by Ellen Smith
Then Sings My Soul, Deer Hill’s hometown radio station, came on in the middle of a laugh track. It was some talk show—Will thought he even recognized the voice of the announcer. It sounded like Joe, the same kid that had copied off his math homework and set the frogs loose in biology lab. Will checked the profile on the station’s website. It was Joe, all right. All grown up, with a goatee and a picture of his smiling family. A beautiful wife, two little boys, and a baby girl. Life had been good to him.
Good for Joe.
Will cracked open the top drawer on the left filing cabinet. He was pretty sure he had some sheet music in here for an exercise he wanted to do with his eighth graders today. Needed to find it soon in case he had to make copies. Will was only half-listening when Joe announced the next segment of the radio show.
“We’re taking callers to share some Monday Miracles this morning,” said Joe, over the radio. “Do you have a special blessing in your life that you’d like to share? Did you have a God moment today? Call in and share it with our listeners.”
I wish.
A thin, reedy voice came on the air. A mid-thirties woman, Will guessed. “Hi, this is Shelley. I’ve got some good news to share.”
“Yes! Hi, Shelley, we’re glad to hear from you. What’s your news today?”
“Today marks the fifth anniversary of the day I walked out of an abusive relationship. It was the lowest moment of my life. I thought there was nothing out there for me and if I left him, I had nothing, because that’s what my boyfriend had been telling me all those years.”
Will felt a stab of guilt. Had he even called Becca to see how she was? Just to see if anyone had helped her? No. He got wrapped up in everything with Mom and Chris and forgot about her.
He would make it right. At lunchtime, he’d give Becca a call to check in. Will sliced his thumb on the edge of a file folder and winced as the cold air drew out a thin line of blood. That paper cut was going to take a while to heal.
Over the radio, Joe sounded suitably impressed with Shelley’s story. “Wow. I bet it took a lot of courage to leave.”
“It did. And my best friend, she convinced me to get out, she helped me get my things, she let me live with her for six months while I got back on my feet, and five years later, I want to go back and tell myself that it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. You know, if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t have met my husband, I wouldn’t have these wonderful friends who have showed me how kind the world can be. I think every moment of my life is a miracle, good times and bad, and I just wanted to call in and tell everyone that no matter what your life is like right now, it’s a miracle. It’s a miracle! Be grateful for every minute because you never know where it could be leading you.”
“What a great perspective. All the best to you, Shelley, and congratulations on your new life! We have another caller on the line. Hello?”
“Hey, I’m driving into my shift at work and I had to pull over and call in to say thank you to that last caller. Shelley, whoever you are, wherever you are, God bless you for sharing your story. I wish everyone realized what a gift each day can be.”
I’m hallucinating. Will felt his heart beating double-time. Can guilt cause auditory hallucinations? He couldn’t really recognize this caller. It wasn’t really who he thought it was. Couldn’t be.
“I agree. It’s such a great message to hear in the hustle and bustle of today’s world. What’s your story? Do you have a miracle to share today?”
“I wish I did, you know. I really wish I did. I just found out someone I know is getting a time wreck.”
That son of a— Will thought, before he remembered that he and his brother had the same mother. What is Chris thinking, calling into a radio station with this?
“Wow. That sounds intense. Is this someone you’re close to?”
“Yeah. My big brother.”
It was Chris, all right. Will knew that voice anywhere.
Dear God. What if Joe recognizes Chris’s voice too?
Chris had been two years behind them in school. Why would Joe need to know who Will’s kid brother was? Then again, it was a small town.
“And how did you feel when you found out?” Joe asked.
“Honestly, it really hurt. I mean I know their lives aren’t perfect, and mine isn’t either, but if things were that bad, I wish my brother would have called and asked for our help. I remember when everything first happened, but I thought they’d moved on.”
“You’re saying ‘they’—are there more people than your brother involved? Can I ask if he was the perpetrator of the crime, or is he a victim?”
“He’s a victim. He and his wife. We thought the whole business with the crime was settled years ago, and now the government’s going to make it like none of it ever happened.”
Shut up, Chris, Will thought. Just shut up and mind your own business. His hands were itching to throw something. If he could reach through the radio waves, wrap his hands around Chris’s neck, and strangle him, he probably would have.
“Well, to me, that sounds like it might be a good thing. Depends on the crime, you know? Can you sympathize with your brother at all?”
Thank you, Joe.
“Well, sure. If someone offered me a chance to go back and get rid of something bad that happened to me, I’d probably be tempted too.”
“You said you’d be tempted. So you don’t think you’d go through with it?”
“No, no. I don’t think I could ever do that.”
“So you’re saying you could rise above the temptation,” Joe said.
“Yeah, I mean, that’s what you have to do. Everybody gets tempted to do the wrong thing sometimes, but you’re supposed to rise above it.”
That was one of their mother’s sayings. Will gritted his teeth.
