Jean Rabe & Martin Harry Greenberg

by Timeshares (v5)

Before she knew it, the appointed time was over. Leonardo and his workers heaped them with gifts to take home. Side by side, the sisters packed the fans and hats and scale models into new cases bought for them in the market.

  Lorraine was silent through the process, though not out of spite. She had had to come to terms with having a mother who was a part of history, all of it. She must share her, not just with one sister but with the entire world and future generations. The hope for an ideal mother-daughter relationship was gone, but she never really had it. She would have to settle for the one that she had, with which she had grown up, like it or not.

  “We can’t rewrite history,” Marguerite lamented. Lorraine laughed, realizing she had been thinking exactly what her sister had been thinking.

  “No,” Lorraine said. “We’ll write our portion of it.” She held out a hand. “At least we have each other.”

  Marguerite looked at the hand suspiciously, and then her expression softened. “I suppose we do.” She took the hand, and, to Lorraine’s surprise, squeezed it.

  The apprentices carried the cases out to the street where Iskander was waiting in an open carriage. Grinning, they helped the sisters up into the bouncy seats.

  Mother came rushing out, her work veil tied tightly around her forehead. She did belong here, Lorraine realized. She never looked so at home in California. “I’m glad I caught you, darlings. I have something I need you to take back with you.”

  She handed Lorraine a heavy, square bundle. “I don’t dare leave it here, darling,” she said. “In any case, I know it was never found. If you don’t think you can find it a safe place, give it to Rolf. He will take care of it.”

  Lorraine undid the knotted linen cloth and found a huge book. The binding of the enormous volume had knobbly rungs in it, as if a ladder had been plastered against the spine underneath the leather. The cover itself was made of wood. Inside, a frontispiece showed the two sisters, in their visiting finery. The girls gasped in delight.

  “That’s by Leonardo,” their mother said. “He worked on it from a sketch he made of you one evening. A wonderful gift. An original, darlings, all yours.”

  Lorraine turned over the heavy parchment leaf and saw page after page of designs, drawings, and Leonardo’s inimitable backward writing. The images were familiar: the round-winged helicopter, the mechanical carriage, the boat-hulled submarine, all of Leonardo’s most famous inventions. With a shock she realized what she held.

  “It’s a codex. I’ve seen a couple in museums. Is this one special for you?” she asked her mother.

  “More than that, darling,” Mother said with a twinkle. “These are the ones that work. All Leo ever lacked was a power source. I showed him the formulae for internal combustion engines and nuclear engines, and he was so pleased. We bring so many things to each other.” She smiled with almost catlike pleasure.

  Lorraine felt a slight twinge of the old jealousy. She still didn’t like sharing her mother, but if she had to, the most famous inventor and artist of the Renaissance was almost worthy. She hugged the codex to her. “Thank you. We’ll treasure it.”

  “It’s a one of a kind book,” her mother reminded them with a knowing smile. “You’ll have to share.”

  “I get it first,” Marguerite said, immediately.

  Had nothing really changed? Lorraine opened her mouth to say that she did. Then she closed it.

  “All right,” she said, handing her the codex. “Share and share alike.”

  Marguerite’s mouth opened in surprise, and then she grinned, too.

  Genevieve stepped back and waved to Iskander to whip up the horse. “See you next year, darlings. Together.”

  Two Tickets to Paradise

  Vicki Steger

  Vicki Johnson-Steger lives in Mount Pleasant, Wisconsin, with her husband of twenty- five years and Dave, an ancient cat. She and Dale have three children and four grandchildren. Vicki retired after nearly thirty years as an orthodontic lab technician so she could spend her days writing. Her first story was published in DAW’s Spells of the City. In her spare time she haunts the magnificent Dinosaur Museum in Kenosha, Wisconsin, and volunteers at a local high school for the production of their yearly musical. A collection of fossils, rocks, and dinosaur bones litters her bookshelves.

  Evelyn watched water swirl around the bathroom basin through puffy red eyes as she thought, there goes my marriage down the drain after all these years. A quick cell phone call late the previous evening from what sounded like a noisy restaurant let her know he’d be working late and sleeping on the sofa at his downtown law office—again.

