by Amalie Jahn
I considered his sacrifice. After so many years, he was still surprising me, never being quite the person I expected him to be.
“So you’re not still angry about my trip or the fact that I’m a control freak?”
“Maybe just a little,” he laughed.
My voice caught in my throat. “And what about Erin?”
He cringed. “Erin Waters? Are you kidding? Is this about the other day?”
I felt like I was in middle school, vying for a boy’s attention. It wasn’t my finest hour.
“No,” I lied.
He didn’t respond.
“Yes,” I admitted, slumping into my seat.
He grinned at me. “Of all the things you could be stressing about right now, that girl should be the least of your worries. She drives me crazy and follows me around like a lost puppy. She isn’t who I want to be with.”
“She isn’t?”
“No. You’re who I want to be with. I’ve just been biding my time.”
“So why now? Why come to the rally?”
He gazed out the front window at the taillights ahead of us.
“I’ve been watching the news every day, tracking your bill’s progress. I knew you were gone the other weekend and realized where you were when the woman with the baby showed up on TV. When I saw you after class the other day, I knew. It was written all over your face.”
I couldn’t believe he’d been keeping up with me the whole time, and all the while I assumed he’d simply moved on with his life.
“What was?” I asked.
“Loneliness. I let you be so you could focus on your work, but I didn’t realize the toll it would take on you.” He shrugged. “It was time to show up.”
It was strange to think of him biding his time, watching me from the shadows. I would have never guessed he was planning to reconcile, and I could not have been more grateful. Perhaps we were destined to be together after all.
“Thanks for coming back,” I said finally.
He tipped his seat back and stretched his legs as far as he could beneath the dashboard, settling in for the rest of the drive.
“I never really left,” he said matter-of-factly, pulling his ball cap over his eyes. “But as long as we’re getting a fresh start, I should probably thank you properly for what you did for me, using your trip and all.”
I shrugged. “You don’t have to thank me. That’s not why I did it.”
“I know,” he said. “I always knew. It was just a pretty big shock when you told me. A lot to wrap my head around, you know?”
I did know. I felt like I’d spent my life recovering from one tragedy after another. I wondered if this would be the end.
“So what’s next?” he asked when I didn’t respond. “When’s the bill get voted on?”
“Wednesday.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And are you going to be there?”
I hadn’t really thought about it. Could I handle the stress of being present when the actual decision was made, listening to each vote being read aloud to seal the fate of my hard work?
“Oh come on!” Nate encouraged me. “You have to go. Think how amazing it’s going to feel when it passes and you’re a part of that history.”
He was right. I needed to be there. To see my destiny through to the finish.
C HAPTER THIRTY FOUR
My phone rang Tuesday evening and I picked up immediately when I saw who was calling.
“Hi, Charlie!” I said.
“Hey, Mel,” he replied. “I just wanted to call and wish you good luck tomorrow.”
I didn’t know if I needed luck so much as a sedative. There was no way I was going to get a decent night’s sleep.
“It’s out of my hands at this point,” I told him. “I wrote the best bill I knew how with the soundest constitutional argument I could come up with, and I couldn’t have found a better ambassador than Luciana for the cause. If it doesn’t pass it’s not because I didn’t try.”
“It’s gonna pass,” he said confidently. “The news is claiming there are quite a few senators who are still undecided. That’s a big deal.”
“People change their minds all the time,” I reminded him. “I would bet a lot of those polls are based on pure speculation.”
He laughed. “Since when did you turn into such a cynic?
“I’m working to end time travel, I think being a cynic kinda comes with the territory.”
He laughed again and put Mikey on the phone to babble at me for a couple of minutes. It was funny to hear him chewing on the receiver.
“Brooke wanted me to tell you good luck from her too. She’s on kennel duty tonight so she won’t be back until later on or she’d tell you herself,” he said after fighting to get the phone back from the baby. “We’ll be watching the TV coverage tomorrow, along with everyone else in the country, so wear something nice in case the camera pans the gallery.”
“You sound like Dad,” I scolded him.
“Then strike that from the record,” he said, “and wear whatever the heck you want!”
It was nice to be able to joke with him and it helped ease the tension for a bit. When he hung up, however, it was all I could do to keep my nerves from taking over.
That’s when I heard the commotion coming from the common room of the apartment. I hesitated to open my bedroom door, but when the rhythmic bass line of my favorite song began shaking the floor, I knew I had no choice but to venture out to see what was going on.
“Surprise!” everyone cried as I stumbled into the den. In the dim light I could make out each of my friends, crowded into our tiny apartment amongst what looked to be a pretty amazing party.
Nate approached with a cup of something fruity and raised his own glass above his head. “To Melody! Today Congress, tomorrow the world!” he cheered above the music.
Everyone cried out in agreement and most everyone in attendance found their way over to wish me well and offer their support. It felt amazing to know so many people believed in me.
