Jeremy dropped to his knees, using his shirt to wipe the spill off the computer. Something popped and fizzled.
Jen didn’t realize how used to the noise of the computer she was, until it stopped.
Jeremy pulled the cords out of the wall. “That’s torn it.” He stared sightlessly at the cords in his hand. “I don’t have a plan B.”
Chapter 36
Jen grabbed the paper towels from the kitchen. “Can it be fixed?”
“I don’t know,” Jeremy said. “The hard drive. If it got into the hard drive . . .”
Jennifer’s Lancelot unscrewed the computer case. “You’re a lucky bastard. The hard drive doesn’t have a drop on it. The motherboard, on the other hand, is toast.”
Lance locked eyes with his double. “I don’t suppose you have any spare parts in that case of yours?”
“I do. I’ve been working on a new motherboard design. It’s the reason for my meeting this morning.”
“Good. I’ll take the keyboard. You take the case.” Lance took the paper towels from Jen. “If we’d brought a hair dryer with us, this would be a lot easier.”
Jeremy struggled to his feet, then collapsed back into the chair, propping his head on the backrest. “How long?”
Lance and Lancelot echoed each other. “I don’t know.”
Jen sank down next to Jennifer. “Jeremy, you might as well get some rest.”
A soft snore was his only answer.
Both men whistled tunelessly while they worked.
A smile ghosted across Jennifer’s face. “Have you told him yet, he has a tin ear?”
Jen shook her head. “And I don’t plan to.” Jen let her head fall back. She felt like a wet leaf in the rain. “There has to be a point where you give up,” she whispered. “When you realize there’s no more you can do.”
“No,” Jennifer whispered back. “You never give up. There is always something.”
Jen stopped fighting her eyelids. They were determined to close.
~ ~ ~
A sound like the crash of a giant dumpster jerked Jen awake. Morning light filtered through the two windows, gilding the bare wood floor.
Jeremy checked his watch. “Eight forty-six,” he announced tonelessly. “It’s started.”
Jen’s Lance plugged the computer back into the wall. It thrummed smoothly. “That should do it. Start a self-check, Jeremy.”
Jeremy tapped out a command.
Someone banged on the front door. “Plane hit the Trade Center. Some damn fool in a Cessna, probably.” They heard footsteps clatter down the stairs.
Jen and Jennifer sat erect, their movements a carbon copy, their indrawn breath synced.
Jennifer’s Lancelot zipped his equipment back into the case and turned to face them. “Time to go, Guinevere.”
Jennifer stumbled up to join him.
Jeremy shook his head. “The program hasn’t booted up yet. It will take at least—”
“The machine is for you three. We have to stay.” Lancelot took Jennifer’s arm. “Thanks for the rescue. You need to go back to wherever you jumped from.”
Jen looked from her Lance to Jeremy. “We’re coming downstairs with you.”
Jennifer and Lancelot spoke in unison. “You don’t have to see this.”
How sweet. Their future selves were protecting them. “Yes. We do.”
The five flights seemed too short. Other people joined them on the way down.
“I knew someday a plane would run into one of them,” a woman’s voice said. “They’re too high.”
Outside the building, a Lincoln town car had its passenger-side wheels up on the sidewalk. The driver’s door hung partially open.
They followed their neighbors to the corner of Sixth Avenue where a small crowd was looking toward the Trade Center. Sirens heading downtown wailed continuously one block over on Seventh Avenue.
They joined the staring throng. The driver Jen had asked last night to pick her up this morning recognized her. “It’s on the radio. A pilot lost control of his plane and crashed.”
The crowd grew. Rumors raced. A line of fire slashed the right-hand tower. A huge plume of white smoke billowed upward.
Jen reached blindly for Lance’s hand and found herself gripping Jennifer’s instead. She could feel her double’s emotion echoing and magnifying her own.
A huge whining sound turned their glances to the left. A second plane tore into the left tower in a burst of fire. People screamed. Thin, high, wailing sounds of disbelief.
A second plume, black and roiling, joined the first. The crowd of strangers turned to each other for comfort. Hugging. Holding. Weeping. Jen released Jennifer’s hand and turned to Lance. “It’s worse,” she sobbed. “I can’t watch it again.”
Lance turned Jen’s head into his shoulder. She felt the tattoo of his rapid heartbeat.
A man ran past them heading for the World Trade center. “There are thousands of people in there,” he shouted. “We have to help.”
Jennifer and Lancelot started after him.
Jeremy pulled them back. “No use. You won’t get through.”
“It’s an invasion.” The driver broke for his car. “I have to get home.”
Jeremy raced after him. “Don’t try to get home from downtown. They’ll cordon off everything within a mile of the towers.”
The driver stared at Jeremy suspiciously. “How do you know?’
“I’m from London. We’ve had a few terrorist attacks of our own. The best thing you can do is head uptown. Find another route to your home.”
“Thank you.” He turned back to his cab.
“Take us with you.” Jennifer’s tears streamed, unchecked. “My family’s uptown. My cast. The Broadway Marriot.”
The driver nodded. “Get in. All of you.”
