Tin Men (The Clay Lion Series Book 2)

by Amalie Jahn

  “You did what?”

  “I used my trip. After Branson died. I went back to try and save him.” She turned to continue walking, leaving me dumbfounded in the middle of the path. I ran to catch up with her, nearly killing myself tripping on an exposed tree root.

  “Tell me everything,” I said when I eventually caught up.

  She stopped, taking in a deep breath and the courage she needed to go on.

  “I missed him. I was lost without him. But I’ve already told you that a million times before. I just stopped living for a long time. And then one day I got the idea to go back in time and save his life. And that’s what I did. Only I wasn’t able to save his life, and instead, I ended up making a huge mess of things.”

  I couldn’t believe what she was telling me. My Brooke. Brooke Wallace, the girl who followed rules to a fault, was telling me that she used her one and only trip back in time with the sole intention of changing the past. She’d broken the cardinal rule of time travel.

  “So what did you do?” I asked when I finally found my voice.

  “I went back again to try and fix what I messed up.”

  “What!?” I cried. “No one gets two trips!”

  She grinned, knowing she’d surprised me. “I did,” she said. “I actually got three.”

  We stopped walking and were now standing in the middle of the woods with only birds and squirrels to eavesdrop on our conversation. I didn’t know what to say to her. For the first time in our relationship, I was dumbfounded.

  “I kept messing things up and I kept not saving Branson, but finally, on my third trip back, I figured it out.”

  “You figured what out?”

  “I figured out that I don’t get to decide what happens in my life. I get to make choices about how I react to the events that transpire, but I don’t get to play God. It’s not my job.” She hesitated. “I could have ruined my whole life, Charlie. I would have, if I hadn’t found ways to keep going back. But I was lucky that I eventually realized what I was doing was wrong. And I fixed things.”

  There was a long pause as I considered the implications of her disclosure.

  “And after all that, Branson still died,” I said.

  She looked at me with great concern, as if she could will me to understand the gravity of what she was saying. “Yes. Branson still died.”

  I took her hand and we continued walking. Neither of us spoke. I considered the point she was trying to make with regard to my own time travel.

  “I won’t change anything. I promise,” I told her as we finally reached the falls.

  She dropped my hand and glared at me. “You didn’t listen to a word I said!”

  “I did!”

  “You didn’t! I told you I messed up everything! When I came back, lives were ruined. People died because of changes that I inadvertently made!”

  “Branson was going to die anyway,” I said.

  “No. There was someone else. When I returned from the second trip she died because I changed the past. I didn’t have any idea about the seriousness of what I was doing. One little change, Charlie. One little change…” She stopped and looked into my face with such utter desperation I could barely stand to hold her gaze. “I can’t lose you,” she said finally.

  I was taken aback as she finally revealed the real reason she was afraid for me to use my trip.

  “Is that what you think? That I’m going to do something in the past that’s going to change our future together?”

  She dug at the ground with the toe of her sneaker. “Yes,” she replied.

  “I would never do that! You’re the most important thing in the whole world to me.”

  “You wouldn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to kill Mrs. Cooper. It just happened.” She looked up at me. “It could happen, Charlie. You could come back to find that I’m not in your life anymore.”

  Deep down, in the very bottom of my soul, I knew what she was saying was true. I knew damaging the present was the risk you took when traveling to the past. I hadn’t considered losing Brooke as part of the collateral damage of finding my mother. I knew it was a risk I didn’t want to have to take.

  I took her face in my hands and kissed her fervently on the lips. “Then we’ll find another way to learn about my mother,” I said.

  “Really?” she squealed, her voice rising three octaves as she jumped into my arms.

  “Really,” I replied. “But I’m going to need your investigative help. We already know there’s nothing online about Victoria Weddington. But maybe we can find something on those microfiche of yours.”

  “Oh, Charlie! I’m so happy you’ve changed your mind! I was so worried!”

  I hugged her to my chest and breathed her in. “I wouldn’t lose you for the world,” I replied.

  C HAPTER FOURTEEN

  Brooke and I spent the next week scouring every outlet we could think of for information about the elusive Victoria Weddington. We discovered a few school records from primary and secondary school with her name but nothing more. There were no photographs. No tangible evidence to validate our hunch. However, we finally found something interesting early one morning as we were doing a broad search of college databases. We happened upon a Victoria Weddington who was enrolled at a university in Washington DC around the same time the Victoria we were looking for would have been attending. It appeared, at long last, that we had stumbled upon some useful information. Through the college, we were able to fill out an online request to obtain her transcripts, which included her home address and college ID. Brooke recognized immediately that the ID had nine digits, just like a social security number. The address verified that she was Victoria Weddington, daughter of Representative and Mrs. Weddington. The last piece of the puzzle would be confirming that she was in fact my mother.

