by Ellen Smith
The new owners hadn’t replaced Grandmary’s stepping stones, thank goodness. Mara had helped her lay them when she was still in elementary school, which was why they were a little crooked. There was still some semblance of a garden, even though it was nothing like Grandmary’s had been. Just the rosebushes and a few tulips. Nothing special. A red plastic toy car with a yellow roof was parked haphazardly in the mulch. No wonder the new owners didn’t have much time for gardening. They had little kids.
Good. It was the kind of house that needed a family.
Mara’s heart sank even lower.
She’d spent most of her summers and school breaks here, so her parents could work. When Mara had gone off to college, she’d come back to visit Grandmary here in Arlington just as often as she’d gone to visit her parents in Alexandria. Maybe even more often.
And then it had been her house.
Mara and Will had only been married for a few months when Grandmary died. Knowing that she’d planned to leave her house to them—even used Mara’s married name in the will—showed that although the stroke had been sudden, Grandmary might have felt that the end was near. Mara hoped so. Imagining that Grandmary had felt a sense of closure for herself helped.
It would have been a beautiful home for them. A single-family house in a good neighborhood, with good schools, already paid off. It should have been perfect.
In another life, maybe it would have been.
Mara had cried for two hours straight after they decided to put the house up for sale. “We don’t have to,” Will had said. “We can find a way to make it work.” He hated it when she cried and here she’d lost her grandmother and had to list her house all in the space of a month. Mara had thought she could see the wheels turning in Will’s head, trying to find a way to keep the house, at least.
But it wasn’t practical. Mara hadn’t been able to find a job and they were barely surviving on Will’s salary as a first-year teacher. Besides, living in Arlington added a full thirty minutes to his commute, each way. At twenty-two, Mara was both a new college grad and a new wife, which meant she wasn’t covered under her parents’ health insurance anymore. The insurance from Will’s job with the school system was good, but Mara had to spend hours arguing with them over each treatment her doctor recommended for her shoulder. If the pain was manageable with painkillers, did she really need another revision surgery? Acupuncture wasn’t covered, and only ten sessions of physical therapy a year were considered necessary. Mara had watched their bank account sink lower and lower as the doctor’s office and the insurance claims department battled it out.
Selling the house and renting a little apartment in the city had helped. They hadn’t gone into debt during the years Mara was unemployed. They’d been able to pay ten thousand dollars in deductibles the year she had the revision surgery. Selling the house had been the right thing to do.
Besides, we knew we wouldn’t need a house like this. It had been fine to imagine that someday, maybe, they could have had children. People in worse circumstances than theirs had done it. If she’d been able to go without the painkillers for nine months, she could have been pregnant. There were ways to work around the physical things she couldn’t do.
But she had never been able to decrease the painkillers she was on, only increase. And they had never—would never—be able to afford adoption. They’d only just begun to be able to add to their savings account again when she’d gotten the job as a researcher. It wasn’t much. Not enough to even upgrade their one-bedroom apartment and rent a two-bedroom instead. They couldn’t even apply to foster or adopt unless they had a two-bedroom home.
A curtain on the second floor of the house fluttered. Mara started walking again. Now she’d probably creeped out the current owners of the house, standing and staring at their home like she owned the place. Which she didn’t.
Anymore.
Someday, she and Will would run out of the money they’d gotten from selling this place. It was already getting dangerously low before Mara had seen and applied for the research job. Now, hopefully, they’d be able to hang in there. As long as she could keep working.
Or maybe it doesn’t have to be this way.
Mara put one foot in front of the other, heel to toe, trying to balance just as if she were walking a tightrope. She’d done gymnastics one summer. Grandmary had watched her practice with endless patience as she turned every surface into a balance beam. Mara had probably done it right on this sidewalk, just like she was now.
Except now she wasn’t an eight-year-old with the balance of a cat. Now she was twenty-six, tilting dizzily from her painkillers, imagining a conversation with her dead grandmother.