  Evelyn knew better. This wasn’t the first time her husband had strayed. She’d seen the signs develop for months. When she bundled his clothes for the laundry she noticed an unfamiliar scent. The woodsy aroma that clung to his shirt collars was not a fragrance she wore. The late nights, distant demeanor, restlessness and irritability, all signs her husband Peter McAdams was not acting like the man she’d known for most of her adult life. Peter had been working out at a gym on his lunch hours, recently updated his wardrobe, and had his temples darkened by a new hair stylist.

  One evening while Evelyn sat alone gripping an empty wine bottle, she wondered how her husband could dismiss her so readily after all their years together. Just yesterday she discovered a shiny Jaguar convertible had taken the place of his silver Mercedes sedan and feared she too was about to be replaced by a younger model. Her hand shook as she opened its door and inhaled the distinctive smell of leather upholstery. Sinking into the sumptuous passenger seat she discovered an exquisite diamond bracelet cradled in a plush velvet box hidden deep inside the glove compartment. Evelyn’s face drained of color and she suddenly felt faint. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo when she realized her husband of forty years had chosen this expensive piece of jewelry for someone else.

  Evelyn’s rage was palpable as she proceeded to her husband’s closet. With scissors in hand she angrily snipped the crotch out of every pair of his trousers.

  The following morning after her daily morning run along the lakeshore that bordered their exclusive property, she padded to the shower. Feeling refreshed, she emerged, swaddled in a luxurious bath towel, and ran her fingers through tangles of gray hair. From the bedroom windows she glimpsed the landscaper as he carefully tended the sunken rose garden that surrounded her newly constructed glass gazebo.

  There on their king-size bed lay Peter’s clothes, keys, and belongings. She heard the whooshing sound of water issue from his bathroom. After a quick check to assure her husband was still in the shower she pried his briefcase open. Her hands twitched as she fumbled with the clasp. I shouldn’t do this. There’s probably confidential client stuff in here. Still, Evelyn searched for evidence of the new woman.

  She discovered a brochure from Timeshares Travel Agency stowed in the pocket of his briefcase. The strange stiff flyer appeared to be papyrus printed with thick black ink. Under the business name was a tag line: TAKE THE VACATION OF A LIFETIME.

  That cheating bastard was taking his new woman on vacation. Her calmness evaporated quicker than the steam from her bathroom mirror. She dug through folders, sending correspondence to swirl around her in a paper storm as she searched for his vacation itinerary. There, under a yellow legal pad, she glimpsed a black state-of-the-art device.

  He must’ve bought one of the new iPhones. She gritted her teeth as she rolled the sleek gadget over in her hand and hastily prodded it to find any concealed photos or text messages that may be secreted inside.

  The metallic slam of the shower door startled her as Peter entered their room clad in a towel; his new physique proved the hours at the gym had been well spent. Evelyn glared at her husband, contraption in hand.

  “So you bought a new phone. To converse with the new girlfriend, I suppose?”

  “Evie, give that to me. It’s not what you think.” Peter grabbed in her direction.

  “So is there a picture of the woman who’s been sleeping with my husband in
here?”

  She held the phone behind her back as Pete lunged to take it. While battling to keep him from retrieving the phone, she fought an intense urge to punch him square in the mouth.

  They wrestled, thrashing about for several minutes on the bed before Peter overwhelmed her and reached the device, unaware it had developed a slight hum and an eerie pale glow.

  In a whirl of color and wind they were transported.

  The couple rolled onto hard ground as each struggled to catch their breath. Waves of nausea washed over them. An intense pain throbbed at Peter’s temples while Evelyn reeled from double vision that made it impossible for her to focus for several minutes.

  They lay at the base of a mountain, definitely no longer in Lake Forest. Unable to speak, they stared in bewilderment at their surroundings, then at each other’s naked bodies. Somehow in the fury their towels had been swept away and now clung to a prickly bush cactus.

  “What the hell happened?” Evelyn wheezed, her green eyes wide with fear.

