s SUV faded down the driveway and then covered the mathematical equations with Windex and wiped the refrigerator clean.

  The last day of classes dragged by for Annie. They were only moderately better than the week before, which was only moderately better than the week before that. At 12:40 the Student Center Coffeehouse was unusually crowded. There was one table with an empty chair, otherwise occupied with people studying for finals or talking mindlessly, but Annie wasn’t in the mood to share someone else’s space.

  Two floors up she checked out the Moran Lounge and then the Reading Room, both of which were equally crowded. Frustrated for some spot to isolate herself until her last class, she took the stairs down three floors to the one place she’d rather not go, the Stratton Lounge. Annie was shocked to find the lounge empty. She gulped back her memories and, making a wide berth around the plaque on the east wall, walked to the far corner and sat. She opened her paper and tried to decide on whether to turn it in or not. After five unsuccessful minutes she found herself staring at the plaque and remembering the happiest time in her life.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present to you Mr. And Mrs. Tony Caschetta.”

  Like in a fairy tale story, Annie floated into the hall on Tony’s arm to the smiles and cheers of over 200 people. For three hours it went on . . . the happiest time of her life. She wished that it would never end.

  “Excuse me.”

  Annie’s eyes came back into focus on a young girl. Her MIT windbreaker and backpack indicated she was a college student, but Annie’s first impression was a high school sophomore. She reminded Annie of what she looked and felt like her first year at MIT when her best attempt at trying to look older was a padded bra.

  “Is this the Caschetta Lounge?”

  Caschetta Lounge. The name raised that all too familiar emotion. Let it go, Annie told herself as she gulped and pushed it back down. “Actually this is the Stratton Lounge. It’s also called the Airport Lounge.”

  She looked around. “Yeah, I heard that.”

  “You’re a freshman, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m ah . . .” She glanced over her shoulder before saying softly, “I’m sixteen.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to give you a hard time. You just remind me of myself when I started here. I was fifteen. My mother was sixteen when she started.”

  “Really?”

  Annie nodded her head. “It’s a small club. Has it been tough?”

  “It’s been hell. Everybody treats me like I’m twelve. It doesn’t help that the curriculum is hard beyond crazy.”

  “Tell me about it. It was never as bad as high school, though. And it does get better.”

  “God, I hope so. I just have to make it through finals next week. So you’re a senior now?”

  “First year graduate.”

  “Wow! What school?”

  “Nuclear science. You?”

  “Linguistics and philosophy?

  Annie nodded and raised her eyebrows. “Heavy.”

  “Yeah. Wondering if I made the wrong choice.”

  “Not too late to change.”

  “Thinking about it. My folks want me to do economics or business.” She opened her mouth and pointed her finger down her throat. “What’s nuclear science like?”

  “Very heavy. If you’re weak in math and science, forget it. It’ll eat you alive.”“You must have done all right.”

  “My father received his doctorate here, in the same field. My mother got her master’s. Came from good stock.”

  “No kidding.” Suddenly the girl spotted the plaque and walked over to it. “In memory of Tony Caschetta?” She looked back at Annie. “This is why it’s called the Caschetta Lounge. Did you know this was here?” Without waiting for an answer she continue reading. “Gave his life in the service of his country. August 12, 1984 – February 5, 2007.

  “Oh, wow! He died like three months ago. He must have been someone important. Did you know him?”

  Annie turned her head to the window. The plaque was not her doing, nor was it placed with her approval. She had considered many times removing it. “Yes.” Once again she successfully forced back the tears. “I knew him.”

  “Really. Who was he?”

  Annie opened her mouth to tell the girl to go away, but instead said, “It was a few years back, when I was a freshman like you.” Her voice was soft, a sad smile played on her lips. “As far back as anyone can remember this has been called the airport lounge because of its airport-like atmosphere.”

  The girl looked around. “Yeah. I can see that.”

  “One day Tony decided to add to it. He went out to the airport during a snowstorm and recorded sounds of the terminal with all its announcements of delayed and cancelled flights. He came back and created a CD, and then hid a player and speakers in the ceiling. Then he added a remote control so that he could start it and stop it when he felt like it. Anytime he was nearby he’d turn it on. If he saw an administrator approaching he’d turn it off. This went on for almost a month, people relaxing or studying to the well-known sounds of Logan International Airport, before some do-gooder put two and two together and started watching Tony.”

  “It must have been hilarious.”

  Annie smiled at the memory. “Yeah. It was.”

  “Did he get into trouble?”

  “Not really. It was a harmless prank. A slap on the wrist, basically.”

  “Carol.”

  They both looked up at another girl calling. “That’s my friend I’m meeting,” the girl said. “Nice talking to you.”