Am I crazy for considering the time wreck?
She imagined Grandmary, standing tall despite her elegantly sloped shoulders. She would probably be wearing those green canvas gardening gloves and squinting underneath her straw hat.
I couldn’t say, Mara. Never imagined myself in a situation like yours.
But if you had to. Mara started walking normally again, even as she carried on the conversation in her head. If you had to choose, would you go back and change things?
Grandmary would have been quiet for a while before answering. Unlike Mara’s parents, Grandmary had always seemed unhurried. How Mara’s father could have been raised by this woman was a mystery Mara had never quite figured out.
I believe there are situations that could warrant a timeline rectification. So if it was necessary, yes, I believe I would.
The thought of Grandmary’s measured response was only comforting for a moment. And this circumstance? If you were me, would you do it?
That’s a decision you’ll have to make yourself. You and William. What does he want?
That was the question Mara didn’t know how to answer.
What exactly did Will want?
* * * * *
Down two blocks and over one, the farmer’s market was in full swing. Mara abandoned her daydream and walked in lazy circles around the stalls. It was early in the season for produce, but a few people had managed to scrape together offerings from their gardens and greenhouses. One couple was selling gallon-size plastic bags filled with salad greens. Another woman was proudly displaying handicrafts she’d made with her sister. Little ceramic boxes and wood carvings, mostly.
Mara stopped by a table with bunches of flowers. Even though she couldn’t pick from Grandmary’s garden anymore, smelling the heady, earthy scent of the farmer’s market helped to make up for it. Mara counted out enough change to pay for a small bundle of pink peonies. There were only six, but the large, fluffy heads filled out the bouquet. They bobbed and nodded on the weak stems as she started the long walk back to the Metro station.
Mara liked to think that she would have learned to garden if they’d kept the house. Truthfully, she hadn’t exactly inherited Grandmary’s green thumb. Transferring seedlings to larger pots, pruning, and other once-a-season tasks had been easy enough. It was the daily upkeep that she fell behind on. Grandmary plucked weeds the moment they appeared instead of waiting for them to grow thick stalks and to weave their roots under the flower beds. She knew when the soil was too dry or when aphids were beginning to invade her rosebushes.
Mostly, Mara had spent her summers and weekends reading on Grandmary’s front steps while her grandmother tended to the garden. Mara would sit so still that passersby sometimes thought she was a little garden statue. Neighbors would come by to chat with Grandmary, not registering Mara at all until she coughed or turned a page.
“Who’s that?” they would exclaim.
“My granddaughter Mara,” Grandmary would answer with evident pride.
“Ah. Adopted?”
“She looks like her mother. Isn’t she a beauty?” Grandmary would say firmly, stopping any further comments with a coldly polite stare. Mara’s cheeks would burn anyway.
Once, there had been a neighbor who didn’t let it go. “And where’s her m
other from? China? I went to high school with a Chinese girl. Nice girl. So polite.”
Grandmary had waited an extra beat before responding, “Mara’s mother is originally from Los Angeles.”
“But her parents are from—”
“Los Angeles.”
After that neighbor left, Grandmary had taken off her gardening gloves and sat on the porch step beside Mara. Grandmary was never the first to talk. Mara liked that.
After a minute, Mara had leaned on Grandmary’s shoulder. It smelled like Grandmary even perspired perfume. “I don’t look like anyone,” Mara had said. “I don’t look all-Japanese like Mom and I don’t look white like you and Dad.”
“You look like Mara Elizabeth Gaines to me,” Grandmary had said.
“I don’t want to look like me,” Mara said, warming up and feeling sorry for herself. “Mom says I should just tell people I’m American, but they keep asking. You heard.”
“And what does your father say?”
“He says to ask Mom about this stuff.”
Grandmary chuckled a little at that.
