A Straw Man (The Clay Lion Series Book 3)

by Amalie Jahn

  He didn’t know how close to the truth he actually was. I focused my attention on a portrait of my family on the wall behind his head.

  “Mel?”

  I couldn’t tell him about my trip and the damage I’d caused, especially when I had just saved him from the guilt associated with Sam’s death. There was no way I was going to tie him to another loss.

  I took a deep breath and held my cards close, praying my phony explanation would not only be believable but would also appease him.

  “When I saw Mikey today, there was something in his face that reminded me of my father. I guess he’s starting to resemble him a little bit. When I noticed, it just dredged up some bad memories, that’s all. I just needed a minute to sort it out without ruining the day for everyone else.”

  “That sleeping pork chop reminded you of your father?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yes.”

  “And so that’s what it was? Bad memories of your dad?”

  “Yes.”

  He rubbed his hands against the stubble on his cheeks and I could tell he wanted to believe me.

  “And now you want to pop popcorn and veg out in front of the TV all night?”

  I knew I had him.

  “Yes.”

  He hesitated briefly. “Fine. I’m in, but only if you guys still have that powdered cheddar cheese to pour on top.”

  I couldn’t help feeling proud of myself. Another crisis averted.

  “If we have it, it’s in the top cabinet. You’ll have to dig for it cuz I can’t reach it without a chair.”

  Three hours and four bowls of cheesy popcorn later, a light from the hallway sliced through the darkness and my mom appeared in her nightgown to announce she was going to bed and that she hoped we’d consider doing the same before it got too late. She had big plans for us to drive with her to the tree farm first thing in the morning to select the Johnson Family Christmas Tree. If being a part of my family’s annual tradition didn’t scare Nate away, nothing would.

  An hour later, after Mom’s final warning about sleeping in our respective rooms, I crept out of Charlie’s old bedroom where Nate always stayed and slipped beneath the covers of my own bed. I assumed I would fall asleep immediately, as exhausted as I was from the excitement of the day, but instead sleep eluded me.

  Vicki’s disappearance plagued my mind.

  I never believed myself a selfish person, but while reflecting on the aftermath of my trip and the pain of losing Vicki, I laid awake reconsidering my true intentions. Although using my trip initially stemmed from the desire to help Nate rectify what he could not remedy himself, in light of Vicki’s disappearance, I could no longer pretend there hadn’t been ulterior motives. I might have been able to delude myself into believing my motivations were pure if there had been no consequence for my actions, but the truth was, fixing Nate’s timeline had always been just as much about fixing my own.

  I wanted us to be together.

  And I lost my niece in the process.

  Alone, in the silent hours just before morning, I allowed myself to cry for the little girl who would never lose her first tooth or ride a bike or learn long division or fall in love. She would never become the person she was supposed to be and it was all my fault.

  The last thought I had before finally drifting off to sleep was of the other lives who were lost to time travel. Vicki couldn’t be the only soul whose future had been inadvertently erased at conception because of poor timing.

  Perhaps, I thought, as I closed my eyes, it was too late to save my Vicki. But maybe I could make sure no one else would ever have to experience my grief.

  C HAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Returning to school with Nate for the final push before Christmas break was nothing short of miraculous. More than just company at lunchtime or someone to beat at video games, he was my best friend - the person who got me when I didn’t get myself. My Nate was back, and for the first few weeks, I could not have been more thrilled. Gone was the lying, the stealing, the sneaking around for his next fix to deaden the pain. All the symptoms of his addiction had seemingly disappeared, and for a little while it was almost as if the nightmare had never even happened.

  And yet, as overjoyed as I was to have the old Nate back by my side, by the time final exams rolled around, I could no longer ignore the nagging voice in the back of my mind constantly chastising me for my hasty, self-serving decision. I knew he was clean and sober not because he’d grown from that place of painful isolation and despair, but because I’d simply found a way around the difficult fix. I got what I wanted but it came at a price. Nate had no idea what monsters lay dormant within him, and I had robbed him of the satisfaction that comes along with not only facing your own demons but defeating them soundly and emerging victorious on the other side. For better or worse, I had changed who he was supposed to be.

  As I zoned out during class each day considering the two lives I irrevocably changed, I found that even if I couldn’t rationalize, I could at least make peace with what I did to Nate. Although I stole what may have been the defining experience of his life, I replaced it with a joyful, meaningful existence.

  On the other hand, I could not forgive myself so easily for what I’d done to Vicki.

  I moved quickly through the typical stages of grief, and after the initial shock wore off, lost myself briefly in the pain and guilt associated with her loss. Standing face to face with the truth of what I’d done, it was easy to understand how Nate got himself mired in the seemingly unbearable anguish which often accompanies the death of a loved one.

  There was a day when taking a pill to make it all go away didn’t seem like such a bad idea. But for me, that was the moment the anger set in.

  And before long that anger began to fuel an obsession.