  Brooke suggested contacting the school’s alumni department to see if we could get our hands on a copy of her senior yearbook. The woman I spoke to on the phone was extremely sympathetic to my predicament, and was nice enough to scan and email a copy of the yearbook page with Victoria’s photograph. We stood nervously by the computer, waiting for the email to arrive. She refreshed the page repeatedly until at last the subject line ‘Weddington’ appeared at the top of the email list. Sitting beside her at the computer, I watched the muscles of Brooke’s jaw clench involuntarily. I knew she was as anxious for answers as I was. She leaned in front of me to get a better view of the screen as I carefully scrolled the mouse over the attachment and clicked.

  In an instant, the photograph of a young woman appeared. She was slightly younger than the image of the girl from the photograph in my father’s office that was etched into my mind. But they were one and the same. Of that I had no doubt.

  Brooke gasped audibly. “It’s her.”

  I pressed my palm against the computer monitor as if to touch her face. “I can’t believe it,” I said. “We found my mother.”

  She wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me close. “At least now you know. The search is over.”

  I returned her embrace but did not share her sentiments. To me, it felt as though it was time to begin anew. A dormant torch inside of me was sparked to life. Knowing who she was confirmed the identity of my grandparents, and I was suddenly filled with the desire to find out everything I could about my family.

  “I need to call the Weddingtons.”

  She released her arms and pulled away from me, sitting down on my bed. “Why would you do that? It was clear they didn’t want anything to do with you when you showed up on their doorstep. Don’t do this to yourself, Charlie.”

  “Now that I know for sure, I can make them understand. Maybe if I explain they’re my grandparents, I’ll finally get through to them.”

  “Charlie, look at you. You’re the spitting image of Victoria. You don’t think her own mother didn’t notice?”

  I knew she was right. I saw the recognition in her face. She knew who I was. And she still didn’t care. I picked up the football off m
y bedroom floor and threw it against the wall in anger. Brooke pulled me down to where she was sitting on the foot of the bed and ran her hand against my cheek.

  “You promised me you weren’t going to get hurt.”

  “I’m not hurt!” I replied a little too forcefully.

  She caressed my bottom lip with her finger. “Liar.”

  I replayed the conversation I had with Linda Weddington over again in my head. It struck me that I never actually spoke with her husband.

  “I need to call Theodore. I need to call my grandfather. Maybe he’ll want to talk to me. She never even gave me a chance the other day. She didn’t even tell him who it was at the door.”

  She took a deep breath and laid her head in my lap. “Charlie Johnson, as sure as I’m sitting here, you’re going to get yourself hurt.”

  Brooke left for work before ten, and by lunchtime, I managed to track down three different phone numbers for Representative Weddington. I decided to try his work extension first, to see if I could somehow sneak my way in through the backdoor by claiming to be someone I wasn’t, interested in speaking to him as a campaigner. I spent another hour researching his ‘hot button’ topics, and found he was known to sympathize with hydraulic fracking lobbyists. Knowing I had less than 15 minutes before I needed to get ready for work, I mustered the courage to pick up the receiver. On the third ring, a weary sounding secretary answered the phone.

  “Representative Weddington’s office. How can I help you?”

  I hesitated for a moment, unable to remember what I wanted to say.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?” the secretary asked.

  Finally, I found my voice. “Yes. Hello. My name is Edward Masterson and I would like to speak with Congressman Weddington about next month’s legislation seeking to limit fracking regulations.”

  “And who can I tell him you’re with?”

  “I’m calling from the office of the House Natural Resources Committee Chairman,” I lied.

  “Where can you be reached?”

  I gave her my cell phone number.

  “I’ll give him the message. Have a nice day.”

  With that, there was a dial tone at the other end of the line.

  Four days later, I was in a managers’ meeting, discussing our restocking order for the second half of the summer, when my phone rang. I glanced casually at the number to see if it was someone I knew and didn’t immediately recognize the number. By the fourth ring, I was getting dirty looks from around the table, and it suddenly dawned on me that the area code was a DC exchange. Frantically, I stood up, knocking my chair on to the floor as I excused myself and ran into the hallway to take the call.

  “Is this Edward Masterson?” a woman asked.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Hold, please, for Representative Weddington.”

  Elevator music was piped through the line. I steadied myself against the wall and concentrated on remembering to breathe. I decided I wasn’t going to keep up the charade of pretending I was from the Natural Resources Committee. I was cutting right to the chase. At least I hoped I was.

  A stern voice startled me from my thoughts. “This is Weddington,” he said.

  My prepared speech poured out hastily, all in one breath. “Representative Weddington my name is Charlie Johnson and I believe I am your grandson and that my mother was your daughter Victoria.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. There was no background noise. No breathing. No sound at all. For a minute, I was sure he’d hung up on me.

  “Sir?” I said.

  He cleared his throat, still hesitant to speak. Finally, after several more seconds, he responded.