“I just want to quickly remind our listeners here: timeline rectification is legal. None of this is against the law. So when you’re saying that you feel this is right versus wrong, is that a religious standpoint, or do you think it should be illegal?”
“I do think it’s wrong from a religious standpoint. So yeah, I do think it should be illegal. Maybe in some circumstances, I could see making an exception. But for most people, no, I don’t think this is right.”
“I’ve got to move to commercials now, but thanks for calling in, Chris. After the break, we’ll hear from some more listeners. If you have a miracle you’d like to share, be sure to call in!”
Will listened to the music start. It was a pop-country kind of song. Something his mom would probably sing along to while she cleaned.
The thought made his stomach twist into another knot.
Had it been his imagination, or did Joe say his brother’s name? There at the end. Will walked back through his memory. Thanks for calling in, Chris.
Will sank into his office chair and laid his head down on his desk. There were probably millions of germs lurking on there. Will inhaled the strange scent of pencil shavings, Lysol, and cork grease. This desk had probably smelled like this since the first music teacher sat here in the seventies. It was nice to know that some things never changed.
How am I going to tell Mara?
Will pulled himself up. Dr. Hendrix probably hadn’t even written his evaluation from their appointment yet. They didn’t have a trial date—and if it was anything like past appeals and sentencing hearings, they might not have a date for a long time.
For the first time, Will found himself truly hoping, 100 percent, that the time wreck would be approved. If it wasn’t . . . well, now things were even worse than before. Now the news was out on the radio. Someone could put the pieces together. If this caught on . . . if Chris’s stint on the radio put him and Mara into the spotlight . . .
Mara would never forgive him. As if growing up as Congressman Gaines’s daughter wasn’t enough, now she’d have to live through another scandal.
How had everything gone so
wrong? Will buried his head on the desk again, breathing in the smell of Lysol and cork grease. At this rate, Mara might not even want to end up with him in the next life map. He doubted she would be able to tolerate him for the rest of this one.
Chapter Seventeen
MARA
Mara was wrapping up an interview when her cell phone vibrated in the pocket of her cardigan. “Excuse me,” she said quickly, reaching down to silence it. Good thing Dr. Olivier didn’t see that. Or Elliott. Hopefully it wasn’t her mother-in-law, starting her phone call campaign again.
“What support do you wish you had received immediately after the trauma?” Mara asked, hand poised over the keyboard. The client was a forty-year-old man. Combat veteran.
“Well, I was offered therapy and didn’t take anyone up on it. Thought I could handle it on my own, you know?”
Mara smiled, encouraging him to get to the point. Yes. I do know.
“But now it’s been a year and I still haven’t been . . . coping. I just got involved in a support group. I wish I’d done it sooner. None of that touchy-feely, feed-your-spirit crap. It’s all accountability, all about being there for your brothers.”
Mara’s cell phone buzzed again, and she hurried to silence it.
“Do you need to get that? I don’t mind,” the man said.
“Oh no, thank you. We’ve wrapped up our interview for today. Thank you for coming in. Your responses will help us greatly with our research.”
Mara walked him out, her heart hammering the whole time. She was going to turn her cell phone off as soon as she was alone. The last thing she needed was something else for Elliott to poke her about. Mara had barely returned to the office when Dr. Olivier called out to her.
“Mara? Your mother is on line one.”
My mother is calling? It had to be an emergency. Maybe something about her dad. A heart attack? A car accident? Was he hurt or was he . . .
Mara ran to pick up the phone at her desk.
“Mom?” Mara said breathlessly into the phone.
“Mara. Excellent.” Mrs. Gaines spoke with the kind of brusque, authoritative tone she used as a lawyer. “Obviously, your father needs to prepare a statement. His office will issue one tomorrow, but I thought he and I should release a personal statement tonight. It’s always good to get ahead of the press. Are you and Will planning to release one yourselves, or shall we include you in ours?”
“A state—” Mara stopped herself when she realized that Dr. Olivier could probably hear her end of the conversation. Thank goodness Colleen wasn’t at her desk. Mara lowered her voice. “What do you mean?”
“So you haven’t heard,” Mrs. Gaines said disapprovingly. “Mara, tell me you at least have Google Alerts set up for your name. You can’t afford to be the last to know what’s being said about you. I thought we’d taught you that.”
“What’s . . .” Mara struggled to get out the words. “Wh-what’s being—”
“And don’t stutter. Very unattractive. There’s a rumor that you and Will have been approved for a timeline rectification. It was only a matter of time, with timeline rectification getting so much attention from the press and your father’s office taking a stance against it. Really, I’m surprised it took eight years after the shooting for someone to make the accusation.”
Mara closed her eyes. So her mother knew. Knew, but didn’t believe. Of course not. Time wrecks were probably beneath the dignity of a Gaines. “This really isn’t a good time to discuss this. I’ll give you a call on my lunch break.” There. Professional enough in case Dr. Olivier overheard, final enough for her mother.