  “Well, um, I,” mumbled Peter, “I-I, think we’ve been transported. But to where and when I, um, I’m not exactly sure. Give me that remote control thing and I’ll get us back.”

  “Back? Back from where? And what does this phone have to do with anything?” Evelyn’s voice broke.

  “I’ll explain everything when we get home, just hand over the transporting device. It’s new. The travel agency just started offering them. It has a preprogrammed battery, good for only so many days.”

  She stood shivering, holding out her empty palms. “I don’t have it.”

  Peter grabbed his wife’s wrists, turning her hands over in disbelief before he dropped to his knees and furiously searched the underbrush. Evelyn stomped her bare feet and demanded an explanation.

  “Now stay calm, okay? I’ll get us back, promise. You need to calm down,” Peter implored.

  “Don’t you tell me what to do, you cheating son-of-a-bitch,” she bellowed as her open palm swiftly met his astonished face.

  “We just need to find that device so we can return.” Peter rubbed his stinging cheek before he returned to feverishly pat the surrounding ground.

  Several feet away large bubbles burst to the surface of oozing muck as the travelers’ eyes met, reflecting their mutual horror.

  “Oh no,” they said practically in unison.

  Their only means of escape had been gobbled into a bottomless pit of quicksand.

  Peter scanned the countryside. “We have to find a higher elevation and weigh our options. And we have to find help.”

  Miles of tall grass bent under the bitter wind as it howled and swept across the inhospitable plain. Peter grabbed Evelyn’s hand to set out for help, but she quickly pulled away. Their pampered unshod feet were soon worn raw from tramping over the rough terrain toward a distant mountain.

  The exhausted pair struggled for many hours to reach the summit. Treacherous cliffs surrounded them which were in turn encompassed by a vast, angry ocean. Three raging rivers of white water surged below, cutting off any means of escape. A great distance away a verdant patch appeared like a tiny emerald floating in a sea of rugged brush and sage grass.

  Peter and his disgruntled mate, both now bruised and bloody, descended the ragged cliff. They discovered a small cave where they wearily collapsed, grateful to be protected from the unsparing wind that had taken its toll on their delicate skin. Evelyn had never been so hungry or thirsty, and her head threatened to split from a full-blown migraine. Her once manicured hands trembled from fear and caffeine withdrawal as she tugged the towel tighter around her body. She’d never been this miserable in her life, and that included a lengthy session at Bible camp the summer she turned ten—the year her parents divorced.

  “You, you need to t-t-tell me what’s happened and where the hell we are.” Evelyn’s teeth chattered from the cold. She crossed her arms as she tried her best to remain calm. Her husband hung his head and felt her penetrating stare as he drew a deep breath.

  “I signed up to find the fountain of youth. Going back in time I thought I could return to a younger me, you know, revitalized. On my way to work last week I discovered this unique travel agency that could send me back in time to anywhere and anytime. So I figured why not give it a try. There was supposed to be another session with the travel technician to fine-tune things. The guy left early, had the flu or something, and I took the control that you lost in the muck off his desk. Anyway, I had to reschedule the appointment so I never got all the information. I guess I, um, don’t know exactly where we are or what year was chosen.”

  “You dragged me back maybe hundreds, possibly thousands of years to find a way to grow younger before you left me for another woman? ARE YOU INSANE? Never mind, just get me home!” Evelyn snapped, her red, angry face shook violently, now more from anger than from the cold.

  During the next few hours Peter McAdams unburdened himself as his confessions poured over his stunned silent wife. He admitted his discontent and struggles with middle age, his best years gone, life holding more past than future. The affair began innocently enough, borne of boredom. He simply wanted to start over. This time he desired fulfillment, something more than a huge home on the lakeshore, foreign cars, and club memberships to show for his years of hard work to make senior partner at the firm.

  “I-I’ve been thinking a lot lately about, you know, what I missed by not being a father, not leaving a legacy—not having someone remember I was here. I’d really like a son or two before it’s too late, or else what have I done this all for?” Peter cast his eyes down to look anywhere but at his shell-shocked wife.

