by Jahn, Amalie
“Did you have a chance to make your list?” she asked.
“Yeah, we watched some film in Chemistry on bases and acids and I had plenty of time,” I smiled.
“Me too. English was a snooze-fest. More sentence diagraming,” Sarah rolled her eyes at me as she handed me her list. “Who’s on your list?”
I handed her my sheet of notebook paper and glanced over her list. Except for the ear piercing pavilion (what in the world?) our lists were the same. Mostly specialty clothing, no kiosks, no food court, and my personal favorite, the bookstore.
“What’s your top pick?” I asked.
“Anyplace I can get a clothing discount,” she answered nonchalantly.
“What about the bookstore?” I inquired.
“Yeah, the bookstore is good too. Where do you think Branson’s going to want to work?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the sporting goods store,” I replied, although I was already forming a mental list for him. “I’ll pick you up at 6:00,” I called as I turned for the door. “See ya!”
“See ya,” Sarah called.
I raced across the parking lot to my car. The soccer team was out on the field and I easily spotted Branson’s blond head bobbing up and down as he dribbled the ball towards the goal. Incredibly, the drug store cream that he was using seemed to be helping his rash and he was practicing at full strength for the championship the following week. I was glad that, so far, I did not think I had made things worse and hoped instead that I was making them better.
I checked my rearview mirror nervously for police officers shooting radar as I made my way home from school. I intended to beat my mother to the house and have dinner already started so she would be able to sit and put her feet up after working all day. I hoped that a relaxed mother was a mother that would be open to my idea about Branson and me getting jobs at the mall for the next month. If she and I could present a united front to Branson, perhaps we could get him to agree to give up on the hardware store, at least for now.
It had been weeks since I thought about all the changes I was making to my timeline. I convinced myself that since things were mostly the same in my own life, despite everything I had been doing, clearly I would not be affecting other people’s timelines in any significant way. I could only hope and pray that it was actually the case.
CHAPTER NINE
Over the sound of the bubbling water, I heard my mother’s footsteps on the porch. A cold draft followed her through the door and stirred up the aroma of my grandmother’s homemade spaghetti sauce that was simmering on the stove. The pot of pasta had just begun to boil and I was searching through the refrigerator for the butter to attend to the garlic bread as she arrived. She greeted me with a smile and a hug, and after removing her coat and shoes, collapsed at the kitchen table.
“What a day,” she said distractedly. “How’d you know I needed a break tonight?”
“Kid’s intuition,” I laughed.
Mom broke in to a liturgy about a new proposal she was tasked with and about the extra workload she was absorbing since the company laid off twenty percent of its workforce the previous month. I listened attentively and waited for a pause in the conversation while buttering the garlic bread. Finally, she asked if I had plans for the night.
“Sarah and I are headed to the mall tonight. We’re taking Branson and Chad to the movies. Sarah wants to get a holiday job to help her folks out with the bills and I thought it would be fun if we did something together,” I said.
“Sounds like a great idea,” she replied. “As long as you can keep up with your studies,” she added.
“I will,” I said, rolling my eyes at her. “But I don’t know how I will get Branson to the hardware store if I am working at the mall. If he wants to work, maybe he should get a job at the mall too.”
I waited for a response. Mother was engrossed in a rather large stack of papers from her briefcase. I wondered if she had heard me.
“Mom?” I said.
“Whatever you want to do, honey…” Mother trailed off, clearly no longer a part of the conversation.
I smiled to myself, admiring the drive my mother had professionally. She had lost that passion after Branson’s death. I left her slouched over her paperwork until my father and Branson got home and I served dinner. I decided that perhaps I could reason with Branson about the hardware store in the car on the way to pick up the others, so I did not attempt to revisit the topic at the table. Truly, I was looking forward to the meal and did not want to jeopardize ruining it by stirring up controversy. Dinner was the part of the day that had become my greatest joy since returning to the past, largely because it was one of the things that I missed the most since Branson’s death in the future.
For several months after we lost him, the three of us barely ate. It seemed absurd that we should take the time and effort to prepare an actual meal that no one was going to eat anyway, so none of us did. Once my parents’ lives began to return to normal, they would each fix themselves something and retreat into a corner of the house to eat it alone. Besides my sendoff dinner, I did not remember a single family meal in the time since Branson’s passing. So having an opportunity to share time together at the dinner table was an occasion I relished.
As we ate, my father complained about the new tax hike the government was proposing, my mother continued with her tirade of the inadequacies of her workforce, and Branson had us all in hysterics as he described how Mitch Frederickson ended up without a stitch of clothing on in the middle of the soccer field at practice that afternoon. It was Branson’s comical take on life that we all so desperately missed. In that moment, over a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, I realized how grateful I was that time travel had been invented. The gift of my brother’s presence was not lost on me. My resolve to save Branson’s life intensified.
After berating Branson repeatedly that it was time to leave in an attempt at keeping him from being late for the movie, my brother finally emerged from his room. He was adorably disheveled as usual and wholly unaware of the schedule we were trying to keep. I ushered him down the stairs and into my car.
