“So take a year off.”
“I can’t!” Max snapped. “I’m already behind time. I have a long way to catch up.”
Garfield was puzzled. “You’ve accelerated a four-year program into three years and graduated before your class. How much more ahead of time can you be, Max?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Garfield said nothing. As they walked along, Max suddenly felt like an asshole, cold and remorseless and always obsessed with time. As they strolled past a cemetery, he abruptly stopped Garfield, and thrust his face right up against his old buddy’s.
“Listen,” he said, imploring Garfield. “Please listen to me. You need to go to university and get your journalism degree. It’s what you were born to do.”
Garfield demurred. “University just isn’t for me. I can’t imagine myself sitting in a class room for four more years.”
Under his breath Max mumbled, “You did before.”
“What do you mean, ‘before’?”
Max sighed. “I just have a feeling if I had stayed here in Vancouver, we’d be going to school together.”
“You’re the one who left, Max! Even if you’d stayed, I doubt very much I’d have gone to school.”
“You’re wrong. I know.”
“You know?”
Max chose not to say anything. They kept walking. Garfield turned his face up to the sun, and closed his eyes.
“Please?” Max asked. “Will you re-consider?”
“I’ll think about it.”
You had three years to think about it and you’re still doing odd jobs. You’re nowhere near reaching your true destiny.
“You still friends with Nathan?” Garfield said after a long moment of silence. Max could still hear the remnants of disdain in Garfield’s voice despite the laser-like severing of any verbal cues.
“Still am.” Max had still kept Nathan’s secret. He would honor Nathan’s wishes to let him come “out of the closet” at a time of his choosing.
“You’re full of shit,” Garfield said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Dude, everyone I knew in high school hated him.”
“That’s not true. He had tons of friends.”
“Yeah, but they all hated him too.” He barely managed to repress an oncoming chuckle.
“You’re impossible, Garfield.”
“And usually right.”
Max stared at Garfield. Lately, Garfield had stopped shaving regularly, and was sporting a stubble beard.
“How’s your money holding up?” Max asked discreetly.
“Never better! I told you I won a ton last week.”
“But you have debts.”
“I paid off most of them. There’s another poker tournament at the end of the month. I’m psyched to win big.”
Max said nothing.
“Besides,” Garfield added, “I’m still making good bucks from doing repo. My dad says maybe we can do business together.”
When they reached the beach Garfield kicked his sandals off and dug his toes into the soft hot sand. Max kept his shoes on. He watched the glimmering heat waves dance across the surface of the water.
“Ah,” Garfield sighed happily, wiggling his toes, “the vast openness of the ocean!” He threw his arms wide, and breathed in the ocean smell. “I don’t understand why you don’t visit more often, or why you’re not moving back.”
“I lived in Vancouver for years. I’m sick of it.”
“Oh, come on,” Garfield urged, “you moved out right after high school. Vancouver can’t be that bad. It’s still the center of the universe.”
“I’m just sick of it, that’s all.” Max was revolted by everything. The only things he enjoyed were meeting new people and going to new places. Anything that didn’t remind him of Life I.
“Okay,” Garfield said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, do you want to come over and play cards tonight? Stan knows you’re in town and wants you to come play poker.”
That’s exactly the last thing I want to do. Enough of Life I.
“Uh, hey, no thanks, Garfield. My parents want to see me before I fly back to Calgary.”
Without looking, Garfield asked, “Do you still hear from Abby?”
Max cocked his head and smiled. It had been months since Abby darkened his imagination. Replaying and recasting the past with Abby only caused a throbbing migraine to start hammering away inside Max’s brain.
“Garfield, why are you so interested in Abby?”
Garfield shrugged. “I think it’s beautiful that a guy and a girl on opposite ends of the country can write to each other every month.” He looked at the ocean again. “I wish I had a girl willing to do that for me.”
