The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 3): Lost Time

by White, Samuel Ben

  "Huh?" was all Jason could manage. Just seeing her face and hearing her voice was more than he could stand. What she was saying was just barely sinking in. It was like listening to the voice of someone who's head is under water.

  She was looking him over and said, "Listen. I was stoned out of my mind most of the time when I was hooking it with you military boys. But I'm sober now and he don't know nothing about my past and it's all over, you hear me? I'm begging you, mister, please don't tell him." She had sounded plaintive up until then, but she motioned over his shoulder toward the car bay and said somewhat forcefully, "If you don't tell him about what I did with you, I won't tell that pretty little thing over there that you used to pay for sex and I was one of your weekend flings. Got it?"

  "I'm really sorry," Jason finally managed. "I thought you were someone else."

  "That's better," she nodded triumphantly.

  "I mean it. I've never met you before. You just looked a whole lot like someone I knew in college. Now that I see you closer, you um, you don't look so much like her."

  Realizing he might be on the level, she sighed, then asked with an edge of fright, "You won't tell him?"

  "Not for all the money in the world." He walked, as steadily as he could, away from the car and back to the bay. He waved at Lanny and walked inside, then collapsed onto a bench.

  Bronwyn came over hurriedly and asked, "Are you all right? What happened? Are you feeling sick like I was at lunch?"

  "Not exactly," he mumbled, his head in his hands.

  "Then what? What's wrong, Jason?"

  "That was Susan," he said, pointing to where the car had been.

  "Susan? She's alive?"

  He nodded. He finally said, "But it wasn't her. I mean it was. That was Susan. She looked exactly the same and she sounded exactly the same, but it wasn't her. Oh, it was so hard to see her again!" He finally looked up and said, "I don't know which is worse: to see her again and know she's alive, or to know she's so different."

  "Different? How?" Bronwyn was not very happy to know that the love of Jason's life was alive. She knew she ought to be happy for him, but she was sad for herself. It just didn't seem like there was any way it could be good news. So much for being alone in this place with him, she grumbled inwardly.

  "For one thing, she didn't recognize me. When I called her by name, she—she thought I was someone she used to sleep with sometime back. She used to be a prostitute, Bronwyn. She sold her body for money. She thought I must have been someone she slept with while drunk because she didn’t remember me.

  "It's just so impossible. Susan, my Susan, was so pure and good and Christian. Neither of us had ever been with anyone else. Never would have been with anyone else before marriage. That's the way things were as sure as Enchanted Rock is . . . a big immovable rock." He looked up at the ceiling and asked, "So how does whatever it was that changed the world keep her from getting cancer but somehow turn her into a . . . a slut?"

  "You do good work, Jason," Ernie Pike said as he handed over a day's wages. "Connie swung by here while you was in the head and he said that Dodge of his hasn't run that good in a long time."

  "It needed a good tune-up—and probably had for some time." Jason looked at the money and asked, "What's this? This is more than we agreed on."

  "Well, call it a starting bonus," Ernie smiled. "I know what it's like getting started and I figured you might could use it. 'Specially considering I haven't seen any sign of luggage from either of you." Ernie looked at his watch and said, "Hassen's is open for another half hour. Didn't I hear your wife say she was going to walk around downtown? Why don't you run down there and find her and you two go get some possibles and whatnot."

  "We are fresh out of whatnot," Kerrigan smiled. "Thanks a lot though, Ernie. I'll work for this."

  "Mrs. Klines," Bronwyn said, "This is my—husband, Jason."

  "How do you do?" Rosemarie Klines said, extending a hand.

  Jason had found Bronwyn in the laundry, putting in what couldn't exactly be called overtime, considering she hadn't started yet. Jason smiled at Mrs. Klines and told her, "It's a pleasure to meet you." Looking embarrassed, he added, "I know this is Bronwyn's first day—and I promise I won't do this again—but I was wondering if I could borrow my wife for a few minutes. We need to go get some things over at Hassens and, well, I'd rather she pick out the things for herself, you know."

