Maybe This Time (A Second Chance Romance)

by Susan B. James

  Lance pocketed the keys Jeremy had left on the desk. Jen explored the minuscule bathroom. “I hope he didn’t pay much for this place. There’s not even a tub.”

  Lance lifted the top of the kitchen table. The metal tabletop covered a claw-foot bathtub.

  “Behold the wonders of modern technology.”

  Lance chuckled at her expression. “Let’s go see the rest of it.”

  The second bedroom was slightly larger than the one they’d put Jeremy in. It held a double bed with a package of unopened sheets, two pillows still in plastic wrap, and a fleece blanket. “At least he thought about a bed,” Lance said. “That’s good planning.”

  “It would have been better planning if he’d bought some chairs,” Jen sniped. She opened the single kitchen cupboard. Bare. The half-size fridge held a carton of orange juice and a paper bag with half a sandwich. “At least he ate something.”

  They walked down five flights of linoleum-covered stairs to an entry hall with a double-locked front door. Outside, the heat felt like a blanket. Lance removed his jacket and helped Jen with hers. “Sweet Christ. How do people live in this air? It’s like soup.”

  “Let’s leave the jackets inside the front door. The security locks ought to make it safe enough. I don’t want to walk upstairs twice.”

  Not a leaf fluttered in the row of trees lining the street. Two Jack Russell terriers towing a silver-haired man in a three-piece suit, sniffed Jen’s legs. They barked wildly. The man smiled at her. “William and Henry always have an eye for a pretty woman.”

  Jen held out her hand for them to sniff. “They’re beauties. Could you tell me where the nearest newsstand is?”

  “Sheridan Square.” The man pointed back to the way he’d come. “One block up and over.”

  “Thank you.”

  The dogs moved their attention to the dirt around the nearest tree. The brown one squatted.

  “Good boy, William.” The man pulled a baggie from his pocket. “One down. One to go. Good morning.”

  Jen watched as he dropped the bag in a small trash receptacle fastened to the fence. “Just like home.”

  The newsstand had stacks of papers from all over the world. Jen scanned the headline on the London Daily Mail. The sight of her home paper comforted her. “It’s September ninth. We’re good.”

  “You’re looking at Sunday’s paper. He pointed to the date on the Daily News. September 10, 2001. The headline screamed: KILLER MOLD INFECTS EAST SIDE APARTMENT BUILDING. Lance took the paper and handed a quarter to the proprietor. “My watch seems to have stopped. Can you tell me the time?”

  “Four thirty-five.”

  Jen locked her knees to keep them from shaking. Her damned photographic memory had imprinted every detail of the 9/11 timeline she’d seen on the History Channel’s video, in her brain. In sixteen hours and five minutes, the first plane would hit the North Tower.

  She concentrated on the passers-by. A man talking on a mobile phone. Two teen-aged girls, arm-in-arm. A woman in a studded jacket and tight jeans, balancing a cup of coffee with one hand, guiding a stroller with the other. Music came from a portable music player clipped to her waist. She recognized it. Adele’s Rolling in the Deep. It had been on the top of the charts before she left London.

  An old woman, black sweater hanging from her bony shoulders, trundled a metal shopping cart behind her. At one end of the triangle-shaped park stood a statue of a man in a military uniform. General Phillip Sheridan was inscribed in large letters on the base. People lined the benches in front of the statue. Reading papers. Staring into space. Feeding pigeons. A woman with magenta-streaked hair was walking a poodle with fur dyed to match. She wanted to scream. To warn them. Wake up. Tomorrow your world ends forever. Nothing will ever be the same.

  Lance’s arms encircled her. Warm breath brushed her cheek. “We can’t. I know. I want to shout it to the world. But we can’t. Who would believe us? If we told them we came from the future, they’d either lock us up in an asylum or turn us over to the military for questioning. After the planes crash, the military might possibly believe us. But it will be too late. And if the military gets a hold of this technology, the whole world might be destroyed.”