“You know,” I said to Nate when we finally got a moment alone together in the corner of the kitchen, “you should have said ‘tomorrow Congress and eventually the world’ if you wanted to be more precise.”
He refilled his glass from the case in the refrigerator. “I have no doubt that you’ll be taking over the world before you know it,” he smiled. “I just hope I’ll be lucky enough to earn myself a front row seat.”
I stood on my tip toes to kiss him and could taste the yeasty beer on his lips.
“I’m gonna need you,” I told him. “Taking over the world can get awfully boring if you never have anyone around to remind you to have some fun along the way. In fact, maybe I can hire you on as my Personal Head of Merriment and Labor Diversion.”
“I’m in as long as I can start tomorrow,” he said. “I already got permission to bail on my classes since I figured you might need my help during the vote. I heard these senate things can be particularly boring.”
“I’ve heard they can be particularly stressful,” I replied, following him back to the party.
The last of our guests left just after midnight, and I ended up sleeping later than I expected the next morning. When the alarm went off at 7am, it was all I could do to pry my eyes open as I dragged myself out of bed.
Despite sounding like my father, I took Charlie’s suggestion to dress appropriately, wearing my most conservative business jacket and skirt. I figured if I was going to spend the day at the Capitol, I might as well look the part. At the last minute, I slipped Brooke and Charlie’s lion watch onto my wrist.
I thought perhaps it would bring me luck.
“What’s with the watch?” Nate asked when he noticed it on our drive into the city. “You’ve never worn it before.”
I twisted the face around my wrist, remembering the spirit in which it was given. I would have never guessed on my eighteenth birthday that three years later I would be wearing it to a con
gressional vote against time travel.
“It was a present from Brooke and Charlie. It was supposed to remind me to live in the present because time only moves forward.”
“After today, that might very well be the case,” he said, merging onto the Washington beltway.
“I hope so,” I said. “If the bill eventually passes both houses, people are just going to have to be happy with what’s to come and trust that everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to since there won’t be an option to fix the past.”
“Like you fixed my past?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in my direction.
His comment sliced at the very thin thread tying my carefully constructed principles together.
“I know,” I groaned. “I’m a giant hypocrite. Every day I think about how lucky I am that I had the opportunity to save you from the pain of that addiction. And here I am, all high and mighty, about to take that ability from other people. The irony of it all isn’t lost on me and some days it makes me hate myself.”
“You shouldn’t hate yourself, Mel. Everything would have worked out in the other timeline as well. It may have taken longer or been more upsetting, but I’m sure I would have come out of it eventually and we would have figured it out together.”
I didn’t know if he was only saying it to make me feel better or if he genuinely believed it was the case, but either way it was nice to hear that he didn’t think I was going to be ruining other people’s lives by taking away their ability to travel. I hoped that for most citizens, I would be saving them from the uncertainty of what the pulling apart and reweaving of our lives represented.
“Thanks,” I said finally. “I think that too.”
By the time we made it to the Capitol, the day’s session was already well underway. We were escorted to the gallery and were given seats beside a crowd of other supporters whose lives had been irrevocably damaged by time travel. I waved to Luciana who sat at the far end of the row of benches we’d been assigned. Our small but mighty coalition waited impatiently together, whispering about what the senators were wearing, what a beautiful day it was, and where everyone thought was the best place for dinner – anything but the impending vote.
Half an hour before Congress was set to adjourn, the roll call vote began. I had never before seen so many senators present on the floor at one time, and as they milled around, waiting for their names to be read aloud by the clerk in alphabetical order, I thought I would burst from my seat. As the voting began, I tried keeping track of the “yeas” versus “nays” on my fingers, but my method soon proved to be ineffective. I eventually gave up trying to figure out whether the bill was going to pass and as the vote came to an end with Senators Woodson and Zimmerman, I held my breath.
And Nate took my hand.
“Whatever happens,” he whispered, “your niece would have been proud to know you did your best.”
I watched Senator Turner for signs that she knew the outcome. There were a few members she was unsure about, and I wondered if she’d been able to sway them in the eleventh hour. She wasn’t facing me so I was relying on her body language to let me know. Unfortunately, her posture gave nothing away.
The clerk’s microphone clicked on and the quiet mumblings of the floor fell into complete silence.
“Is any member of the Senate wishing to vote or change a vote? If not, the ‘yeas’ are 47, the ‘nays’ are 53. The bill is rejected. Mr. President?”
Cheers erupted from a sizable portion of the room and I watched Turner bow her head in defeat. We were only four people away from passing the bill on to the House of Representatives, but on this day, it was not meant to be.
Nate wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I acquiesced to the less, resting my head on his chest. Time travel would go on and so would the associated danger. With nothing left to say or do, Nate led me solemnly out of the room.
Before we reached the stairs to the main floor, I heard my name being called from the direction of the gallery. Her distinctive accent gave her away.
“Melody, wait,” Luciana called. “I have something I want to show you!”