  "Oh, sure," Mrs. Klines smiled. To Bronwyn, she said, "You're just working on volunteer time, anyway."

  Outside, Jason asked, "Does she ever go home? She's been here since seven, hasn't she?"

  "I think that's just during training—and because she's by herself. Couple days to get caught up and I would imagine she'll leave when the shop's supposed to close at three."

  "Think you'll like it?"

  Bronwyn hesitated, then said, "Like it may be a strong word. I'm willing to do it for as long as I have to but I hope it won't be that long."

  "It shouldn't be. A physicist shouldn't have too much trouble finding work."

  She stopped and put a hand on his arm and said, "I thought of that."

  He looked at her, puzzled, and queried, "So what's the problem?"

  "I have a degree from a university that doesn't remember me attending it. What's more, from what I can gather there aren't a lot of women scientists in this world. You might could hire on with a highway crew or something and speed through the ranks with your knowledge, but there aren't any state physics crews out there—and if they were they wouldn't take an unknown woman into their group."

  "You could go back to college."

  "Another four years just to get a degree I already have?" she asked skeptically. She started walking, saying, "I don't want to work a laundry for the rest of my life but the things I do want to do may not be available to me."

  "Hey," he said, taking her hand as they walked across the square, "A whole lot about this is uncertain. Let's not start worrying about things that we don't know about until we find out whether there's actually a problem or not. Who knows, maybe in this world there is some sort of physics outfit you could catch on with."

  "You're right. I think this whole thing's just bringing out all the worry in me."

  "That's not surprising." As they got to the door to Hassen's, he said, "Can I make a suggestion, though?"

  "What's that?"

  He smiled and said, "Try not to hesitate every time you say I'm your husband."

  She didn't have the nerve to tell him that part of her hesitation was borne out of the fact that she harbored a secret hope that one day it wouldn't be a game of pretend.

  As they walked away from Hassens holding hands and carrying bags with a few supplies, Bronwyn said, "Um, Brick Street's over this way."

  Jason didn't say anything at first, but kept walking. Bronwyn finally asked, "Where are we going, Jason?" He had a very determined look on his face that was almost scary. No, she thought. It's not that his look is scary, it's that he's scared. She held a little tighter to his hand and was a little surprised that he didn't seem to mind.

  "Some place I hoped to never see again," he finally answered cryptically.

  He took her to the south edge of town, within sight of the highway to Stamford. It looked like they were just about to head off into the prairie for a moment, but then Bronwyn realized they had a more specific destination. "The cemetery?" she asked softly.

  All he could manage was a nod of the head. But then, as they got to the gate, he stopped cold. He was cold. It was a warm summer evening, they were both sweating from the day, but he was cold. He didn't want to take another step, but he had to. He had to find out. Holding tighter to her hand, almost as if he needed it as a lifeline to keep him from just drifting off into space, he took a deep breath and crossed into the cemetery.

  Walking quickly but somewhat unsteadily, he led her over to the southwest corner of the graveyard. Past rows and rows of markers—some, Bronwyn noticed, with fairly recent markers and references to a soldier's
life. These, she guessed, were local boys who had died in World War II. To think it had been over for two years to these people and she had just been fighting in it days before, she mused ironically.

  He came to an empty spot and looked around. Letting go of her hand, he quickly scanned the names on several of the nearby tombstones. He finally said, a strange tone to his voice, "They're not here."

  "Who?" Bronwyn asked. She was a little cold herself, now. She didn't like cemeteries, even if she didn't known anyone in them. And this one was so bleak, out on the prairie as it was. Only a few trees were to be seen, and most of them were pretty scraggly. The place where they had buried her grandfather had been covered with big trees, and almost overrun with roses. There were roses here, but most of them had been baked by the hot west Texas sun and blown by the wind and looked like skeletons of flowers.