  Mom noticed it immediately when I showed up for winter break dressed in crusty sweatpants and one of Nate’s hoodies, grumbling as I came through the door.

  “You look like you’ve been run over by a bus,” she commented as I dropped my duffle beside the sofa where she was stretched out watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the nine hundredth time. “You said you didn’t think finals were going to be that tough.”

  I plopped down on the couch beside her, tucking my legs beneath me. “The tests were fine. That’s not what’s bothering me.”

  Without having to say another word, she muted the television and gave me her attention.

  “So you wanna talk about it now or would you rather go upstairs and get unpacked first?”

  I pulled my hands into the sleeves of Nate’s oversized sweatshirt, feeling very much like a child playing dress up in a grownup’s clothes. Only weeks before I’d considered myself an adult – a person who made smart decisions based on careful thought and logic. Since returning from my trip however, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d only been pretending. I made a childish, hasty decision, and although I took full responsibility for my own actions, I was also outraged that the government enabled me to do it.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about time travel,” I began.

  “You know how we all feel,” she interrupted, “so you better not be asking about using your trip.”

  My face flushed involuntarily and I hoped she wouldn’t notice.

  “No. Of course not,” I stammered. “It’s actually just the opposite. I was just thinking that time travel does so much more harm than good, and I don’t know why we’re still using such dangerous technology. I mean, think about just our family’s experiences. Brooke’s changes caused Mrs. Cooper’s death and her parents’ divorce. Charlie landed himself in prison for half his life. It’s a miracle they didn’t ruin everything.”

  She took a sip of hot tea from her World’s Best Mom mug and considered me thoughtfully. “We all lucked out, for sure. Time travel is terribly unpredictable.”

  “People are terribly unpredictable. That’s why I can’t figure out why they let young people travel. Most eighteen-year-olds seem awfully immature to have that so
rt of power, especially over other people’s lives.”

  Mom shook her head. “Young people don’t hold the monopoly on bad decisions. Lots of adults have ruined lives with their trips.”

  “It just makes me angry, knowing other people are out there making changes to my life that I don’t even know about. Other people shouldn’t be allowed to interfere that way. Someone should try to stop it.” I felt the heat rising to my ears.

  “People have. But lobbyists are powerful. And there’s never been a persuasive enough reason to put an end to it. Even death hasn’t been enough of a deterrent.” She shrugged her shoulders in defeat. “If death hasn’t convinced lawmakers, I don’t think there’s anything that will bring an end to time travel.”

  I pulled at the frayed end of the hoodie string, deciding whether to go on.

  “If the death of a person who’s already living isn’t enough, what about if time travel keeps someone from ever being born?”

  “I don’t think the government would see that as any different, do you?” she asked, taking another sip of her tea.

  I shivered, either from the topic of our conversation or the temperature of the room. Mom noticed, pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa and tossing it over my legs.

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” I said. “I think it would have to be. Because think about conception – if something changes at the moment life is created and DNA comes together in a different way than it did the first time, that’s not just ending a life. That’s playing God, don’t you think?”

  Mom slid across the couch and gathered me in her arms. “Oh my sweet, idealistic Melody. You might think that, and I might think that, but lots of people might just think that’s part of nature’s selective process.”

  “It’s not nature though. That’s just the thing. It’s us interfering with the way things ought to be!”

  “What makes you so sure the alternate timeline isn’t the way things ought to be?”

  She was playing the devil’s advocate. I’d learned over the years I could never discuss anything with my mother without her attempting to make me see both sides. It was one of the many negative side effects of being married to a senator for so many years, and although I understood where it came from, I definitely didn’t like it. In fact, it drove me absolutely crazy.

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I countered. “The simple fact that it’s an ‘alternate’ timeline means it isn’t the intended timeline. Anything that’s changed is wrong by default.”

  She made a sweeping motion with her arms around the room. “So you’re saying this is all wrong, based on the fact that both Brooke and Charlie changed their timelines?”

  I bowed my head. Of course she was right, but it seemed less dramatic since our lives found their way back to the original course despite the changes that were made. My changes could never be undone.

  Vicki was never coming back.

  “Where is all this coming from anyway? Did you see something in the news? Did something happen to somebody you know?”

  I would never tell her about Vicki. She would hate me more than I already hated myself and I couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing her. Not again.

  “No. Just a class I took this semester. It got me thinking about the political process and how our laws are difficult to change. If there’s one law I’d like to make, it would be one to abolish time travel. Too many lives have been destroyed already and who knows how many more will perish in the future.” I thought about Vicki and the impact she may have made on the world. “We could lose the next Einstein and not even know it.”

  She ran her fingers through my hair, gently massaging my scalp. “If that’s how you feel, than maybe you ought to try to do it.”

  I sighed. “I’m just one person, Mom. A single person doesn’t create change like that. Especially against all those special interest groups. It’s impossible.”

  “A single person is all it takes to create the kind of change you’re talking about. You just need people who believe in and support you.”