  Annie watched the young girl rush away and heard her say, “Did you know why this is called the Caschetta Lounge?” before she and her friend disappeared.

  Annie remembered sitting in this very spot, grinning at the flight delay announcements, and flirting with Tony. That was when she met him. Love at first sight. But she was only fifteen, just a kid, and he was eighteen. It was two years later, after she had grown real breasts and a real figure, before he took notice of her, but not without additional flirting on her part in a class they shared. A year later, just under a month before her nineteenth birthday, they were married. And then, like a lopsided sine curve, her life peaked and then plummeted to a depth she never imagined possible.

  “Damn you, Tony Caschetta!”

  And then she wept.

  After a time Annie took the hanky from her purse, dried her face and then opened her computer. She stared at her research paper for a few seconds and then brought up the e-mail program and checked for mail. There were two messages,
one of which was from Professor Grae.

  Ms. Caschetta,

  Looking forward to seeing you this evening. 7:00.

  Howard Grae

  PS. You are so much like your mother.

  He added a second PS with directions to his home. The other e-mail was from Beth.

  Thank you for last night. It was good to unload. Mikhail hasn’t called so I don’t know if he’s coming home tonight. Later, Beth.

  “Then you call him,” Annie said softly, “because maybe someday you won’t be able to.” She considered replying with those very words, then deleted both messages, closed the email program, and instead of returning to her research paper, stared out the window. What did Professor Grae mean that I’m like my mother? When did he know her? Was she one of his students? Why hasn’t he ever mentioned it? What was he teaching back then?

  A robin lighted on the top of a spruce tree, seemed to eye Annie for a few seconds and then flew off. Annie sighed.

  At 7:10 Annie was again lying on her bed, Tony’s letter on her chest. Instead of the doorbell, though, this time her cell phone played it’s disgustingly merry tune. She reached to pick it up, vowing for the hundredth time to change the tune to something appropriately depressing. Howard Grae’s name was in the display. She sent it to voice mail and returned to her analysis of the swirls in the ceiling.

  At 7:14 there came a knock at her door followed by, “Annie?”

  “Come in, Dad.”

  Steven opened the door far enough to poke his head in. “I have a call from Professor Grae. He says he’s been trying to get a hold of you.”

  “Yeah, I know. Tell him I’m busy. I’ll talk to him on Monday.”

  “Is this something to do with the paper you’re working on? If it’s due Monday you should ought to get on it.”

  Annie raised her head. “It was due today, Dad, and I turned it in. Last day of classes? I’ve got it under control. And I really don’t want to talk to Grae right now. And since when did you start hounding me about my schoolwork?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Considering everything, I think I’m keeping up just fine.”

  “Yes. I guess you are. I’ll tell him you’ll get back to him Monday.” He closed the door.

  Annie dropped back to the pillow, closed her eyes and listened to her father’s voice in the hall outside her door. She couldn’t make out the words but was sure he was giving Professor Grae her apologies. Why couldn’t people just leave her alone? She gave herself over to the university five days a week. That should be enough. Her evenings, her weekends, should be her own, to do with, or not do with, as she saw fit. Right now she saw fit to remain right here on her bed, doing nothing.

  Another knock and the door opened. Without opening her eyes, she said, “I don’t want to talk to him.”

  “He says it’s very important. He wants thirty seconds. He’s going to call your cell phone again in a minute. Please just answer it so he can stop bugging both of us.”

  “He wants me to get involved in a project for his Energy Research Council. I’ve already told him no. Why can’t he just accept that and find someone else?”

  “Maybe because he has a great respect for your intelligence, and maybe because he knows it would be important to you for your Masters Degree.”

  Annie swung her feet to the floor and sat up. She started to get angry, caught herself, pulled her fingers through her hair, and said, “Why does everyone think I’ve lost my ability to decide what’s best for me? I just need some space, that’s all. Can’t anybody just give me some space?” She cast her eyes to the floor. “Maybe my Masters isn’t important to me anymore, Dad.” Until that very second, until it came spilling out of her mouth she didn’t realize that that notion had been simmering in her subconscious for the past week. “Maybe I should quit and get a job, and earn my keep around here.”

  “That’s not necessary, and not a very good idea.”

  “I know it’s not necessary, but maybe it’s a damn good idea. Maybe it’s what I need. A change. Something new. Today—and something like this happens every day—I wound up in Airport Lounge. I was doing just fine there until some freshman came by and somehow got me to talking about why it was also called Caschetta Lounge. Hell! That’s where I met Tony. He was the one who put that recording of Logan Airport in the ceiling.”

  “That was four years ago. I thought you met Tony two years ago.”

  “I discovered him four years ago. It was two years later before he discovered me.”