  "Everybody," Jason answered at first. Then he came over to Bronwyn and, putting his hands on his hips, looked around. He said, "They're not here. My parents. Susan. Old Man Lawrence that used to run the soda shop. He was buried right next to my parents. Had one of those double tombstones but half of it wasn't filled out because his wife was still alive. None of them are here."

  "Sure you're in the right spot?"

  "Pretty sure." He looked at her as if for the first time and asked, "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah. I just don't like these places."

  "Who does? Are you up to—or I can do it myself—but, well, just a quick look through this whole place? I want to see if my Susan is here. Or my parents. I don't think they are, but—"

  "Kerrigan, right?" she said, unnecessarily, walking away. "I'll work from here back to the gate, you take it from here and over towards the highway."

  "Yeah. Ted and Laverne were my parents' names."

  He caught up with her close to the gate and asked, "Any luck?"

  "Depends on your definition of luck," she quipped, just glad to be leaving the boneyard. As she had walked through, looking at the tombstones, her euphemisms for the cemetery had become more and more disparaging. She shook her head and said, "I found a Ted Johnson and a Ted Unger, but no Lavernes and only one Kerrigan. Got any relatives you know of named Regina Kerrigan? Born 1876, died 1928?"

  "Not that I know of. Like I say, though: I was never entirely convinced Kerrigan was my father's original name. When did the Ted's you saw die?"

  She thought a moment and said, "One of them was in the 1920s and the other was just about two years ago—he was about nineteen. Probably died in the war."

  "How old was the one that died in the twenties?"

  "Close to ninety. Had a Southern flag on his tombstone."

  "Wrong age. What's a Southern flag?"

  "During Lincoln's presidency the southern states broke away from the United States. There was a civil war. Thousands and thousands killed."

  "You learned all this today?"

  "I was a history major at one time. History's my real love—over physics, anyway," she quickly added, blushing but he didn't know why. "I stopped by the library for a few minutes after I left the King's and just glanced at some children's books."

  "Children's books?" he asked, taking her hand and leading her away from the cemetery.

  "If you just want a quick overview of history, children's books are sometimes the best. I can go back for more detail later. So, did you learn anything? In the cemetery, I mean."

  "No sign of any of them." After a few steps, he said, "I can't decide how I feel about that. I mean, my first reaction was kind of happy because it means my parents aren't buried there. It's kind of happy thinking Susan's not dead, either."

  He didn't see the less than happy look on Bronwyn's face when he said that last part, so he continued on, "But then, I saw Susan today. But that wasn't her. It looked like her and sounded like her and you could have taken a picture of her and told her that was what my Susan would look like at this age and I would have believed you. But that just wasn't her.

  "So where are my parents?" he asked, jumping around in his conversation. "Are they maybe buried out at Paint Creek? Did they ever come here? Did they ever meet? Was I ever born here- -wherever his is."

  "It's Haskell."

  "Is it? I mean, so much of it is. So much is exactly the same. But so much has changed. And you tell me the whole world is different. I don't feel like I know anything anymore." He struggled for words for a moment, then told her, "I saw a few names I recognized. Mostly last names, you know? Families that were here when I grew up. Don't have any idea if the dates were still the same.

  "But I ran into Old Man Lawrence's tombstone. His name and the date were right, but it had a wife listed and said her name was Lorraine and that she died before him. When I knew him—and I'd known him since the first time I came to Haskell, he was married to a woman named Hazel. You know, in some ways, that's scarier than anything else. I don't know why, but little changes are scarier than big ones. It's like a symbol that nothing's the same."

  "So how do you want to do this?" Jason asked nervously as they looked at the full-size bed in their apartment over the King's garage.

  "You know, I never even thought about that when I signed us up for this place. Too bad it doesn't have a king size bed, that would give us more room."

  "I could sleep on the floor."