  Evelyn sat with her back against the hard stone of the cave, feeling suffocated as her husband’s words crashed over her like an endless wave. The damp wall was less chilling than her husband’s cold and hurtful confessions. This could not be happening. She felt as if she were viewing someone else’s life. For a long time she simply lost the ability to form words.

  “Why did you wait all this time to tell me that you had a burning desire to reproduce? You decide when we are in the middle of who-knows-where to bring this up? Couldn’t you have mentioned this, oh I don’t know, say maybe thirty years ago?” Evelyn spat, feeling like she’d just been smacked with a shovel.

  “Well, since you brought it up—I tried to have this discussion with you many times, but you always blew me off. It was never the right time. Your beloved tennis or some charity event came first, or you were too busy re-modeling something.”

  “All right, you cheating bastard, you can have a divorce. In fact, as soon as you get me home I’m calling Jake Perlman. You remember Jake from Princeton, the one I should have married. He’ll be happy to represent me, and I hear he’s single again. You’ll be able to tote what’s left of your belongings in that little red sports car you’re so proud of.”

  Begrudgingly they huddled together for needed warmth as they shivered under their dingy towels. Evelyn sobbed until rays of morning light pierced the deep blue horizon. Stiffness in their joints caused such discomfort they could barely sit up. Peter sneezed; his sinuses were swollen by the pollen-filled air.

  From the stony shelter they searched for anything to stave off the hunger pangs that gripped their stomachs. They sucked the bitter juice from a spiny succulent plant Peter stumbled on while they gathered dry grass for bedding. Terrified, they watched a strange looking pride of lions in the distance and realized that they would serve as a perfect carry-out meal for hungry cats.

  “No hard shell to crack and a soft creamy center. We’d make a tasty appetizer for that bunch—even without ketchup,” Peter snorted, his stab at brevity lost on his angry wife.

  A small herd of woolly mammoths grazed several miles below the cave entrance, unaware their progress along the open savanna was being observed by two horror-stricken humans. What looked like a prehistoric lean tiger stalked a juvenile mammoth that lagged behind the protection of its herd. Its frantic bellow was stifled before the animal’s flesh
was torn greedily from its bones by long teeth that resembled curved blades and glistened in the sunlight.

  Mouths dry, lips cracking, Evelyn and Peter knew if they were to survive they must find sustenance soon. At daybreak, while thick ribbons of fog cloaked the valley, they grudgingly left the security of their cave. Picking their way with care, they descended the rocky cliffs to head toward the spot of green, their only chance for survival.

  By some miracle they managed to slip unnoticed by a pack of scruffy, unusual looking wolves. All trace of the previous day’s chilly temperature was gone. The warmth of the rising sun drew a flock of giant black vultures. These harbingers of doom circled overhead while the pair pressed on to find shelter.

  Peter and Evelyn stopped only when necessary to extract embedded thorns from their painful torn flesh. They steadily trudged toward a magnificent copse of lush trees. They knew they would not last much longer without water and relief from the blazing sun that scorched their burned, peeling skin.

  Delirious and exhausted, they crawled under the canopy of an acacia tree and fell into a dreamless sleep. Lacy bits of sunlight dappled their raw skin. Unnoticed, an enormous green serpent unwound itself from a low branch. Its cold, piercing eyes regarded the dozing couple while its red tongue flicked the fragrant moist air.

  They woke not knowing how long they’d slept, startled to find a young man and woman standing over them. Delighted at the sight of humans, they were surprised to see that the couple was naked, and unabashedly so. The beautiful woman’s knee length hair cascaded around her in thick black swirls. The man’s muscular tanned body could have been the model for Michelangelo’s David, complete with dazzling blue eyes. The pair reached to draw the weary travelers to their feet. The woman applied thick liquid from the pulp of a nearby plant to their festering wounds. Almost instantly their deep cuts and bruises healed, and they gratefully followed their rescuers.

  They reached a hut sturdily constructed of bamboo, surrounded by huge leaves and palm fronds the size of tennis rackets. The warm breeze carried a spicy scent as they entered. The walls were resplendent, vines bursting with vibrant blooms that trailed inside, completely camouflaging the structure.