by Judith Tarr
She found section D-4, and her dusty, nondescript Honda. It felt strange to do all the usual things, unlock the door, get in, fasten the seatbelt, hold her breath till it finally, reluctantly, agreed to start. She drove out slowly. Her reflexes were coming back, and rapidly, but she didn’t trust them, not yet. Five minutes from the hospital — two or three miles, give or take, farther than she’d ever gone from Carnuntum — at the corner of Victory and Canoga was a Bookstar that opened at nine in the morning.
It was just opening when she got there. She parked the car and hurried in past the employee who was still straightening displays. In Carnuntum she’d have received a greeting, and been expected to stop and talk. But this was L.A. She was ignored completely, and she ignored the staff in return. She paused to get her bearings, reeling a little in the presence of so many books — so much information, and so many assumptions about it: that the population was universally literate, or nearly so; and that the technology existed to make the printed word available everywhere, to everyone who wanted it.
The children’s section was its usual determinedly cheerful self. Nicole approached it quickly, but with a kind of reluctance. Yes, there was the book she’d noticed a week or two before — or a year and a half, depending on how she wanted to look at it. She pulled it off the shelf, taking a moment to enjoy the heft and feel of it, before she let her eyes focus on the cover. There was the bear in ceremonial armor, and the small pig beside him bearing a legionary standard. Both were accurate as to details. She remembered that pleated skirt, oh too well. And that standard as it had gone by in parade.
So maybe that was what she’d spun the whole of the dream out of, from this and from any number of movie epics. Maybe -
With trembling fingers, Nicole opened Winnie Ille Pu and began to read. And she could. She could read the Latin translation of the book she’d read to Kimberley so often in English. She read it just as easily as she’d read Winnie the Pooh.
“I was,” she whispered. “I was there.” Nothing could have happened to her in six days of unconsciousness at West Hills Regional Medical Center to make her read Latin as easily as she read the daily paper. Liber and Libera had given it to her as a gift, a sort of bonus for traveling in time. Obviously they’d let her keep it when they sent her back. Forgot I had it, probably, she thought, not uncharitably. Gods were busy beings. Why shouldn’t they leave her with a gift she couldn’t use, and a proof she needed?
She almost took Winnie Ille Pu up to the register, but she stopped. She’d found the proof she needed. If she took the book home with her, someone would ask questions she didn’t want to answer. She could do without the book — and if she could, she would. There was a lesson of Carnuntum in action.
She had to get herself home. Yes, that came next. She was desperately eager to see Kimberley and Justin, and yet she was almost afraid. What if they saw something in her, some change? Frank would never notice, and Dawn was too conscientiously nice to say anything, but kids were kids. If Justin started to scream at the sight of her, and Kimberley wanted to know, loudly, why Mommy was different — what would Nicole say? What could she say?
That she’d been sick and now was better, that was what. And that she was really, really glad to be home with her kids again.
Frank’s Acura was in the driveway, filling it. That was Frank all over. Nicole sighed and parked on the curb. Her heart thudded as she extricated herself from the car, shouldered her purse, and walked — not so briskly as usual — toward the front door.
It had been only a week for the kids, but so much longer for her. There were going to be things about them she’d forgotten, things that might arouse questions. But — she shrugged. She’d got by with Lucius and Aurelia. She’s manage here. Here, at least, she knew what she was doing. Even with all the strangeness, the sense of belonging, of fit. was unmistakable. This was her world. She knew its rules. She could improvise without getting into trouble.
Just for a moment, she wondered how Umma was faring, back on the other side of time. Had her own spirit returned, to be confused by all the changes? Or was her body lying in her bedchamber as Nicole’s had lain in the hospital: empty, untenanted? In that world, that was a death sentence. There were no facilities for maintaining people in comas. She’d die, or her body would, if her spirit was already long gone.
No. Nicole wouldn’t think that way. Gods didn’t have to be fair, but she persisted in thinking that they might choose to be. They’d have brought Umma back. And she’d have found a way to cope with the sudden shift in time. Lucius would do well, and Julia, who’d been both friend and ally to Nicole for so long. She even paused to mourn Aurelia, and Titus Calidius Severus who’d been her lover and her friend.