“Everyone thinks I’m different. Everywhere I go. If I’m around white people, they think I’m Asian; and if people are Asian, they say I’m white. It’s like no one can agree on who I am.”
“Other people don’t get to decide who you are,” Grandmary had said. “Only you do.”
* * * * *
The Metro ride back into the city was long and bumpy. Mara sat straight, bracing both feet and her good arm to keep her injured shoulder still. It didn’t help much.
Even after the train plunged into the dark underground tunnel, Mara still felt lighter. More relieved. This was what she’d needed—a little trip down memory lane. Not a jump back, like the time wreck would be. Just a short visit to help her get her bearings.
The tissue-wrapped bundle of peonies almost tumbled off her lap when the train came to a stop. Mara rescued them and tucked the bouquet securely under her elbow.
When she got home, she and Will would talk. They hadn’t spoken much about the psychiatrist appointments yesterday. After her own appointment with Dr. Hendrix, Mara understood why Will hated seeing psychiatrists. The man kept hammering on about that one question. “If it hadn’t been for the shooting, how do you think you and William would have met?”
It was like he was trying to make her say that maybe they wouldn’t have met. Maybe they would have passed each other in the Student Union without even making eye contact. Maybe they wouldn’t have ever been at the library at the same time, or at Al’s sub place, or at the little café and bookstore in the neighborhood that surrounded Adams Morgan. Maybe they would have just kept missing each other and would have never known the love of their lives had been so close by.
But what were the chances, really? Even Robyn had said that they would have to have run into each other at some point. Sure, Adams Morgan University was a big school, but she and Will had both been there for four years. They had a lot in common. It wasn’t like they’d had one chance in a lifetime to meet.
Dr. Hendrix had gotten more impatient the longer she’d talked like that. He was trying to look calm and professional, but she could see the irritation building from the set of his jaw.
“But do you understand that this isn’t a guarantee?” Dr. Hendrix had said, finally. “We cannot promise that you will definitely meet your husband in some other way at some other point in your college career. We can only say that the offender is prepared to relive that point in his life and choose not to shoot. What happens after that . . .” He spread his long arms as wide as they could go, as if to demonstrate how many possible ways their lives could go.
Mara felt a little impatient herself. “I understand that,” she said. “I know. It’s a big risk we’re taking.”
“And are you willing to take that risk? If the timeline rectification is approved, will you go through with it, knowing that there is no guarantee you will meet William in the revised life map?”
When he put it like that, Mara wanted to say no. No, of course not. Of course she wouldn’t risk losing Will. Not for anything.
What did Will say? Mara had wondered, and at that moment, she’d remembered Will coming back to the waiting room after his session with Dr. Hendrix.
“How’d it go?” she’d asked.
“Fine,” he’d said. “He was easy to talk to. Nothing to it.”
The realization hit Mara like a sucker punch. She had thought Will was trying to make her feel better—putting on a brave face, as usual. But maybe—maybe Will did have an easy time answering that question.
Maybe the idea of a life without the shooting was worth risking a life without her.
Mara was sure Will didn’t think that. No. He had probably told Dr. Hendrix that he was sure he and Mara would meet again. That he wasn’t risking anything because he was positive that somehow, in some way, he and Mara would find each other. That was what Will had been saying from the beginning.
But Dr. Hendrix hadn’t given her time to think through all of that. He had kept staring at Mara, prompting her to answer. “Are you willing to take that risk?”
Will had come back to the waiting room, after all. Will hadn’t come back and told her not to bother, or that the time wreck was off, or that he couldn’t ever risk losing her. And if he were that miserable—and the last week of nightmares seemed to indicate he was—was it fair for her to keep him locked in this life map?
“Yes,” Mara had said. “I’m willing to go through with a time wreck.”
Now, as the train picked up speed, bringing her back to Will, Mara wished she hadn’t said that. But it was okay. Nayana had said they could stop the process at any time, hadn’t she? It wasn’t too late. She and Will would talk and get it all sorted out, and if a time wreck wasn’t for them, they simply wouldn’t do it.