  “Oh.” After several seconds of awkward silence, Steven said, “He’s asking for thirty seconds. That’s all. Just answer it when he calls.”

  Annie rolled her eyes up from the floor.

  “Please.”

  “I’ll answer it.”

  “Thank you. And later let’s talk about this quitting school idea.”

  The door closed and Annie lay back down with her phone on her stomach until it started playing its tune again. She picked it up, saw Howard Grae in the display, and flipped it open. “Yes.”

  “Annie, Howard Grae here. I assume your father just talked to you. What I’m about to say he knows nothing about. I didn’t want to tell you anything until you attended our meeting, but I see that I may have to give you something so that you’ll come. This is highly confidential so you’ll have to be sworn to secrecy.”

  “Dad said you wanted thirty seconds. You’re down to fifteen.”

  “Ms. Caschetta . . . Annie, what if you could have the opportunity to talk to Tony one more time?”

  Annie sat up. “What do you mean?”

  “I think you know what I mean. We’re waiting for you.” Then there was silence.

  “Wait! Professor Grae!” He was gone. Annie dropped the phone into her lap. She knew exactly what he meant. She was fourteen when she learned how her mother really died. Her own research convinced her that it wasn’t a car accident, as her father had told her since she was old enough to understand. It was Annie’s visit with Great-grandmother Frick a week before her fourteenth birthday that started it all. Her great-grandmother told her that it was time that she learned the truth about her mother’s death, and then presented her with evidence that there was some other truth.

  And then it was on her birthday, following a week of hitting weird dead ends in her search for that truth, that she challenged her father with the results of her research, and then saw the look on his face when she followed that with the words from her great-grandmother who, after placing a chunk of metal in her hand said, “This is the bullet that killed your mother.” She also remembered her great-grandmother’s other words, words that would label anyone else as missing a few cards from a full deck.

  “Fifty-eight years ago in 1987.”

  That was the week that she learned of her many godparents, learned that being adopted would have been much simpler, learned the truth of her mother’s death, and, at the age of fourteen, learned that she was born in 1943, which in a twisted, unbelievable way would have meant that she had just celebrated her 58th birthday.

  That was the week that her world turned upside down.

  Annie pulled up MapQuest on her computer and keyed in Professor Grae’s address. One quick glance was all it took to commit the map to memory.

  Chapter 4

  May 17, 2007

  Steven heard his daughter’s clomp on the stairs and, intending to confront her about quitting school, turned in his chair to face the open door and the foyer where she would shortly appear. Realizing he should put his book aside first, he glanced at his desk for something to act as a book mark, found a pencil, closed the book over it and then caught a flash of clothing just before Annie slammed out the front door. Still holding his book, he rose and walked to the office window in time to watch her car accelerate backwards down the driveway. Going to have to talk to that girl, he thought, and then froze at the sight of Charger in the dimming light. Charger was a beautiful white Alaskan Husky belonging to the widowed neighbor, Mrs. Williams, and al
though he couldn’t see a leash, he was sure there was one and that it was attached to both Charger and Mrs. Williams. Then Mrs. Williams appeared, her right arm extended straight out in front of her, leaving one to wonder who was walking who. Steven inhaled and gritted his teeth just as Annie slammed to a stop. Although he couldn’t see Mrs. Williams’ face, he could tell she turned her head. He envisioned the old woman’s famous glare and then let out his breath and relaxed. For nearly a half minute Annie didn’t move. Finally she turned on her lights, carefully backed onto the street and sped away.

  Steven returned to his desk. Just before opening his book he looked back toward the window. Although pleased that she displayed a level of energy he hadn’t seen since Tony’s death, he was concerned as to what Howard could have said in thirty seconds to light her fire, to momentarily make her dangerous. He couldn’t think of anything particularly exciting about the Energy Research Council.

  “Humph!” He returned to his reading.

  Annie was out of Cambridge and halfway across northwest Boston before she stopped shaking from nearly running over Mrs. Williams . . . again. Mrs. Williams walked her dog every morning and every evening, and often—suspiciously often as far as Annie was concerned—crossed Annie’s driveway about the time she was leaving for school, no matter what time she left. Annie took pride in being a careful driver, determined to make it out of her teens without an accident or a ticket. Her only blemish was an embarrassing visit from the police after Mrs. Williams filed a complaint.

  This was the closest call, though, and Annie expected she’d see the police at her door again. The police scared her. Can they give her a ticket based on just a complaint? Annie didn’t think so but the thought of the possibility twisted her stomach.

  At a red light her thoughts snapped back to Professor Grae and his words. “What if you could have the opportunity to talk to Tony one more time?” Is he saying what I think he’s saying? And then she remembered his email. “You are so much like your mother.” How could he know about what went on twenty years ago? In what context did he know my mother?