Then she stood in front of the door. Before she could fumble for her keys, it opened. Dawn stood there: blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, cheekbones, and ripe figure on display in tight T-shirt and short cutoffs — Barbie come to life. She was smiling. She actually looked — and sounded — pleased to see Nicole. “Nicole! I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”
“Thanks,” Nicole said, returning civility for civility. Then, out of the year and a half she’d been away, she said as she wouldn’t have done before, “And thanks for looking after the kids.”
“Hey, no problem,” Dawn said, as if she meant it.
Then Nicole didn’t have to bother about being civil. Two small figures erupted past Frank’s girlfriend, in a hot contest to see who could run the fastest and scream “Mommy!” the loudest. Kimberley probably won on points, but Justin took the prize for enthusiasm. They launched themselves at her like a pair of rockets. She had just enough time to brace herself before they knocked her down.
She let her knees give way, and sank down on the front step, hugging the warm wriggling bodies, kissing whichever was handiest, babbling at them — she never did know what, nor care. They were so small. And so clean. Her fingers combed through their hair, automatically — affection, no doubt of it, but habit also, checking for lice as she’d done with Lucius and Aurelia whenever she could get them to stand still for more than a few seconds.
These two were even more wiggly and even more boisterous than Umma’s older, larger children. They calmed down eventually, enough to each take half of her lap and cling there. Just as Kimberley sucked in breath, probably to start regaling Nicole with a rapid-fire account of every event of the past six days, Frank’s voice said, “Nicole. Hi.”
Nicole had got so wrapped up with the kids — literally and figuratively — that she hadn’t even noticed his taking Dawn’s place in the doorway. “Hello,” she said coolly from the bottom of the pile of kids. Frank was exactly the same as ever, early-middle-aged, his dark hair thinning, and his sturdy body — so much like Justin’s — beginning to get paunchy, with that supercilious expression Nicole had mistaken, very early on, for an indication of superior intellect. She couldn’t imagine what Dawn Soderstrom saw in him. A year and a half in Carnuntum hadn’t made it any clearer.
But Dawn plainly adored him. The way she stood, deferring to him, the way she looked at him, her whole attitude and posture, must have struck him as profoundly satisfying and perfectly right. Nicole had been awed enough by him when she first knew him, and she’d bought into it enough to marry him. But she didn’t think she’d ever worshipped the ground he deigned to walk on.
He frowned down at her. No doubt he didn’t think it was dignified of her to be sitting on the step of her own house, half drowned in kids. Too bad. she thought as he said, “So they think you’re all right. Do they have any idea what happened to you?”
“Not a one,” Nicole answered. “All the tests came back negative. The neurologist wants to see me again next week.”
“Dr. Feldman,” Frank said, precise as usual. “Yeah, I talked with her. She does seem to know what she’s doing, but people don’t just go to sleep for six days. Did she say whether you’d be likely to do it again?”
“She didn’t know,” Nicole said, not without mali
ce. Frank looked sour. He liked definite answers, and he very much disliked disruptions. It must have been a dire inconvenience to have to give up Canciun in favor of a week of looking after his own kids.
Nicole bit her tongue. Time was when she would have said all that to his face, and taken active pleasure in the fight that followed. But she’d come too far and seen too much to indulge herself now, and the kids were starting to wriggle. Kimberley spoke up in her clear, precise voice — just like Frank, but by as many gods as it took, Nicole wasn’t going to let her grow up to be just like her father. “I called nine-one-one, Mommy, just like you told me to,” she said.
Nicole hugged her so hard she squeaked in protest, then hugged Justin, who was demanding equal time. “I know you did, sweetie. They told me in the hospital. You did just what you were supposed to.”
Kimberley looked thoroughly pleased with herself. She got to her feet, and watched as Nicole unknotted herself and stood, still holding Justin.
“We’re going to Woodcrest now, Mommy,” Kimberley said.