Easy.
Chapter Fourteen
WILL
“Will? I need you.”
The second Will heard his sister Becca’s shaking voice on the phone, he wanted to run to his car and drive straight to North Carolina. She was twenty-four now, but in Will’s mind, she always seemed like a little kid. Looking up to him for help tying her shoes or making a sandwich.
“What is it?” Will said. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand. Ten o’clock in the morning. Mara’s side of the bed was cold. Of course, she would be up early, even on a Saturday.
Over the phone, Becca sounded like she was barely holding back tears. “Ben and I are fighting. I think he’s going to break up with me.”
Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t in North Carolina. Any guy who made his kid sister cry deserved whatever Will could dish out. He’d never been in a physical fight in his life, but he was willing to amend that. “What did Ben do? Did he hit you? Did he hurt you?”
“No-o,” Becca said softly.
“You don’t sound sure.” Will felt the heat rising in his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to drive down to North Carolina. Will might just fly straight down there, powered only by outrage and caffeine.
“He got so mad,” Becca said. “He wanted to hit me, I think. He looked like he was going to. But he stopped himself. That’s good, right?”
“Not good enough,” said Will.
“I need to move out,” said Becca. “He’ll be at work all day today and tomorrow, and he’ll probably sleep at his buddy’s tonight. He’s really mad.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Mom’s. When he said to get out, I just left. But I need to get my stuff. I need my clothes, some of my furniture. Can you help me?”
So Becca was safe. Scared, but safe. Will breathed in and tried to sort out his jumbled thoughts. “Becca, I’m in DC,” said Will. “I can’t get to you today. Where’s Mom? Where’s Chris?”
“Mom’s working. And you know Chris. He just said I shouldn’t have moved in with Ben in the first place.”
Will sigh
ed. Now that he knew Becca was out of Ben’s apartment—for now, at least—the first rush of adrenaline was starting to wear off. He stuck his head out the bedroom door to see where Mara was. The bathroom, maybe? Kitchen? Neither. The entire apartment was silent and dark. Will frowned and made his way down the hall. “Well, thinking about the past doesn’t help anyone now,” he said into the phone. “What about a friend? Can’t you get someone from church to help you?”
“I don’t want to tell them,” Becca said. “They don’t know I was living with Ben.”
Will sighed again.
“Please, Will? Please, can you come? Tomorrow? I know it’s a lot to ask. I just really need you.”
Tomorrow. A ten-hour drive to Deer Hill, North Carolina, to move out his sister, followed by another ten-hour drive back to DC. Plus time to get Becca’s things and take them back to their mom’s house, not to mention time to eat or sleep. There’s no way. On the kitchen table, he saw a piece of notepaper leaning up against the salt and pepper shakers.
Going out to run a few errands this morning. Try to get some more rest. Love you!
—M
So that’s where Mara was. Will sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and tried to focus on his sister.
“Becca, I can’t,” Will said. “You know I’d help you if I could. But I’m all the way up here—I’d have at least twenty hours of driving to do before work Monday morning. It’s too far.”
Becca sniffed. “Couldn’t you take off a day? Please?”
It wasn’t like Becca to beg. She must be really upset.
“I only have a few vacation days left for the school year. I’ve got to save them in case they schedule the trial soon.”
Becca was quiet a moment. “What trial?”
Crap.
Will rubbed his suddenly sweating temples as he tried to figure out how badly he’d screwed up. It couldn’t hurt to tell Becca, could it? She was different from their mom and Chris. Becca went to the church once a month or so, maybe less—probably less, if no one there knew she’d been living with her boyfriend. Of the three siblings, Becca had always been the one most open to questions from an early age. She’d refused to attend Sunday school for a whole year after the teacher said animals didn’t go to heaven. Becca had also done a little drinking in high school—Will knew that for sure—and he thought she’d smoked some pot before too.