  “I’m a child without a single supporter. And you said yourself lots of people are fine with the way things are. They certainly won’t support me.”

  Mom sat up, pushing me off her lap and turned me by the shoulders so we were facing one another.

  “Melody Johnson, I support you. I always have and I always will. And your brother supports you. And so does Brooke. And I think there’s a certain football player who would have your back even if you tried to make beer and nachos illegal. So don’t say you don’t have a single supporter. And now that I think of it, I bet there’s someone else I know who might be willing to help with your cause, assuming you’re serious and this isn’t just some whim.”

  It wasn’t a whim. I’d never felt so passionate about anything in my entire life.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Senator Turner, of course. Where do you think she stands on time travel?”

  I had no idea. It was never something we’d discussed. At least I didn’t think it was, but there was no way of knowing for sure given my missing months.

  “You should give her a call,” Mom continued when I didn’t respond. “Let her tell you you’re crazy. She just might.” She kissed me on the forehead. “Or maybe she’ll become you’re biggest supporter.”

  C HAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Christmas was bittersweet. For the first time in my life I spent the day away from Mom and Charlie and celebrated instead with Nate’s outrageous family. The sheer number of Johansens all under one roof ensured there was never a quiet moment, and I soaked up all the commotion as a means of distracting me from what I was missing at home.

  When he suggested I spend the holiday at his house I initially balked. Although I was tempted by the idea of waiting together in our pajamas for Santa on Christmas Eve, sipping hot cocoa in front of a crackling fire, I hated the thought of not being home. What finally made my decision was realizing it would be Mikey, not Vicki, who would be celebrating his first Christmas. Having to spend the day with him would only depress me further, and I knew I would have difficulty maintaining a cheerful façade, considering my composure was being held together with string and paperclips.

  When I arrived at Nate’s on Christmas Eve, he launched immediately into a prepared pep-talk as he helped carry my gifts for his family into the house.

  “You’re about to embark upon your first Johansen Christmas,” he laughed, taking an especially large package from under my arm. “I just want to warn you that it might be a bumpy ride. And remember, whatever they tell you about me is probably a lie.”

  I set down my bags on the driveway’s thin coating of snow so my hands were free to brush the disheveled mess of hair off his forehead. There was no denying how lucky we were to have been given a second chance. I knew if it hadn’t been for my trip, his family’s Christmas would have been marred by his addiction and I would have been miles away instead of nestled in his arms.

  I also knew Vicki would have still been alive.

  A lump formed in my throat but I was resolved to keep my sadness at bay. I refused to let my emotional instability ruin the day.

  “Your family is crazy,” I said finally. “And I think you fit right in.”

  He kissed me tenderly on the lips. “I think you fit right in too.”

  We spent Christmas day watching his thirteen nieces and nephews tear through scores of presents, each one more exciting than the last. It was fun to experience the holiday through the children’s eyes even though, as Nate predicted, it was indeed a bumpy ride, with squabbles between his siblings throughout the day. Despite it all, the most pleasant surprise was the acceptance I was shown by his family. Not only was I given a place of honor at the family table, but I was also showered with handmade gifts and heartfelt compliments.

  “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to my boy,” his mother said as we wrapped leftovers at the kitchen table together while his sisters washed the dishes. “I�
��ve never seen him so happy or so focused. If he’d gotten grades like this in high school, maybe he’d have gone to Stanford or Harvard!”

  “Well, he wouldn’t have met me at Stanford or Harvard,” I laughed. “I had a bit of trouble in high school myself.”

  “It’s no matter,” she said, folding a drumstick into a sheet of aluminum foil. “With his performance at UVA, I’m sure by this time next year we’ll be hearing from potential agents about the upcoming draft for sure. No way the NFL will pass over his talent.”

  I wanted to say something to her on Nate’s behalf. Explain that he didn’t want the life of a professional athlete. But I knew it wasn’t my place. That was Nate’s battle to fight, not mine.

  And since I’d decided to formally approach Senator Turner about writing a bill to end time travel, I knew in the months ahead I’d have my own uphill battle to face.

  During the week between Christmas and New Year’s, while Nate defeated zombies and assassinated virtual drug lords on the refurbished game console from his brothers, I sat beside him on the couch scouring the internet for cases and laws that could set precedents for my bill. I quickly learned I was not the first to bring the cause before Congress, and that obviously, since time travel remained sanctioned by the government, every attempt to end it had been unsuccessful. The brightest spot in my research was discovering Senator Turner’s stance on time travel; that she had voted against any bill that eased restrictions throughout her career.

  “Whatcha working on over there?” Nate asked, tossing a controller in my direction.

  “Just some research,” I said evasively, having decided not to share my plan with him until after I had an opportunity to speak with Turner. “Probably nothing you’d be interested in.”

  He stood up and stretched, stiff from too many hours in front of the TV. “You’ve been at it for three days straight,” he grumbled. “I was hoping today we could get out and do something fun, but I guess we don’t have to if you’d rather hang out with your tablet instead of me.”