“Woodcrest,” Justin agreed.
“My teacher is Miss Irma,” Kimberley went on, “and Justin’s teacher is Miss Dolores, and — “
She’d have gone on, and probably at great length, if Frank hadn’t interrupted. “I signed them both up to start Monday, and paid the first month up front.”
Nicole’s eyes widened slightly. “All right,” she said. “Good. How much is that going to cost?”
He told her. She winced. It didn’t take long to do the mental calculations. “If I’m going to be paying that every month, you’ll have to keep up with the child support.”
“I know, I know,” he said, as he always did. That was his way of taking the easy way out. Promises, promises. Well, Nicole thought: words were cheap, but court-ordered support payments were a whole lot more concrete than that.
She was going to have to work to get what was legally due her. She resented like hell having to struggle for it, but the fact remained that if she pressed her case, she could get what was coming to her. No need to put up and shut up. She was entitled to that money, and she would get it.
She didn’t push him, not yet. But she smiled a little. She would. Oh, yes. She would.
With Justin still in her arms and Kimberley clinging to her leg, she stared Frank down till he gave way and let her into the house — her own house, she made a point of noting. Even after a week of being run by somebody else, it had its familiar smell, the smell of home. There was a clear component of baby lotion and slightly sour milk, microwaved dinners and fruit juice. Next to spilled wine, burning charcoal, and the sweat-dung-dirt stink of a Roman city, it was heavenly.
The place was clean. Cleaner than it had been when she left it — Frank was an astringent neatnik. The microwave in the kitchen was brand-new. She smiled; trust Frank, yet again, to suit his own convenience. She smiled at the faucet, at the coffeemaker, at the stove, at the refrigerator. She wanted to hug the refrigerator. And the washer, and the dryer. All the things she’d taken for granted, that she’d been forced to live without.
“We’ve got our suitcases all ready to go,” Dawn said as she left the kitchen to make the rounds of the rest of the house. “Unless you’d rather we stayed for a little while? Will you be all right by yourself?”
Nicole glanced automatically at Frank. His expression was distinctly sour, but he nodded. They were both trying very hard to be decent about things.
“I appreciate that,” Nicole said. She surprised herself: she meant it. “I will be okay, I think. If I start to feel rocky, do you mind if I call you?”
“No, not at all,” Dawn said. “Not in the slightest. Here, let me put our number up by the phone, why don’t I? Kimberley, you see this number? If your mommy starts to feel sick and can’t dial the phone, you call it, all right?”
Kimberley looked as if she wanted to burst out crying, but was too big a girl now to succumb to the urge. She held her head up high and nodded.
Nicole hugged her again — any excuse for a hug — and said, “I don’t think you’ll need to do that, honeybunch. I feel fine.” And she did. She felt wonderful. That wasn’t the whole of it, or even a tenth part, but it was as true as that she stood, at last, in her house in West Hills.
Frank eyed her a little oddly — hoping she was right, afraid she was wrong, she supposed — but then he said, “Okay. We’ll finish packing up, then. It won’t take long.”
Frank was efficient — efficient to a fault sometimes, as in the way he’d dumped her. She wasn’t at all sorry to see him and Dawn out of her bedroom, her house, and, for that matter and however temporarily, her life.
The children hugged and kissed them both good-bye. Frank was their father; Nicole could hardly mind that they seemed sorry to see him go. But it was as much as she could do to keep a smile on her face while they did the same to Dawn. For all her good intentions, she couldn’t help wondering which of those two would be the first to trade the other in for a new model.
Meow, she thought. But it felt good. It felt — cathartic. Yes.
Then, at long last and yet also a bit soon, they were done. Nicole was alone in the house with her kids. She caught herself looking around for Julia, to ask her to lend a hand.
It amazed her how much she missed Julia. Not just the helping hand. The company; the alliance against the world; even, to an extent, the friendship.
“This is funny, Mommy,” Kimberley said from waist level, where she’d been since Nicole came into the house. “We’re not home with you in the daytime very much.”