  "No, I couldn't make you do that. We might be here for a while. I have an idea." She walked over to the closet and pulled out the pile of blankets.

  "It's not that cold," Jason objected.

  She rolled her eyes at him and began to roll the blankets into long tubes and then line them down the middle of the bed. When she had finished, she asked, "How's that?"

  "That will work," he nodded. "Um, uh, I really don't want to sleep in these dungarees so, you mind if I turn off the light to get undressed—to my skivvies, anyway?"

  "Goodnight, Jason."

  Jason awakened to the sound of Bronwyn throwing up in the restroom. He went to the door and said, "Are you all right?"

  "No," she replied curtly between rounds.

  When she finally came out of the restroom, freshly showered and wearing the new dress purchased the evening before, he asked, "Think it's the flu or something?"

  "Could be. Doesn't feel like the flu, though. Really comes over me all of a sudden—like yesterday at lunch. 'Cept then I was just nauseous."

  "Maybe you ought to see the doctor."

  "I think I will," she nodded, then seemed to regret the action. "How are you feeling?"

  "I feel fine. I am hungry, though. Don't suppose you want to come down to the diner with me?"

  "I don't even want to smell the diner." She went over to the door and said, "I'm going to see if Una can recommend a good doctor."

  "Think they're up this early?"

  "I heard Henry get in his car while you were showering, so I'm guessing she's up, too. I'll look for a light before I ask, though. If nothing else, I bet Mrs. Klines can recommend a doctor."

  "Call me at the station. Let me know what you find out. I'd be happy to go to the doctor with you."

  "That won't be necessary," she shook her head as she opened the door. "See you later, Jason." She paused, then smiled back at him, "A young married woman who starts every morning by throwing up? You know what people will think, don't you?"

  He paused, confused, then blushed as he said, "Yeah, see you later."

  "How do you feel right now, Mrs. Kerrigan?" Doctor Clidenss asked.

  It took her a moment to remember that she was Mrs. Kerrigan before she replied, "I feel fine. Feel hungry, in fact."

  "Is there any place on your body that's sore? Any discomfort in your extremities at all?"

  "No. I've just been feeling queezy off and on the last few days. Last couple days, really. This morning was the first time I actually threw up, though. Just all of a sudden and boom! Then it’s gone just as suddenly."

  Doctor Clidens looked into her eyes with a penlight and said, "I'm not finding any obvious reasons for your symptoms, M
rs. Kerrigan. Your pupils are fine."

  "What does that tell you?"

  "Nothing specific now. Your symptoms are a little like someone who's had a concussion. You haven't hit your head on anything recently, have you?" he asked as he felt her scalp for bumps.

  "No. Not that I can remember."

  "Well, I don't feel any bumps or anything. Now, um, when was your last period?"

  "Um, about two weeks ago. Yeah, two weeks ago tomorrow was when I finished, in fact." Suddenly realizing what he was driving at, she said, "I know I'm not pregnant, Doc."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I can't be," she replied shortly. “I know how one gets pregnant and, well, I’m not.”

  "Hmm," he said as he nodded. "Let me go see if Nurse Coleman has those test results back yet."

  Out in the hallway, Doctor Clidens found Nurse Coleman coming towards him. She was a short woman with dark hair, a plumpish figure, and a permanent smile. It had been said more than once that her disposition was as much a part of Clidens's success as anything he did and he had never denied the assertion.

  "What do we have?" he asked as they drew close.

  Willie Coleman shrugged her shoulders and said, "The early results sure show no reason for her sickness. I could have them forwarded on to Abilene for more in-depth study, but her white blood count is normal, her red cells look healthy, and the urinalysis came back all right."

  "Really?"

  "She's not pregnant, if that's what you're thinking."

  He seemed surprised as he said, "Really? I was going to put money on it. Any chance the test is wrong?"

  "If the test is wrong, we need to call the ministerial alliance," Willie replied wryly.

  "You mean she's—?" he asked in shock.