“Yeah,” Max answered, “she wrote a letter to me. Once. She wished me well and said she was thrilled with her graduation from the University of Guelph. Said she got a job right away at the University of Toronto Sports Injury Clinic and was excited about her move to the big city.”
“Did she say anything about a boyfriend?”
“Oh yeah, she tells me everything. Said she and Tim broke up because she’s moving to Toronto and he’s staying on for his Master’s degree.”
“I thought it was Rob?” Garfield asked.
“That was before. Rob didn’t work out. Tim’s an old friend of hers.”
“Hmm. Bummer. Aren’t you going to try to date her?”
“Nope,” Max replied firmly.
“But you’ve kept writing to her.”
“She’s important to me. But she’s not part of my future.”
“Wow,” Garfield said admiringly, “A guy who’s interested in a chick without the sex. My friend is all grown up.”
“Oh,” Max groaned, “I’m very mature.”
“Mr. Future Doctor,” Garfield called out. “Oh cure me, doc!”
“C’mon, man. Cut it out.”
“Ack! I’m sick, doc! Hellllpp!” Garfield dramatically waved his hands around, still kneeling. He then twisted around back and forth, and collapsed in a crash-landing on the sand.
“Right,” Max nodded, allowing himself to giggle.
Two children laughed behind Max. He turned around. They were a boy and girl, both appearing to be no more than eight years old. Max noticed them pointing at Garfield and holding in their stomachs to keep from laughing, then waving their arms around and... Wait a minute! They were signing! The kids were deaf! Or maybe they’re the children of deaf parents. Max scanned the beach and noticed a father beckoning to the children, to come back to him.
Max walked up to the man and using his hands signed: Are you deaf?
The man gave an expression of mild surprise at seeing Max sign. He answered, Yes.
Excited, Max signed back. Are these your children?
Yes, the man signed. My son is seven and my daughter is five.
A smile flashed across Max’s face. Are they deaf too?
No, but they sign pretty well, right?
Very impressive, Max signed back.
Max smiled and waved goodbye to the deaf man and his children, and returned to Garfield.
“How did you do that?” asked Garfield.
“What?”
Garfield waved his hands wildly around.
“Oh, that. It was sign language.”
“I know, but when did you learn to do that?”
Max froze. He realized Garfield had never seen him use sign language, had never even heard him talk about it, until his daughter Angela was born and diagnosed deaf. And that, at this corresponding stage in Life II, wouldn’t happen for another ten years.
“Uh,” Max thought quickly, “I, you know, took a course in Calgary.”
“Cool. Why?”
“Uh, well…” Think fast, Max. “…as a doctor, uh, I may have deaf patients in the future. So I’m getting ready now.”
Phew. Made sense. I hope.
Garfield shrugged, and changed the subject. “So, about cards tonight, you’re definitely not coming?”
�
�Nope.”
“Too much of a big shot to play cards,” Garfield said with a smirk. “Or pool. We could play in the pool hall close to my place. Just like the old days at The Big Q. We still have a few hours left, and it’s just the two of us. What do you say?”
Max thought it over. He squinted at his old friend. Garfield had been acting weird—talking about Abby and cards and pool. Didn’t Garfield know he’d given up on Abby? Yet here he was, bringing her name up again, acting like he’d forgotten they’d had this conversation about Abby a dozen times.
Garfield, what the hell are you up to?
Chapter Thirty-Two
September 2, 1992 at 6:09 p.m.
A few hours later, Max was at his old house, sitting down to a home-cooked dinner.
His mother hugged him tight. “My son, the new doctor!” Max had modestly brushed it off, saying, “Come on, Mom, I still have to finish medical school first.”
He sat opposite his mom and dad and watched them eat. It looked like there was an ugly bruise under his mother’s right eye, and he understood now why she sat with that side of her head facing away from him. Eventually, Max asked, “Hey, any word from Jenny?”
His parents fell silent. They swapped uneasy glances with each other.