“You are going to miss the beginning of the movie with your dawdling,” I admonished him. “You are forever dragging your feet little brother!”
“There are always the previews, Sis,” he teased.
“You better hope Chad is ready or you are going to miss the whole point of the story.”
“The movie is called Night of 1,000 Corpses. I don’t know how much of a plot there is actually going to be,” he smiled. “I’m sure I’ll catch up. But we’ll make it, you’ll see!”
I wished that I could share my brother’s sunny optimism, especially about the conversation I was about to have with him. I spent the fifteen minute drive to Sarah’s house discussing my plan for both of us to acquire jobs at the mall for the holiday. It was met with less than enthusiastic consideration.
“Why would I work at the mall?” he asked. “I’ve worked the past two years at the hardware store.”
I continued on with a litany of reasons why it made good, common sense for him to come work at the mall with me, leaving out the only honest reason, which was of course so that he would not be exposed to the asbestos lurking in the attic of the hardware store. Branson, in turn, had a mindful retort to each of my rationales. As we pulled into Sarah’s driveway, I honked the horn in frustration.
“I can get Logan to drive me as long as we work the same shifts,” Branson was logically explaining as Sarah slid into the car.
“You still trying to convince him to quit the hardware store?” Sarah asked, casting a conspiratorial look towards Branson in the back seat.
“I’m not trying to convince him of anything!” I replied, my voice raising an octave. “I’m just trying to get him to listen to reason.” My exasperation with both of them was palpable.
We drove in silence for the next several miles on the way to pick up Chad. As he climbed in the back next to Branson and shut the door, he glanc
ed around the car and observed each of us sitting like statues. “Who died?” he asked lightheartedly.
With that one good-natured comment, all of the frustration, sadness, and anxiety that had been building up inside of me since the rash appeared on Branson’s leg boiled up. I screamed. A deafening, wailing scream that shook the windows and forced the occupants of the vehicle to cover their ears with their hands. When I finished screaming, I dropped my forehead onto the steering wheel and sobbed into my folded arms. Once I started, I could not stop. I cried for the loss of my brother. I cried because my mother believed I could do this brave, amazing thing and I was failing at every turn. I cried because, if I was failing, then the clock was ticking yet again on the minutes that I had to spend with Branson. And here I was, fighting with him about the stupid hardware store job. If only I could tell him why he could not go there. If only I could tell them all.
Slowly, slowly, I began to control my breathing and felt my blood pressure releasing in my veins. I wiped my eyes with my sleeves but kept my chin tucked into my chest. I could feel all three of them staring at the back of my head, and I could feel them cautiously looking at one another.
“I’m fine,” I said.
No one spoke.
“No. Really. I’m fine,” I said again.
Sarah, put her hand on my shoulder. A gesture of solidarity.
“Do you want to just go home?” Branson asked.
I assured them all for the third time that I was fine and after wiping my eyes once more, I started the engine and backed down Chad’s driveway. Sarah turned up the radio and soon the boys were singing along to the songs, making up their own ridiculous lyrics as they often did. By the time we made it to the theater, I was actually feeling better and, amazingly, the movie was not scheduled to start for another eight minutes.
“See,” Branson said, “Told you we’d make it in time!”
The boys hurried out of the back of the car and Sarah and I turned the corner to the mall.
“I don’t understand what the big deal is about the job,” Sarah commented cautiously. “You two never fight. I hate watching it.”
I thought about listing for her all of my terrific reasons for Branson to work at the mall. I considered telling her the one reason I had for him not to work at the hardware store. And then, I decided to say nothing at all.
“No more fighting. I promise,” I said.
Sarah and I spent the two hours that the boys were at the theater filling out job applications at one store after another. Most were hiring seasonal employees and paid extra for weekend shifts when adults with children often opted not to work. This was especially important to Sarah, who genuinely needed the income to help support her family. All I could think about was how Branson was going to work at the hardware store and there was not a thing I was going to be able to do about it.
Later that night, after Branson and I were home, I heard my mom in his room saying goodnight to him. My ears perked up when I heard him say my name. I crept stealthily into the hallway and attempt to hear what they were discussing. With my ear as close to the door as I dared, I eavesdropped on their conversation.
“I was kind of scared, Mom,” Branson said. “She got all weird and freaked out. She’s not usually so, well, you know, girlie.”
“Maybe she’s just moody, Branson. It’s not atypical for girls to be emotional like that,” my mother responded.
“Maybe not, but it’s weird for Brooke to cry like that for no reason. I swear Mom, Chad got in the car and she lost her mind. I don’t know what set her off. Between that and the stupid job thing, she’s stressing me out,” Branson added.
“Give her some space. I’ll try to talk to her and see if I can find out what’s going on. You’re a good brother for caring, even if she is ‘stressing you out.’”
Branson’s bed creaked as my mother stood up. I cautiously made my way back to my room and busied myself with some laundry, knowing my mother’s next stop would be my room. Sure enough, seconds later, there was a light rapping on the door.