“No. Just these two.” Jeremy kissed Jennifer. “It’s going to be all right. He hugged Lancelot. “Thanks for the help.” Punched him on the shoulder. “You better damn well take care of her this time round.”
“I will.” Lancelot helped Jennifer into the car. More sirens wailed by. Lancelot turned back to Jeremy. “There aren’t words for what you did. I hope you find what you’re looking for. And I hope we’re there when you find it.” He got in.
The driver made a U-Turn.
Jen and Lance watched the tail lights disappear up Sixth Avenue toward midtown. Neither of them turned to look at the smoke behind them.
“I don’t understand,” Jen said. “We’re still separate. I thought you said our identities would merge.”
Jeremy put an arm around each of their shoulders, using them as crutches. “We need to leave before the towers fall. I don’t know if there will be any power after that.”
Lance and Jen hauled him up the stairs.
They’d left the door open. Jeremy unlocked the computer. A few keystrokes and the attached machine spat out cards. Three of them. An electronic acknowledgment of their existence.
“That was quick,” Lance remarked.
“I set up a return failsafe before we left. Hurry.”
“Where are we going?” Jen asked.
“Back to London. I have to close the glitch and send Lance back to his own time.”
No! He couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t let him.
For once, Jen welcomed the closeness of the room. The image of the second plane burned a groove in her mind. She wanted no space between the three of them.
The door shut. Arcs of blue light crackled, emitting a shower of sparks.
“Bloody hell!” Lance turned Jen’s face into his chest.
Jen’s scream stuck in her throat. Bolts of energy passed through her. Thoughts, memories, swirled together in a garish stew of images. Waves of dizziness battered her. Th
e smell of burned wiring filled the air.
The room shook and hurled them sideways. They fell to the floor. Silence. The second door froze, halfway open.
Light shone on Jeremy’s stunned face.
Lance kept his arm around her. “Any idea what happened?”
“No.” Jeremy squeezed through the opening.
Lance braced his body against the door. His muscles strained, widening the crack. “Jen. Give me your hand.”
She let him pull her through the door. Her brain felt odd. She couldn’t form a coherent thought. They were in the corridor of doors leading to Jeremy’s Los Angeles laboratory. Everything appeared to be the same as the day they left except for the broken door they’d come through, and the smell of burnt wiring.
Jeremy’s voice shook. “I programmed the machine for home. For London. But we’re in Los Angeles.”
“Any idea when?” Lance asked.
Jeremy didn’t answer. He walked unsteadily to the lab. Jen and Lance followed.
“According to the computer screen, the day after we left here.” Jeremy leaned on the desk, head propped on his hands. “My mind’s not working properly.”
“Sleep,” Jen croaked. She couldn’t remember ever being this exhausted. The cement floor looked inviting.
“No.” Lance stopped her. “It’s freezing in here.”
She was too tired to care.
“Back to the apartment. I’ll drive.”
That woke her. “You can’t. You’ve never driven a . . .” She stopped at the arrested expression on Lance's face.
“Yes. Yes, I have. Give me the keys.”
Jeremy lifted his head. “I’m staying here. I have to fix—”
“Not today,” Lance said grimly. “You’re liable to blow us all to kingdom come.”
“I’ll catch a nap first.” He pushed himself to his feet. “You two go on. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
Jen and Lance followed him to his apartment. Jeremy collapsed onto the bed.
If there’d been more room, Jen would have joined him.
“No, Jen. Back to the Oakwood.”
Lance poured Jen into the car, leaning over her to fasten the seatbelt. “Give me the keys.”
“Are you sure?”
“Relax, Guinevere. I’ve got this.”
She watched with exhausted wonder as he engaged the gears, pulling smoothly out into the early morning traffic. He handled the car as though he’d been driving on the right-hand side of the road all his life.
The adrenaline fueling her, shut down. Her eyes closed.
She woke briefly when the car stopped. He undid her seat belt, then came round and pulled her to her feet. She swayed against him.
Lance put her arm across his shoulder. “I’d carry you if I could. Come on, sweetheart. Almost home.”
She sleepwalked to their apartment. Fell onto the bed and into oblivion.
~ ~ ~
Lance sank down beside her. Removed her shoes and then his own. He rubbed his aching head. She didn’t realize yet, but whatever happened to the machine changed everything. They were never going back.
He had two sets of memories. His own memories of the last few days since Jen and Kathryn came through to 1988, and his other self’s memories of the last five years, including the tragic day that had changed everything.
He stared at the wall, letting the jumble of images in his brain file themselves in rational order.
After leaving their other-selves, they’d arrived uptown at the Marriot Marquis in time to hear a third plane had crashed into the Pentagon. People crowded around the televisions overhanging the bar in the lobby. Terrified. Angry. Their voices swallowed up by the lobby’s vastness.
They rode the elevator to Sylvie’s room. Sylvie fell on Jen’s neck sobbing uncontrollably. For the first time since he and Jen had gotten back together, she’d voluntarily hugged Lance.