  “Mr. Johnson, I would encourage you to stop barking up whatever tree you’re looking to climb. I have nothing for you. No information to share. No story to corroborate. Just move on with your life and leave the past in the past.” He paused, clearing his throat again. “And as for contacting me again concerning this matter, let me assure you that I will not hesitate to press harassment charges. Are we clear?”

  My head was spinning. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good day then, Mr. Johnson.”

  “Goodbye,” I replied feebly.

  I ended the call and slid down the wall onto the floor, burying my head in my hands. The realization that my own grandfather wanted nothing to do with me, officially closing the only means of finding out more about my mother, came as a crushing blow. In that moment, I felt as though I had never experienced such cruelty.

  But then I remembered that wasn’t the case.

  Instances of my father’s own heartlessness flooded my mind. The way he spoke about the public behind their backs, ridiculing them for their collective stupidity and inability to care for themselves. The times I saw him turn his back on people who considered him a friend in their time of need. How he told me to ‘grow up’ when he found me crying alone among the shade trees the day my retriever Greta died.

  To have my grandfather treat me with the same harshness was almost more than I could bear. I fought back the mixture of rage and sorrow which threatened to overtake me by closing my eyes and breathing deeply through my nose. After several minutes, I composed myself enough to return to my meeting.

  As soon as I was able, I called Brooke to see if she was available after lunch to help me continue searching for my mother. I was directed to her voice mail, confirming she was still at the clinic, where she would probably be for the rest of the day. Without her assistance, I knew it would be difficult to dig up any more information about Victoria, but I was determined to try.

  Melody found me hunched over my computer at the kitchen table and offered her assistance. Working together, we began the process of tracking down my mother using the ID number from her college transcript. We were initially excited, as it appeared the ID was in fact her social security number. Unfortunately, after searching for several hours, it didn’t yield a single shred of useful information. With every dead end we encountered, our frustration grew.

  “Another sealed file,” I grumbled, pushing my chair away from the computer screen.

  Melody shook her head. “Every record of her has been sealed or has disappeared altogether. It’s the strangest thing. How does all evidence of a person’s existence just vanish like that?”

  I rocked on the two back legs of my chair. “I have no idea. The real question isn’t how though. It’s why.”

  She was thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I remember seeing something a few minutes ago that got me thinking. Can we do a search of bank accounts?

  “Maybe,” I said, returning to the keyboard. “Let’s see.”

  Within a few minutes, we discovered a bank account tied to her social security number. Someone closed it the month she passed away.

  “There’s no other information tied to that account. No direct deposit information. No closing balance. Nothing. Another dead end,” I said.

  “It would be nice to be able to go back and find out more about that account,” Melody said.

  I sighed. “It would be nice to be able to go back and just talk to her.”

  She looked at me conspiratorially. “Brooke would freak out.”

  “She would. She has serious issues with time travel.”

  “Serious issues,” she agreed.

  We were silent for a moment while I strummed my fingers fretfully on the keyboard. I grinned at her. “I guess I could try talking to her again.”

  “She usually gets over things pretty fast.”

  “This is a pretty big thing, I think.”

  Melody shrugged. “What’s the worst she’s gonna do? She’s not going to break up with you. She loves you, Charlie. She’s just scared of what might happen.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Exactly. So just tell her that.” She stood up to stretch. “Maybe she could go with you.”

  “That would be a fantastic idea… except she already used her trip.”

  Melody froze with her
arms above her head. “She did what!?”

  “I know. I couldn’t believe it either. She just told me last week. Apparently, after Branson died, she went back to try and save his life. Not just once. Three times.”

  “Three times!” she exclaimed as she hoisted herself onto the counter and pulled her knees to her chest. “I would have never guessed she’d have done that. No wonder she’s worried.”

  “No kidding. I wish there was a way to have her there though. I mean, she’ll be there, but I won’t be able to tell her what I’m doing. She won’t be able to help.”

  She looked curiously at me. “Why not?”

  “It’s the rules, Mel.”

  “The rules are that you can’t tell anyone in the past that you’re using your trip from the future, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But what if she told herself?”

  I gazed at her skeptically.

  “No, really.” She explained, “She could write herself a letter or something. You could take it with you and hide it in the past for her to find. Then you’re not telling her. She’s telling herself. No rules against that, right?”

  It only took me a moment to consider her suggestion before deciding it was one of the best ideas I’d ever heard. I smiled brightly at her.

  “If you weren’t already my sister, Melody Johnson, I’d adopt you myself!”

  Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Do you think Brooke will go for it?”

  “If she doesn’t, I’m no worse off than I am now. I’ll give her a call. Maybe we can go out to dinner tomorrow night and I can ask her.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  “Fingers crossed,” I agreed.

  C HAPTER FIFTEEN

  Since she was coming straight from the veterinary clinic, I decided to meet Brooke at the restaurant. She chose our old standby, Pasta Casa, where we’d shared many bowls of linguini over the years. As I watched her cross the parking lot from the booth where I was seated inside, the comfort of the familiar setting was replaced by anxiety over the proposal I was about to make.