“Mara, we can’t afford to wait on issues like this. You know that. I’ll email you a copy of our draft statement, but I’ll need your approval within the hour at the latest. Once the public decides something might be true, they’re not going to let it go. We need to shut this down and shut it down hard.”
“Mom.” Mara felt as if all the air was being squeezed out of the room.
“Within the hour, Mara.” Her mother’s voice turned conciliatory, almost tender. “I know it’s difficult to see your name in the press. It’s humbling for all of us, no matter how many times we’ve been through it. Chin up. We’ll get it under control. You’ll see.”
Mara could hear her pulse throbbing in her temples as she hung up the phone.
“Everything okay?” Dr. Olivier called from her office. Her smile was warm, inviting. She probably imagined that there had been an accident of some sort, or that Mara had a sick relative.
The kinds of problems normal people have.
Mara put a hand on the doorframe to steady herself. “Just some troubling talk at home. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She tried to take a deep breath. “May I take an early lunch today? I think I should call Will.”
“Of course,” said Dr. Olivier, smiling with an understanding Mara knew she didn’t deserve. “Take all the time you need.”
* * * * *
Mara walked three blocks down to a small park. It wasn’t much of a park, really. Just a few benches tucked between three buildings. There were a few potted plants and trees in concrete barriers to add a touch of green to the gray-and-brick city.
Mara tapped open a text to Will. He should be at his planning period. Or at lunch. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to wait long for a response.
11:55 a.m.
Mara: My mother knows.
11:58 a.m.
Will: Oh no.
Will: Chris called in to the radio station back home and was talking
about it.
Will: Us, the time wreck, everything.
Mara: He said our names???
Will: No, but I didn’t figure it would take long for anyone to guess.
Will: People around there know his voice.
Mara: When was this??
Will: Before school this morning.
Will: I can’t believe your mom found out so fast.
Mara remembered the days when her father’s name was splashed across the local papers. Her mother always knew what was being said about her family, long before it made it to print. She briefly closed her eyes before typing the next part.
12:02 p.m.
Mara: Mom said she and Dad are going to release a statement.
Mara: Can’t let this affect his career.
Will: When?
Mara: We have to approve their draft within the hour.
Mara: Unless we tell her we’re going to release our own
statement.
Will: …
The ellipses appeared and disappeared three times, showing that Will was typing something and then deleting it.
12:05 p.m.
Will: Wouldn’t it be better not to say anything?
Mara: Yes. YES IT WOULD HAVE BEEN.
She stuffed the phone down deep in her pocket and stormed across the makeshift park. She would walk as far as she could go during her lunch break. Anywhere, as long as it wasn’t her office or her apartment or anywhere else someone might know her. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to think.
No one so much as glanced her way as she thundered through a crosswalk and powered her way up another block. Everyone was busy. Everyone was focused on their own lives and their own problems. No one was interested in the Asian-American woman with the limp arm and the stormy expression.
For now.
* * * * *
Mara felt only slightly guilty when she called Dr. Olivier and asked for the rest of the day off. She couldn’t possibly focus on anything now. She didn’t offer much of an explanation, and luckily, her boss didn’t ask for one. She would know soon enough. Mara didn’t want to be in the same room when Dr. Olivier found out that she’d been considering a timeline rectification while she’d been working on a research project about helping trauma victims heal. Talk about a conflict of interest.
There goes my job.
Mara was barely at the Metro station when her pho
ne dinged. There was a new email from her mother. Mara guessed over an hour had lapsed. Of course, her mother wouldn’t want to wait around any longer than that.
Her mother had emailed her the bare link—no subject, no message. Just a hyperlink to Congressman Gaines’s webpage, where he categorically denied the truth.
Well, at least her father didn’t know it was the truth. Why would he? No Gaines would ever turn down an opportunity for character growth.
Mara read the press release three times while she waited for her train.
Statement of Congressman Gaines regarding Timeline Rectification
Press Release — April 11, 2011
Congressman Gaines released a statement regarding unverified reports that his daughter, Mara Gaines Sterling, plans to participate in a timeline rectification and shares his personal views of this controversial technology.
“In response to unverified reports that my family is or will be involved in a timeline rectification, I deny any knowledge or participation by myself or any member of my family.
“While I personally disagree with the use of timeline rectification, I respect the many patriotic Americans who have worked hard to regulate this technology and ensure that it is made available to rehabilitated convicts. I urge citizens on both sides of this controversial issue to work together toward a mutual understanding of timeline rectification and the potential legal and moral ramifications.”
Mara kept her head down for the entire ride home. No one was looking at her—yet. But it was coming. The day the news broke about her father’s embezzlement scandal—supposed embezzlement scandal, she corrected herself—it had taken hours before it hit the news channels. But this was different. Now there was the Internet. Who knew how long they had until the entire world started talking.
Not long, Mara found out. By the time she got to the apartment and checked her email again, she had another message waiting in her inbox.