I stopped where I was standing, and when she eventually caught up, she grabbed my arm, pulling me to the edge of the hallway.
“I’m so sorry about the bill,” I said to her. “You were an amazing champion for our cause.”
She turned from me, digging through the contents of her enormous purse.
“Ay,” she said. “The bill was important, but maybe not the most important thing.” She pulled her tablet from the depths of her bag and turned it on. “Here’s what I need you to see.”
She opened her email account and showed me there were over 12,000 messages in her inbox.
“Oh no,” I said. “How did people find you? Are you being harassed?”
She smiled brightly, flipping her hair from in front of her face. “Oh, there are a few crazy ones out there, but most of these messages are from people thanking me for sharing my story. Eduardo’s story. They send me messages every day telling me how glad they are to know conception can be affected by time travel and that it’s something to be avoided.” Her eyes sparkled. “Don’t you see? We might not need to ban time travel, just make sure people are aware of the threat it poses to their families. Maybe it will be enough to keep other people safe.”
Before I realized what I was doing, I gathered her into my arms. “Thank you,” I told her. “Thank you for doing the job I couldn’t do.”
She held me tightly, like the child she could no longer comfort. “It’s been my pleasure,” she said at last. “Keep in touch, okay?”
“I promise,” I told her.
C HAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Somewhere between my bill never making it past the Senate floor, the pressure of final exams, and reconciling with Nate and the others, my life finally settled down. For the first time since Sam’s life ended, throwing mine into a tailspin, I was at peace.
Luciana sent me weekly emails archiving the notes she continued to receive from thankful citizens who applauded her (and by default, us) for our courageous efforts against time travel. It was nice to know our hard work was still garnering some of the desired effect.
Senator Turner called as I was packing up to go home for the summer with news of another small victory in our effort to make the world a safer place for travelers.
“I was approached by a colleague today out of nowhere about our bill. He stopped into my office before lunch and asked if we could grab a bite to eat together before our afternoon session to discuss his proposal. Would you believe that he was so impressed by the support we gained for Eduardo’s bill that he wants to spearhead his own legislation to institute mandatory changes in the traveling process based on our findings? To prevent in utero changes, he believes it should be illegal to travel during possible known conception windows for any pregnant women a traveler might come in contact with during the course of their trip.”
“That’s amazing,” I said. “Do you think it has a shot?”
She chuckled. “Absolutely! We came so close with Eduardo’s bill, Melody. The people who supported that will support this, and I have a strong feeling we opened a lot of people’s eyes to this danger with our campaign.” She paused and I sensed there was something more she wanted to say. She cleared her throat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I mentioned that you might be willing to help out. Merely as a consultant, of course.”
“I’d love to help,” I told her. “Isn’t that what paid interns are for?”
Nate and I headed home for summer vacation with plans to visit one another every weekend, with our annual trip to the beach thrown in for good measure. I spent my days interning for Senator Turner, assisting with the new bill and spent my evenings with Brooke, Charlie, and Mikey.
I didn’t think it could happen, but I had to admit the kid was growing on me.
One especially humid evening as I sat with him on the lawn, corralling fireflies into the Mason jar on his lap and reflecting on the bl
essings in my life, I was struck by the simple lesson life had been trying to teach me all along. I’d had glimpses of it over the years – as a small child, after my dad’s death, and skydiving with Nate, but I’d never fully embraced its truth.
Instead I’d spent all that time in a silent battle struggling against the part of myself which answered to my own addictive tendencies. And while they certainly weren’t as obvious to everyone as Nate’s had been, the truth was, they were there.
His addiction to hydrocodone was fueled by the need to escape the pain of his guilt over Sam’s death. It was blatant. Glaring. It could not be ignored.
My addiction to control was born out of the satisfaction I took knowing I had the power to dictate the direction of my life. It was subtle and dwelled just beneath the surface of who I was. Most people didn’t even realize it was there.
And although their origins were as different as their manifestations, my addiction to control was just as powerful as Nate’s addiction to pills. He lied, cheated, stole, and sacrificed friendships to get what he wanted.
And I had done the very same thing.
Like it or not, I was an addict.
Throughout my life, I’d clung to the hope that with enough hard work and sacrifice, I could achieve any goal I set my mind to. I set aside fun, the people I loved, and some of life’s greatest pleasures to pursue my goals. I truly believed I could do whatever I wanted to do because I was in charge of my own destiny.
Now, in the midst of the dew soaked grass of nightfall with my nephew by my side, I was finally ready to accept that my life was out of my control. And so, in the great debate against myself over the truth of my existence, it was finally time to topple my own straw man.
Because no matter what I did or said or felt, I would never be able to control everything. I could make my own choices while I stumbled along life’s path, but at the end of it all, my journey was not my own. My future, everyone’s future, was in the hands of the other people who crossed our paths.
And it was also in the hands of Fate.