Lance barely registered the embrace, his eyes glued to the unmoving picture of the burning towers, the agitated comments from the newscasters who sounded like they were holding hysteria at bay by sheer willpower.
The rest of Jen’s Private Lives family were there, most of them sitting on the room’s king bed. John Luterman had his arm around the weeping stage manager. The fellow who played Victor stared at the screen muttering curses under his breath.
The picture changed. The South Tower disintegrated. Sank out of sight. He couldn’t remember who screamed. He remembered the six of them huddling together; the tears he couldn’t check.
The newscasters announced there was a fourth hijacked plane. No one knew where it was headed.
The North Tower collapsed. The television screen went black. The cable towers were on top of the Trade Center. He remembered the thought playing in his head like a broken record. Thousands of people just died.
Jen sobbed in her sleep. Was she remembering? He kissed the tears from her face. “Shhh, Jen. It’s all right.”
The six of them, along with other guests, joined the staff in moving beds into the ballroom at the Marquis, for anyone needing emergency shelter that first night. More than two hundred people showed up, many covered in soot and ash.
All the Broadway theatres went dark. Two days later the theatres were up and running. The mayor wanted to show the world New York wasn’t beaten.
Jen moaned. He hoped to God she was processing the images in her dreams.
Lance stretched out next to her. Spooned her into him, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck. He felt her body soften. The memories receded. Took their proper place in his brain’s file cabinet. Five years in the past.
Things he hadn’t known yesterday flowed by him in a steady stream.
When the play closed, Jen had refused to fly home. Which led to their first voyage on Cunard’s Queen Elizabeth 2. He stroked his hand down her back. More memories tumbled into place, like a child’s building blocks. His eyes closed.
~ ~ ~
“Wake up, Lance.”
He felt a butterfly touch on his eyelids. Warm lips imprinted a trail of kisses down his cheek. Eyes still closed, his hands captured her face, moving her lips to where they belonged.
The kiss lasted forever. Healing, changing. Lance opened his eyes. Jen’s eyes showed traces of tears, but the gaze was clear. “You’ve remembered?”
“Yes.” Jen ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “I remembered. That day. And everything else. I lived the last five years in my dream. We’re not going back, are we?”
“No. Aaron was right. We’ve merged. But not in the way he thought it would happen.” He fitted his body to hers, reveling in memories of all the other times they’d woken together. Familiar heat rose in him, filled his body. Her body responded in a dance always new.
~ ~ ~
Jen’s phone rang while she was drying her hair. Sylvie, of course.
“I’m bringing my widower from the running club to dinner tonight. I know you’ll adore Kenji. He’s a big fan of Lance’s. Loves Time Track.”
Jen blanked. What was Time Track? The memory popped up.
After that awful day, Lance started writing. It was the only way he could process what had happened. He’d used the time machine and the events they’d experienced as the basis for a suspense thriller. Jen sent it to her agent to see if he thought it was as good as she did. The literary arm of the agency snapped it up. Time Track became an instant hit. The two sequels each raced onto the best seller list. That was one of the reasons they were in Los Angeles. Sony Pictures wanted to make Time Track and the sequels into a film trilogy.
“Do not tell him how old I am,” Sylvie continued. “Say lovely things about me. See you at seven.”
Jen turned to Lance. “Dinner?” She still didn’t h
ave all her new memories sorted.
“Sylvie doesn’t remember the time travel. This is part of our new memories. You spoke to her last night and invited her. Told her I’d cook. One of these days I’m going to teach you how.”
“Not in this lifetime.” Jen watched Lance fumble with his shirt sleeves. Black, silk shirt against a black, Dolce and Gabbana suit. He looked like a gunslinger going into battle.
Lance handed her the cufflinks. “I can never do these.”
Jen fitted the Star Wars Millennium Falcon links into place. “I have a good feeling about this meeting. Maybe you should take us all out to celebrate. Jeremy . . .” She froze, goosebumps prickling her spine. “What happened to Jeremy? My mind doesn’t know where he is.”
Lance closed his eyes, concentrating. “Nor does mine. He must not be awake yet. He was far more wrung out than we were. His brain will sort in the new memories by the time he wakes up. When my meeting’s over, we’ll go to the lab.”
Once he left, Jen made a cup of tea and began work on her lines. The other reason they were in Los Angeles was the new play she would be performing in at the Mark Taper. The first table read was tomorrow.
Her brain felt crossed for a moment. How was Michael? Had Beatriz found someone to fill in? So odd. How could she have two sets of memories?
Her phone rang. She flipped it open.
“Want to buy a house in Malibu?” Lance sounded on top of the world.
“Not in this lifetime. It would take me hours to get to the theatre. You can buy me a coffee instead. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Lance parked behind Porto’s Bakery at the corner of Magnolia and Hollywood Way. They joined the winding line, leading to coffee and the best pastries in town.
From where she was standing, she could see the window of the store she now thought of as hers. “I’ll meet you back in line. I want to check on Michael.”
She crossed the street and entered the shop.
Michael’s eyes lit up. “Jen, I thought I wasn’t going to see you again.”
Maybe This Time (A Second Chance Romance) Page 19