  Jen sucked in a breath, nodding in agreement. But knowing he was right did nothing to stop the anguish tightening her stomach.

  “Let’s go find some coffee,” he said gently.

  Jen paid for the London Daily Mail. She needed something of home to hold on to.

  Lance took her other hand. She concentrated on her steps. Not looking around. Until Lance halted them in front of a window with gold-rimmed black lettering. Al and Ann’s Luncheonette. “Here?”

  “Why not?” She couldn’t imagine being hungry again. But they ought to get food to take back to Jeremy.

  The black and white tiled floor, tin ceiling, and marble soda fountain, replicated the comfort of a half a century ago. This was no Back to the Future diner. This was the real thing.

  Jen slid into the high-back, scarred wooden bench of an empty booth.

  Lance perused the plastic menu as though it were the key to their future. She didn’t think he saw the words. After an eternity, he cleared his throat. His voice rasped. “They have chocolate malted milkshakes, Jen. Your favorite.”

  He felt as bad as she did. How could she think for a minute she was the only one? “Coffee will do me.”

  Lance tried to smile. “You’re in a bad way if you don’t want chocolate.”

  Jen reached for his hand. “We’re both in a bad way. I’m so scared I can hardly breathe. And so are you.”

  “Nothing like being close to zero hour to get the blood racing.” He went up to the counter to place their order. He came back with two white mugs. “Sandwiches and coffee to go, coming up. And two milkshakes. We’ll put them in the fridge. You can celebrate after we rescue you.”

  “Now would be a good time to tell me how you plan to do it.”

  Lance curled his fingers around the coffee mug. “Jeremy needs to handle the meeting with your now-self. We don’t know what you’d do if you saw me or your doppelganger.”

  “Probably scream. Run for my life. Just what I’d like to do now.”

  “His plan is to go backstage after your show tonight. Take you out to supper and explain about us.”

  Jen stiffened. “Oh, brilliant. And what do you think I will do when you tell me I’m going to die in a terrorist attack tomorrow? Say, ‘Thanks for warning me’ and go quietly?”

  Jen saw realization dawn in Lance’s eyes. “Bad plan. Right?”

  “What about my friends?” she spat. “The cast? If I believe Jeremy, the first thing my now-self will do is shout it from the rooftops. I know me. I would never leave my friends to die.”

  Lance massaged his forehead with white-knuckled fingers. “It’s so much easier to do the math than to figure out the emotions. We weren’t thinking about emotions. Of course, you wouldn’t go quietly. Not without trying to change it. Neither would I.”

  “New plan then?”

  “Yes.”

  Jen couldn’t imagine how to do it. “You think up a new plan. I’ll read the paper.”

  She spread the London paper out in front of her, blocking out all thought, concentrating on the trivial notes in the paper. A name flashed out at her.

  “Clarissa Williams is going to be made Dame at the Queen’s Honors. She deserves it. I was in The Royal Family with her two years ago at The National Theatre. Watching her work is an education. It says here her new film premieres tomorrow at the Regent Street Cinema. I’d love to have been there.”

  “That’s it!” Lance took the paper from her.

  “That’s what?”

  “The film premiere at the Regent Street. The now-time Jennifer would probably love to be there. Jeremy do
esn’t have to tell her-slash-you what happened. He only has to invite you to make use of the time machine. Tell you there is a reason you need to be in London today. We can use the machine to go sideways.”

  Jen’s hands fisted on the editorial section. “What about Sylvie?”

  “Sylvie didn’t disappear. You were the only one. She would have told you if anyone in the cast was killed.”

  The nightmare images from the video looped in her mind. “There has to be some way to warn people. We can’t just sit here knowing, and do nothing.”

  “Jen, anything we do could make it worse.” Lance’s eyes held a world of pain.

  She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I bloody well hate time travel. If we get out of this, I am never going to do it again.”

  Chapter 34

  “I need a disguise.” Jen peered into the Halloween-themed store on Sixth Avenue. It was a wonder of gory decorations guaranteed to add to the Halloween chill. “Why on earth do Americans put out their decorations so early?”