“Jenny’s fine,” His mom asserted. She thought for a moment and smiled. “I have news for you, Max.”
“Yeah?”
“Last month, while you were in Thailand, I visited with her.”
“You visited with Jenny?” Max jumped in. “How’s the baby?”
“I’m going to say the same thing every grandmother says. The baby is beautiful.”
Max nodded, remembering Sarah as an eleven-year-old in Life I—the last time he’d seen her.
She’s a baby now and I already know what she’d look like when she grows up. Max sighed, turning his gaze on his father.
“You should go visit her, Max,” his mom said.
“I will, Mom,” Max replied, still not quite sure he would.
His dad looked on, not saying anything. The three sat in silence, until Max’s mom and dad eagerly peppered him with more questions about medical school.
An hour later, Max was sitting on his bed, looking around the room. His mother had insisted on keeping it the same. Same posters on the walls. Same bedsheets. Even the same Playboy magazines stuffed under the bed—probably still undiscovered. Max couldn’t help but wonder if the real reason for his mother keeping his bedroom the same was so that she could have some semblance that he was still around.
Max’s father walked in and sat down beside Max. He sighed. “Max, your mother misses you terribly.”
“I know.”
“I miss you too, buddy. We’re just so happy for you that you’re doing so well at school.”
“Thanks, Dad. I am.”
“That Nathan seems to have a strong head on his shoulders. I wish I’d had a buddy like that when I went through college.”
Max opened his mouth to say something, but just smiled. “Be careful what you wish for.”
His dad chuckled. “I think I know what you mean.” He paused. “Max, about your mom’s visit with Jenny...”
“Yes?”
“It didn’t go well.”
“Tell me.”
“Your mom felt so guilty not visiting Jenny when her Sarah was born. She was all torn up about it. Jenny was in the hospital, saying, ‘Where’s Mom?’ I told your mom all about it. But she held off. Then, last month, one of her friends became a grandmother for the first time, and she talked on and on about the baby, and your mom just felt so bad about not being able to talk about a baby she hadn’t seen yet. So she just showed up at Jenny’s in Kamloops.”
“Without telling Jenny?”
“Yep.”
“Oh boy.”
“I thought she’d phoned her, but I was wrong. Turns out, Len’s parents were staying there for the weekend.”
“Yipes.”
“Mom said she was going to stay at a hotel anyway. But it was very embarrassing for her.”
“Ouch.” Max hung his head. “She never liked Len or his parents.”
“Not really. And now she’s torn. She’s still upset at Jenny about the argument they had when Jenny left. She feels she’s much too young to be a mother—not that anything can be done about that now. Your mom was closer to thirty when she had Jenny, and she thinks that’s a good age to be responsible for a baby.”
Max looked at his father doubtfully. He recalled how he’d tried to change history and warn Jenny about this. In Life I, he didn’t even have a chance to warn her. In Life II, he tried and what happened? Jenny left anyway—which was one of Max’s greatest heartaches so far in Life II.
“Your mom was so proud of Jenny’s performance in school,” his dad continued. “Just like she’s proud of yours.” He glanced away, and Max could tell there were tears welling up in his eyes. “But you see where I’m going with this, Max.”
“Yes.”
“Your mom strongly feels that Len has screwed up—um, I mean changed what could’ve been in Jenny’s life.”
“Like Len shouldn’t even have existed.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, it’s true. Len shouldn’t have existed.”
“Max. You can’t blame Len.”
“Listen,” Max said, agitated. “Let’s suppose Len was never born.” Seeing the shocked look in his father’s eyes, and quickly realizing that sounded too nasty, Max tried again. “Or let’s say Len lived in a different neighborhood. Don’t you think Jenny would have achieved her potential?”
“Look Max,” his father said, forcing a smile, “all I care about is whether or not your sister is happy.”
“She’s not.”
“Max…”
“I’m sure she’s not.”
