by Ellen Smith
“Looks like he circled fives for every question. Do you think he really oversaw Jason’s rehabilitation or just rubber-stamped it?”
Will sighed. “What do you want, Mara?”
“What?”
Will took off his glasses and rubbed his hand over his face, hard. He put his glasses back on and stared at her. “What do you want? Do you think we should call this lady”—he glanced at the letter—“Nayana Patel, and say, ‘No thanks, we’re not interested’?”
“Well, I’m not crazy about the idea.”
“Obviously. But it seems like you’ve already decided it isn’t going to work. How do you know? Maybe Jason is rehabilitated. Maybe this can happen.”
“Maybe,” Mara said.
Will sighed again. He logged off from the website and closed the browser. “I’m going to bed.”
It was strange to go through their nightly routine in silence. Mara swallowed her pain pills and brushed her teeth, leaving the bathroom door open for Will when she was done. He changed into his pajama pants in the bedroom, leaving his clothes in the hamper instead of on the floor, like usual. They trimmed down their dialogue to the bare minimum:
“Do we need another blanket?”
“Have you seen my cell phone charger?”
“Ready for me to turn out the lights?”
They lay in the same bed, but not together. Mara fiddled with the bank of pillows under her shoulder, adjusting them until she found the perfect position. On his side of the bed, Will was perfectly still and straight. Mara watched the minutes go by on the digital, glow-in-the dark alarm clock. Closer to morning. Longer since they’d sat side by side at the kitchen table, before they had opened those stupid letters.
Finally, Mara couldn’t stand it anymore. She could tell by the sound of Will’s breathing that he was still awake. She rolled to her left and faced him, his profile barely visible in the dark.
“I love you,” Mara said.
Will’s response was immediate. “I love you too.”
“I’m sorry I was a grump. It’s just so sudden. The appointment is next week—if we’d opened the mail sooner, we’d have had more time to think about it.” That sounded like an accusation, even though they were equally guilty of letting the mail pile up. Mara hurried to change her tone. “I just don’t want to get our hopes up and have it all be for nothing.”
“I know.” Will was quiet. “And we’ll be okay, no matter what. With a time wreck or without it.”
Mara slid closer. She wanted to wrap herself around him. She wanted to fall asleep with her head on his chest like she did so many other nights, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat, sure that nothing and no one could change what they had.
Will held her for a few seconds, then patted her hand and rolled over. His back was facing her now. Within minutes, Mara heard his long, slow breaths. Will was asleep.
Mara readjusted her pillows and lay back down again. When things weren’t so hectic, they’d talk again. Will was right. They would be okay whether Jason was granted a time wreck or not.
Mara thought back to the brightness in Will’s eyes when he’d first read the letter, the way he’d talked, as if it were a golden ticket to a better life. Their should-have-been life.
If Jason Mann hadn’t fired those shots, that night would have been boring. Predictable. She would have walked out of the Student Union with the soda and mozzarella sticks she’d ordered. Back to her dorm room, probably, to read a book or catch up on sleep since midterms were over. The dormitory would have been so quiet, with most of the students having gone home for fall break. Of course, Mara hadn’t gone home—when she’d mentioned it to her parents, they’d replied that they were sure she’d rather rest and study for the remainder of the semester. Point taken.
Will hadn’t gone home that weekend, either. A Greyhound bus trip all the way down to Deer Hill, North Carolina, and all the way back would have taken up most of the long weekend, and it would have been too expensive for him, anyway.
If it weren’t for the shooting, Will probably wouldn’t remember going to the Student Union that night, either. He would have checked his mail, probably looking for another prepaid phone card so he could call his family long-distance. His life, like hers, would have taken a very different path.
For one thing, Will wouldn’t have nightmares anymore, because he never would have seen Mara running away as the shots sounded closer. He wouldn’t have seen her fall right in front of him. He wouldn’t have had to press down against her bleeding shoulder or seen her lose consciousness.
Maybe he wouldn’t have seen her at all.
Ridiculous, Mara thought, but her rational mind was already going over the facts. She and Will had been in one of the biggest freshman classes to attend Adams Morgan University—almost two thousand students, to say nothing of all the other undergrads and graduate students.
Will and Mara hadn’t had any classes together that first semester. They did afterward—they’d made it a point to take whatever elective classes they could together, once Mara had been discharged from the hospital. Everything had been so much easier with Will there. The two of them against the world.
Of course, we’d find each other anyway, she thought. She tried to hang on to Will’s easy assurance. They didn’t owe their romance to Jason Mann, for crying out loud. It didn’t take a tragedy to bring them together.
Mara reached over to Will and grasped his hand. If only we could be sure.
Chapter Four
WILL
When Will woke up on Saturday morning, the day ahead felt deliciously lazy. Yesterday had been a long one—and to top it off, it had ended with an argument. He and Mara would work it out, though. Now that they’d slept, they would talk things through again. They had plenty of time. It was the weekend, and he couldn’t think of anything they had to do until Monday morning. Will stretched and rolled over in bed.
The Mara-shaped dent on her side of the bed was still warm, Will noticed. Within seconds, he realized why he’d woken up: it was the unmistakable sound of Mara throwing up.