  Lance raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “I can’t show up as me outside a theatre I’m working at. You two haven’t thought through the details of this operation.”

  “Jeremy’s plan didn’t include you coming with him to the theatre,” Lance reminded her.

  “If you two think I am going to let you out of my sight, you can damn well think again.”

  Lance surveyed the mannequin in the window and shook his head. “As much as I would like to see you in a sexy witch costume, I feel it would attract more attention than we want.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Lance. I was thinking hat and dark glasses.”

  “The hat’s a good idea. Cover that flaming hair of yours. But dark glasses at night? That kind of eccentricity will attract attention to you.”

  Jen caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking red and gold-lettered sign up ahead. “The store up the street looks like a Woolworths. They might have hats. Let’s check.”

  “Now?” Lance indicated the cardboard tray of coffee and milkshakes he carried.

  “Yes, now. Do you really want to do those stairs twice?”

  “Good point. On to Woolworth’s.”

  The store had some autumn hats on sale. Lance pointed to a black cap with a floppy crown. “Looks like something John Lennon used to wear.”

  “Perfect.” Jen tried on the cap, stuffing her hair under the brim. “Good. Yes?”

  “Not a trace of red.” He kissed the tip of her upturned nose. “I’d know you anywhere, but most people wouldn’t.”

  “You ought to get a hat too.” She handed him a hat twin to her own.

  Lance handed it back. “Not in this lifetime. Anyway, I’m not a recognizable personality. You are.”

  “Too bad.” Jen batted her lashes at him. “I think you’d look smashing in it. Sexy, in a kind of George Harrison way.”

  “I think I’d look like a fool.” He handed her a pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses. “Let’s pay for this lot and get back to the apartment.” He pointed to the gray, scudding clouds, visible through the store’s plate-glass window. “It looks like rain.”

  “Marvelous. Just what we need.” Jen added three umbrellas from the sale rack at the front of the store. “Maybe we can beat it home.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The first few drops fell as they turned onto Christopher Street. Jen raced Lance to the shelter of their building.

  It took him a minute to figure out the keys. Fortunately, the overhang protected them from the wet. They retrieved their jackets and trudged up the stairs.

  Jen stopped at the top of the third flight. “He couldn’t find a place with an elevator? My calves are on fire.”

  Lance paused on the landing, switching the cardboard tray of coffees to his other hand. “Good exercise.” He brushed away beads of sweat with his forearm. His heart was beating like a trip hammer. “I need to do more of it.”

  Jen held her hair off her neck. “I hate sweating, and stairs, and hills, and anything that slants upward. I’ll take yoga any day over stairs.”

  “Buck up. Only two more flights to go.” Lance’s knees definitely objected to stairs. He tried not to wince openly. He didn’t want Jen fussing over him.

  Jen put her hand over his. He could tell from her eyes she knew he was hurting. She took the keys from him and unlocked the apartment.

  Jeremy was still out to the world. “Do we wake him?” Jen asked.

  “No. Let him sleep.

  Jen put the takeaway sandwich bag and the milkshakes in the fridge. “There’s no microwave and no pan. No way to reheat the coffee.”

  Lance sat at the computer. Fish glided slowly across the screen saver. He put his hand on the mouse, breaking the pattern. The computer was locked. Of course, Jeremy locked it. What if someone broke in? His fingers tapped a nervous beat on the desk. He should have brought his laptop. He felt naked without Internet access. The computer was his tool. His fallback. He glanced at his watch. 6:15 p.m. An hour before they should leave for the theatre. Four hours until they could retrieve now-Jen. No. There was only one Jen. His. Easier to think of now-Jen as Jennifer.

  Jen leaned over the back of the chair, her fingers kneading his shoulders. He picked up her hand. Pressed a kiss onto it. Her hand curved upward, highlighting the lines life imprinted on her soft palm. “I wish I could read palms.”