“Max, come on! Although she did confess to me—when I visited one time—about being bored in Kamloops and missing her old friends. She said not many of them visit and they don’t keep in touch.”
“There you go.”
“At the same time, she doesn’t seem unhappy. She’s still in love with Len, and talked about getting married now that they have Sarah.”
Max thought about the young girl who could supposedly do anything. He put his hands on his dad’s shoulders, and dared himself to ask, “Dad, how does it feel to be a new grandfather?”
His dad thought for a moment, unsmiling. “It’s weird, you know. It’s your baby’s baby. Only your own baby isn’t a baby anymore.” He chuckled. “I guess the best way to answer is: you’re my son, and you’ll always be my son. It’s your life, but I see you through my eyes as your father. And with Jenny, I see the love in her eyes when she holds Sarah. I see that she’ll do anything for her. And to me, as a grandfather, that’s all I need to know.”
Max’s eyes misted. “I’d love to hear what you have to say when I have a baby someday.”
“I’m looking forward to that day, Max,” his father said as he chuckled, then placed a strong, reassuring grip on Max’s shoulder.
“I think you should go see Jenny,” his father reminded him. “Family is always worth forgiving.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive yet. I’m more selfish than you are.”
His dad nodded, and then gave him another pat on the shoulder. “You’re not selfish, Max. You’re just hurt. But there comes a time when you have to let go of the past,” he said as he walked out of the room.
That’s the problem. I can’t.
Chapter Thirty-Three
February 11, 1993 at 7:38 p.m.
Nearly five months had passed, as Max sat on his parents’ sofa in his student apartment and composed a letter to Abby. She was living in Toronto and Max thought he’d amuse her with his first experience at medical school of a dissecting a human cadaver.
It’s just so weird to see a real “live” dead person, Max wrote, beginning to chuckle already—an honest-to-goodness dead person—lying there in front of you, in a cold-as-h
ell room, on a cold-as-hell metal gurney, totally buck naked, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Holeee shit! Max giggled, the memory making him smile. And then my professor—Professor Deerborn—just steps up like he’s working at the local butcher shop, and starts slicing and dicing into the guy’s scalp, and pulling out the brain matter. I half expected the dead guy to snap back to life and snatch the professor’s knife, and stab him in the heart! Just like a freakin’ horror movie!
Max sat back with the pen between his teeth a moment. Grinning, he thought of Abby, and the first time he’d seen her in Life II. As he remembered Abby gliding through the twinkling snow, he stared off into space, while his hand doodled a little smiley face on the page. Catching himself, Max crossed out the dopey-looking face with big X’s, and continued writing, his mood suddenly darkening:
Anyway, I’ve got some bad news. My father called me last night to say that my mom just told him she wants a divorce. Apparently she’s been talking to a lawyer for a year now. Dad says the divorce papers should be ready next week. Next week! Can you believe it?! That’s my mom for you—always way too organized.
Max laid down the pen, and closed his eyes. His eyes felt watery, like they were floating around in his eye sockets—the funny thing was, he blamed his parents’ divorce on himself now. Even though everything had started so well here in Life II, he’d obviously failed. Maybe if he had been smarter, or showed up earlier in Life II. But it didn’t matter now, as his imagination conjured up visions of the house he’d grown up in and realized it would soon be empty.
Max picked up the pen, and started writing again:
You do everything in your power to prevent a divorce. You think, with the benefit of hindsight, you can show them that divorce isn’t the answer. But it just doesn’t work that way. The way people fall in and out of love is really something you have no control over.
Max sighed and stopped writing. He felt his head was ready to explode. He recalled in Life I that his parents had divorced in the fall of 1989—which month was it?—aw hell, he couldn’t remember. But they’d definitely divorced after he started his first year of university. He remembered that by Christmas of 1989, his family home had been sold and he’d juggled spending holidays between two different households. Which was an absolute bummer.
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