Will jumped out of bed and sprinted across the hallway to the bathroom. “Mara? Can I come in?”
She got sick again, and Will winced in sympathy. “I’m a little busy,” she yelled back.
Will hovered his hand over the doorknob. He wanted to help. But—as Mara pointed out whenever this happened—throwing up was really a one-person job.
After a few minutes, Will heard running water and let himself in.
Mara stood at the sink, rinsing her mouth. She offered a weak smile when she saw Will. “Didn’t wake you up, did I?”
“No,” Will lied. “How are you feeling?”
“Great.”
Okay, so that was a stupid question. Will tried again. “Did you skip breakfast this morning?”
“No, I ate when I got up to take my pills, but then I lay back down to try to get some more sleep.” Mara made a face. “I guess I can’t lie down after I take this medicine, either.”
“So, you have to take it with a meal, you can’t have any alcohol, and now you have to stay upright for a few hours too? I sure hope this painkiller actually kills pain.”
“Meh.” Mara drank another paper cup full of water. “It’s bearable.”
“For all the trouble this stuff gives you, you should feel a lot better than bearable.”
Mara shrugged her left shoulder. “I think the side effects are worse because the doctor upped my dose last time. I’ll talk to him about it.”
“When’s your next appointment again?”
“The thirty-first. Thursday.”
“Oh,” Will couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection earlier. “The same day as our meetings for the time wreck thing.”
“Different times,” Mara said, in between swigs of water. “The neurologist appointment is in the afternoon and our other meetings are in the morning.”
Our meetings. Will wondered if
that meant that Mara was on board with the time wreck. This probably wasn’t a good time to ask.
“How about you just take it easy today?” he said instead. “Let your stomach settle and everything. Or if you’re feeling better, maybe we could do something tonight? Catch a movie?”
“Can’t.” Mara rinsed again, spat, and threw away the paper cup. “My parents’ anniversary dinner is tonight.”
He’d forgotten. Will watched his face in the mirror to make sure he kept his expression neutral. “Ah. Sure you’re going to be up to that?”
“I have to be,” Mara said. “I’ll push through.”
For her sake, Will hoped she could.
* * * * *
If it were possible to make time physically move slower, Will would have sworn it was happening on their Metro ride that evening. Mara’s jaw tightened every time the train started or stopped. Will reached over and covered her left hand with his. Her engagement and wedding rings dug into his flesh, but Will didn’t mind.
“How are you doing?” Will asked. His blazer was hitched up around his shoulders, as if the coat were wearing him instead of the other way around. “You ready for this?”
“Me? I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. I could write a book. Always order a cocktail. Don’t talk about politics unless Dad does, and if he brings it up, agree with him.”
“You can’t have a cocktail,” Will reminded her. “It’ll mix with your painkillers and turn you into Superwoman. Or Sybil.”
“I know. Have one for me,” Mara said. “Pretty please? And make it strong. Not one of those girly ones that look like fruit punch. I want to imagine myself getting a little loopy.”
“I’ll do my best.”
It was their stop. Will braced his feet and grabbed a handlebar as the Metro came to a halt. Mara tucked a hand under his elbow, making him feel tall in a good way—protective, kind of. They navigated through the platform and up the escalator together.
“Where’s the restaurant again?” Will asked, when they had to let go of each other to walk through the turnstiles.
“It’s just a few blocks,” Mara said. Through the station’s entrance, they could see a steady drizzle of rain.
“We didn’t bring an umbrella.”
Mara squeezed his arm. “Come on. Let’s hurry.”
The sidewalks were slick and little dots of rain splashed onto his glasses, blurring his vision. They had to stop twice at the crosswalks, going from damp to drenched as they waited for the signal to cross.
Finally, Will made out the green awning ahead. The twinkle lights reflected against the water droplets on his glasses. Once they had ducked under cover, Will used the edge of his blazer sleeve to dry his lenses.
Mara pulled off the hood of her coat and ran a hand over her hair. She caught him looking at her and asked, “What? Did I do something?”
“You look beautiful.”
She was already standing one step above him, so she didn’t have to lean far to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Will opened the door for her, and they ducked inside.
Congressman and Mrs. Gaines were waiting just inside the door. Posed, like they’d just stepped out from a catalog. Congressman Gaines wore his usual navy-blue suit, and Mrs. Gaines wore the red dress she’d donned to that fancy Christmas party last year. Will was immediately aware of two things. One, he was underdressed. Two, he probably looked like he was having too much fun with their daughter.
“Happy anniversary,” Will said, reaching out to shake the congressman’s hand. At the same time, Mrs. Gaines pulled Mara into a long, perfumed hug.
“You look wonderful, dear,” Mrs. Gaines said, throwing an arm around Mara’s shoulders. Mara flinched, but Mrs. Gaines didn’t appear to notice. “Are you wet? Where’s your umbrella?”
“We didn’t have far to walk,” Mara said. Will avoided looking at his father-in-law. One mark against him so far: he hadn’t been prepared.