“You aren’t, are you?” Nicole said. They were at daycare during the week and at Frank’s on the weekends. She’d had to stop and remember that, after so much time inhabiting the body of a widow who worked out of her own home. She was going to miss some of that. Having the kids so close, day and night, weekdays and weekends. Not having to commute.
She hugged Kimberley yet again, and Justin for good measure. Kimberley grinned at her, with Justin half a beat behind, as he always was. “Monday we go to Woodcrest,” Kimberley said. “I can’t wait. It’s way cool, Mommy!”
So much for Josefina. Nicole thought.
“Tomorrow!” Justin said emphatically.
Kimberley rolled her eyes and put on an elaborate give-me-strength expression. “No, Justin. Not tomorrow. Monday.”
She knew the days of the week; Justin didn’t. Anything that was going to happen in the future would happen tomorrow, as far as he was concerned.
Wouldn’t it be nice if the world really worked that way?
But then, from the perspective of eighteen centuries ago, everything in this century really was tomorrow. Somewhat bemused by the thought, Nicole wandered into the bedroom, with the children tagging after her. There was a lingering strangeness in the place: a hint of Dawn’s perfume and Frank’s aftershave. She’d crank the air conditioning in a minute, and blow it all away.
But first, there was a thing she had to do. She looked toward the night-stand. Yes, there it was: the plaque dedicated to Liber and Libera. It was the one Brigomarus had given her in Carnuntum. She recognized the ding in the upper right corner, and the tilt of Libera’s head toward her consort. Even worn and stained by all the centuries, it was unmistakably the same.
That same wearing and staining made her shiver a bit. So much time had passed. Every human being she’d known in that other world was centuries dead. Their city was a ruin or an archeological dig, their lives the concern of scholars. Regular people, people like Nicole herself, never gave them a moment’s thought.
She brushed a finger across the carven faces. She was almost afraid to feel the brush of tiny lips, the shock of electricity as they woke, but they remained cool, stony, still. She’d get a bottle of wine later, so she could properly thank them for sending her home again. I may even taste some, she thought. I really may.
Frank and Dawn had put fresh sheets on the bed, for which Nicole was duly grateful. They were the beige ones that had been a
wedding present — from one of Frank’s cousins, who was a beige-sheet person if Nicole had ever seen one. She stripped them off and dumped them over Kimberley and Justin. The kids giggled madly. “I’m a ghost!” Kimberley declared.
“Ghost!” Justin agreed heartily.
While they ran around flapping and booing at one another, Nicole remade the bed with a vivid ocean print. The kids liked it. They abandoned their game to help put on the new bedclothes. Between the two of them, they were about as much help as a cat.
While the sheets Frank and Dawn had used were in the dryer, and while the kids were occupied with a stack of coloring books, Nicole put in a call to the office. Cyndi was almost as glad to hear from her as she’d been the day before. “I’ve got your check here, Ms. Gunther-Perrin,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do with it while you were, uh, out. “
“ ‘Out’ is right,” Nicole said. “Save it for me, why don’t you? I’m calling from home; I expect to be back Monday, to start getting out from under whatever’s waiting for me. Doctor wants to see me next week, but nobody’s going to keep me from doing what needs doing.”
“That’s all good news,” Cyndi said, and she sounded as if she meant it. “I’ll be glad to see you then, Ms. Gunther-Perrin.” She hadn’t had to say that. It made Nicole feel good that she had. It was nice, no, more than nice, to be appreciated.
The day went smoothly, no fights, no annoying phone calls, just the quiet pleasure of a day at home with her own — her very own — two kids. They didn’t mind being grabbed and hugged at random intervals, and they certainly didn’t mind that she had the time or the stamina to sit and play with them by the hour.
In the late afternoon, after Justin’s nap, Kimberley cracked. She’d been too good for too long. She started teasing him, teasing and teasing, determined to keep at it till she had him in a screaming tantrum.
“Knock it off,” Nicole said sharply. Kimberley obeyed for a minute, but most of the way through the second minute, she was at it again.