  Jen swiveled his chair to face her. “I know a bit about it. I had to play a fortune teller once. I studied up.” She scrutinized his palm, tracing the lines with a fingertip. “I see where your heart and your lifeline meet. There are two lines crossing them. That’s you and me. Twice.” She ran a finger down the line curving around his thumb. Her finger stopped.

  He squinted to see what she was looking at. “It’s a mass of crosses.”

  She kissed his palm. “Choices, I think.” Her eyes were wet.

  He wanted to take her in the bedroom. Hold her. Keep her safe. He pulled her into his lap. “He brought us through too damn early. Too much time to think.”

  Jen buried her head in his shoulder. “I really, really don’t want to do any more thinking.”

  “Let’s go back out and walk. If we walk fast enough . . .”

  Jen’s chuckle sounded sniffly. “I can’t walk fast enough to forget. I suppose we could pretend we are tourists? Pretending always helps.”

  He would give his life to shield her from the next several hours. But there wasn’t any way. She was as much a part of the scenario as he was, and he couldn’t save her the pain. His arms tightened around her. “Or we could hold each other close and think about good things. Like last night.”

  “Good idea.” Jen lifted her face for his kiss.

  Lips touched. Breaths mingled. He poured everything he wanted to say to her into his kiss. And she answered with hers. It was more than heat and passion. It felt like a joining of souls.

  The sound of rain outside the window intensified. Thunder cracked. Lance opened his eyes to meet hers. The tears he saw in her eyes matched the ones he could feel in his own.

  A flash of lightning filled the room. Another crack of thunder. The screen flickered. “Not good,” he said, his voice ragged. “If the computer shorts out, we’re buggered. I can’t get in without Jeremy’s help. Time to wake him.”

  ~ ~ ~

  They woke Jeremy, fed him, and poured him full of coffee. Thunder and lightning continued to crack for an hour or more, but by some miracle, the lights and the computer stayed on. Jen argued her way into the trip to the theatre, promising to stay in the background.

  Jeremy had already arranged a car and driver for the evening from a limo service. He grumbled all the way to the theatre, where he exchanged his single orchestra ticket for three balcony seats.

  It was a beautiful theatr
e, all cream, and white with a red carpet patterned with cream-colored dots. The proscenium had a rich, red curtain. What she wouldn’t give to be safe behind that curtain, lost in the role of Amanda. She closed her eyes, taking herself through a step-by-step memory of putting on the makeup and Amanda’s gorgeous Vionnet gown.

  The house lights went off. Soft music began. The curtain rose and the theatre became a warm cave, rumbling with laughter. Jen looked down on the stage at the two figures standing on adjoining hotel balconies. For the first time, she truly felt like a ghost. Watching herself play Amanda was surreal.

  The audience roared at Amanda’s barbed comment to Elyot. The other Jennifer’s delivery was perfect. Jen poked Lance on the shoulder. “I’m good, aren’t I?”

  Lance chuckled at Elyot’s riposte.

  Jeremy’s head drooped. Lance leaned over to wake him.

  “No. Let him sleep. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the play before.” Jen’s nerves prickled. Her shoulder and neck muscles were one giant ache. It was bad enough watching herself on the stage. How was she going to handle meeting herself face to face?

  Chapter 35

  Jen shook Jeremy awake as soon as the curtain descended. They edged past the applauding theatre-goers in their row, and hurried to the exit ahead of the crowd.

  The alley to the stage door had no corner to hide. Jeremy pushed her toward the waiting car. “Get in the front seat. Keep your head down.”

  Jen did as he said. The rain had stopped. No harm in rolling down the window. At least she wanted to hear.

  The stage door opened. A square of light in the darkness. Jennifer called over her shoulder. “Not tonight. I’m going to be a good girl and go straight home.”

  Jeremy stepped into the light. “You were wonderful as usual.”

  “Jeremy, what are you doing here?”

  Jen heard the surprise in her voice and something else. Jennifer sounded put out. Why? Jen couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t loved seeing her brother.