“Well, you’ll dry off,” boomed the congressman. Will helped Mara out of her wet trench coat and hung it on the rack outside the door. That should be one point in his favor: a little chivalry always impressed the in-laws. Mara’s coat—coral, she’d called it, although it looked orange to Will—stood out brightly against the dark-brown and black wool coats hanging beside it.
When he returned, Mrs. Gaines looked Mara up and down. “I like your blouse,” she said. “Although it would have been nice to see you in a dress for once instead of pants.”
“I thought you’d like it,” Mara said, smiling in a way that was all manners and no warmth. She called it her “prep school smile,” although it looked like she’d learned it directly from her mother.
This evening’s off to a great start. Will tugged at the cuffs of his blazer.
The maître d’ appeared then, ushering them to the far side of the restaurant. Their table was lit with candles and a bottle of wine was on standby in the ice bucket. Will hoped there wouldn’t be too many forks and knives. He knew the salad fork from the dinner fork, but the others always left him confused. He pulled out Mara’s chair for her—that should be another point for him—and sat down opposite.
The prices on the menu were even higher than he’d feared. Will tried to smile and make small talk while he scanned for something they could afford. One of the chicken dishes could work. Fish would be all right. The salads were a safe choice, but he couldn’t tell if it was the kind of salad you could eat for a meal or the kind of salad that had to go on the side of something more expensive.
When the waiter came by to open the wine and take their orders, both the Gaines ordered steaks. Mara was next.
“I’ll have the steakhouse salad, please,” Mara said. So, he could order just a salad. Will scanned the choices to see if there was one without anything French drizzled over the top. No luck.
Across the table, Mrs. Gaines nudged her daughter. “It’s our treat. Go ahead and get the steak if you want one,” he heard Mrs. Gaines whisper.
“I’ll have the steakhouse salad, please,” Mara repeated to the waiter. There was that plastic smile again.
The waiter turned to Will next. Was it his imagination, or did he look like he didn’t believe Will knew what to order? “I’d like the mahi-mahi,” said Will.
“Are you sure?” asked Mrs. Gaines. “The steak here is divine.”
“Mahi-mahi,” said Will. “It sounds wonderful wonderful.”
Nobody laughed at his joke. The waiter took their menus and sauntered away. Will wished he could leave with him. The table was so silent Will could hear the classical music playing lightly in the background. Something he recognized—Will tried to figure out what it was. Sounded like Mozart.
“So, Will, how’s work?” asked Congressman Gaines.
“Great, thanks. We’re getting a new coffeemaker in the teacher’s lounge. The old one kept shorting when someone would use the microwave, so the principal brought in a new one.” He meant for that to lead in to a funny story about Cliff, striding into the teachers’ lounge carrying the coffeemaker like it was God’s gift to educators, but he stopped short when he saw Mrs. Gaines frown.
Will looked across the table at Mara and widened his eyes. What’d I do?
Mara raised her eyebrows. Who knows?
“I think it’s just dreadful how underfunded the schools are,” Mrs. Gaines said.
“We increased funding this past year,” Congressman Gaines said. “Surely there should be enough in that extra quarter of a million to buy basic appliances.”
“I meant in general, Joel,” Mrs. Gaines said. “Teachers are priceless—it’s impossible to pay them enough.”
“I would think it’s possible to buy them a coffeemaker,” Congressman Gaines said. “Is there anything else the school needs, Will?”
“Oh no! No, we’re good. Thanks. I was just . . . that was all that sprang to mind. I wouldn’t call it a problem or anything.”
Mara blinked twice at him. Stop talk
ing.
“And how is your new job going, Mara?” asked Mrs. Gaines. Emphasis on new.
“About the same,” Mara said. “Nothing special. I mostly arrange for the participants to come in and put in the data from the interviews.” She gave a wave of her hand, as if to brush away the topic.
“It may be nothing special now, but you’ve got your foot in the door,” Congressman Gaines said. “That’s all you need. Everybody’s got to start somewhere. I’d be surprised if you weren’t running the experiments yourself before long.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Dad,” Mara explained. “Dr. Olivier has a doctorate in psychology and fifteen years’ experience. She’s not so much doing experiments. It’s more like questionnaires and interviews. We’re tracking long-term data on the effects of traumatic events.”
“Well, you certainly have some experience there,” Congressman Gaines said. “And look at you now. It goes to show that people can overcome just about anything if they put their minds to it.”
Mara flashed that smile again, and Will saw the congressman smile back at her, as if they were sharing a normal father-daughter moment. It reminded Will of one of the first times he had met Mara’s parents—at an awards ceremony, of all things, not any of Mara’s physical therapy sessions or post-surgery appointments.
“That’s Mom and Dad for you,” Mara had said. “They only show up for the applause.”
Under the table, Mara’s foot touched his. It had been a long eight years. They had done almost all of it together, from Will’s first visit to her in the hospital to the last long years of Mara’s unemployment.
“Well, that’s all in the past now,” Mrs. Gaines said. Her tone was a little sharp, even though she was smiling too. “No need to dwell. This is a celebration.”
That seemed to jolt the congressman to attention. He raised a glass to toast his wife of thirty-nine years, who glowed in the light of the attention she’d asked for.