“Yeah,” I said.
She opened the door just enough to peek her head in. “Just coming to say good night,” she said.
“Night,” I responded guardedly.
“How was the job hunt?”
“Fine,” I answered. “I don’t know if I’m actually going to do it. I’ve got lots of schoolwork. Plus, I have to finish all those college applications. It might not be the best time.”
“Whatever you want to do is fine. See you in the morning,” she said. And with that, she was gone.
There was no discussion of my lapse in sanity. I did not quite know what to make of it, but I was grateful for it nonetheless. I had decided that, if I was going to be unable to get Branson to come work at the mall, there was no reason to further alter the timeline by getting a job that I had never held the first time around. Also, I reasoned, if I did not get a job, I could use the extra time to mill around the hardware store and see what I could dig up about the attic.
I had learned during my trip that I managed best when I felt like I was making progress with the plan. After Mother left, I found myself unable to hold back tears for the second time that night. Instead of moving forward, I felt like Alice descending the rabbit hole into a land where nothing made sense. The clay lion my father had given me was tucked away in my nightstand drawer. I took it out and held it in my hands. If only I could have channeled the courage of that smiling lion. I prayed silently that the cream was indeed the cause of Branson’s disease and that the hardware store attic would be inconsequential. Something deep inside whispered that I was wrong.
CHAPTER TEN
I peeled off my jacket and tied it around my waist as I traipsed through the remains of the snowfall from the week before. I wished I had worn my sneakers, as the snow was nothing more than small dirty piles mottling the ground. The boots I had worn instead only slowed me down and made my feet sweaty. Between the boots and the blazing sun, which seemed unusually warm for December, I was glad to be almost to my destination.
I made my way around to the rear of the hardware store where a fire escape led to the second floor and the attic space. The building that housed the store was nothing more than an old home that had been repurposed as commercial real estate. I imagined the structure itself was well over one hundred years old. Local fire codes had required the fire escape addition when it was converted from a single family home into apartments decades ago. When the current owners bought the property before I was born and repurposed it into a hardware store, they never removed the fire escape. I had discovered on my second visit to the store that I could pick the lock on the door at the top of the building, thereby gaining access to the attic. Since then, I had been back half a dozen times snooping around for some clue as to what may have caused Branson’s illness.
I emerged from the brightness of the day into the quiet shadows of the attic. Strangely, I found myself enjoying the time I was spending there and had begun looking forward to my afternoons hidden away among the eaves. There were so many buried gems just waiting to be discovered. I found stacks of cardboard boxes filled with store inventory – nails, screws, measuring tapes. There were also items that were the Cooper family’s personal belongings, as they lived on the second floor of the building. Their artificial Christmas tree was lovingly bagged off in a corner along with a few old sleds that I am sure must have been Mr. Cooper’s when he was a child. There were beach chairs and boxes of their children’s old toys along with a few pieces of furniture that must have been family heirlooms. The most interesting of the attic treasures belonged, not to the hardware store or the Cooper’s, but to previous tenants. Behind crooks and crannies, I had discovered old newspaper scraps, a well-worn paper bag with several silver spoons, and my favorite, a wooden gunshot box filled with letters. So far, I had read only a few of them. They were letters sent from a soldier to his wife during a war. They were magical.
Upon my arrival, I headed over to where I had
hidden the box of letters and began to pick up where I had left off during my last visit. However, I was only in the attic for about ten minutes before I heard voices coming from outside. Curiosity caused me to head to the window to see what all the racket was about. Encouraged by the gloriously warm weather, a group of children had descended upon the vacant lot next door to play. I watched them in their shirtsleeves and sneakers playing what appeared to be kickball. Their exuberance was uplifting to watch. The simple pleasure of playing ball with a group of friends made my heart ache for the uncomplicated beauty of childhood. Watching them reminded me of how Branson and I would have been at their age, without a care in the world.
Unexpectedly, I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of something above me. I peered down to see the children running towards the store, and it suddenly occurred to me what had happened. Their ball was missing. It was on the roof.
There was a flurry of activity from inside the store beneath my feet. I stood alongside the window just out of sight and watched as the storeowner, Mr. Cooper, emerged from the side door. He was an older man, probably in his sixties, with a short trimmed beard and a funny handlebar mustache. Every Christmas he dressed as Santa Claus and gave out treats to the children. He sponsored a fall festival with hayrides and apple bobbing each year, and in the spring, he held gardening workshops. People loved him. It was no surprise that Branson wanted to work for him season after season.
Two stories below, the children pulled at Mr. Cooper, pointing toward the roof. He got down on his knees to speak with them at their level. I could see they were laughing, and by the smiles on their faces, I knew that no one would be in trouble for kicking the ball on the roof. Within moments, he was up and walking back into the store only to reappear seconds later with a ladder and one of his younger employees. The rescue mission for the ball began as the ascent was made up the ladder. Within moments, there were footsteps above my head. I watched as the ball fell to the waiting throng of children below.