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Middle Falls Time Travel Series, Books 4-6 (Middle Falls Time Travel Boxed Sets Book 2)

Page 32

by Shawn Inmon


  “So,” Veronica said, her excitement building, “if we were to sell your house and car, what would we have?”

  “A homeless, unemployed bum?”

  The doorbell rang and Veronica said, “Hold that thought.” She jumped up, grabbed the bowl of candy and opened the door to a young boy dressed as a hippy. He was wearing striped bell bottoms, a leather vest, and what looked like his mother’s wig. He flashed Veronica a peace sign and said, “Trick or treat, man.”

  Veronica chuckled and dropped a Tootsie Roll into his bag.

  “I don’t want to hold onto the thought of being a broke, unemployed, homeless person, you know.”

  Veronica sat down on the couch again and spread her hands in front of her as though she was sharing a magical vision of the future. “Think about this. You quit your job and sell your house, so you’ve got a little change in your pocket. My divorce is final and my house is sold, too, so I’m in the same boat.”

  “Homeless and unemployed?”

  “Hush. No, footloose and fancy free. I think what we need is a break. You don’t have to sell your house, of course. We could shut it up tight for a while. The grass doesn’t grow in the wintertime, so you wouldn’t have to worry about that. You could park your car in the garage, and everything would be good. This isn’t some crazy, spur of the moment adventure.” Veronica stopped, considered, then said, “Okay, maybe it is, but hear me out.”

  Another knock at the door, another candy delivery, this time to a tiny girl dressed like a fairy.

  “I’m lucky to have more money than I need right at the moment. Not enough to never have to work again, but enough to not worry about it for a good long while. I want to get away. No. Wait. I need to get away. But, it will be absolutely zero fun to do that all by myself. So, I want you to come with me. The whole trip will be on me. I’ll pay for our airplane tickets, our hotel, and as much booze as you want.”

  “Which would be zero. I haven’t drunk alcohol since I threw up after drinking too much Boone’s Farm in eighth grade.” She shuddered at the thought of it.

  “And that’s fine, too. But think about it.” She once again waved her hands like a magician conjuring a magic image. “Sun, sand, a cold, perfectly non-alcoholic drink sitting on the table beside us. We’re slathered in suntan lotion and every good-looking guy in the area is checking us out.”

  The look on Ruthie’s face said, Well, maybe checking you out, but not me.

  “C’mon, Ruthie. Don’t make me beg. Yes, we could do the sensible thing and wait until school is out. But, wouldn’t it be fun to blow back into Middle Falls in the middle of winter and show off our tans?”

  “I don’t think I could sell the house—” Ruthie started to say, but was drowned out by Veronica’s happy squeal.

  “Yes! I knew I could be a good saleswoman if I put my mind to it!” She hugged Ruthie happily, and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go pack your bags!”

  THINGS ARE NEVER QUITE that easy. Ruthie, who had been one of the lunch cooks in the Middle Falls Elementary kitchen for twenty years, didn’t want to leave them in the lurch. When she told them she wanted to quit, they asked if she would give them until the Christmas break to find someone else, which she did.

  In any case, as easy as Veronica made it sound to “shut the house up tight,” the reality was it took a little planning. Ruthie made sure she had all her winterizing done. She didn’t want to come home to burst pipes and soggy carpets.

  Also, Veronica couldn’t imagine telling her mother she was going to be gone over Thanksgiving and Christmas. Barb had been married for more than a decade, and she and her husband had two children. Johnny had been out of the service and living back in Middle Falls for longer than that. The holidays were a festive, fun time at the McAllister home, and Veronica didn’t want to miss that. She made sure Ruthie was invited to every family meal and gathering. She knew there was nothing sadder than eating a can of cold pork ‘n beans and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade all alone.

  By December 26th, though, all the loose ends had been tied up into bows, the tickets had been bought, and reservations made. Veronica and Ruthie hitched a ride to Portland with Doris. She always looked for an excuse to hit all the after-Christmas fifty percent off sales at Lloyd Center Mall anyway.

  The three of them spent the day after Christmas hunting down bargains. Few things in life made Doris happier than finding Christmas decorations at half price, even if she wouldn’t be able to use them for almost a year. They spent the night at a noisy hotel near the Portland International Airport. While being close to the airport made catching their plane the next day easy, it wasn’t conducive to getting a restful night’s sleep, thanks to the planes constantly overhead and the amorous couple in the room next door. The next morning, Doris dressed up in a warm sweater, coat, and gloves. Veronica and Ruthie put on bright sundresses, wide-brimmed hats, and sunglasses in anticipation of their flight to Acapulco, Mexico.

  At the airport, Doris walked them to the gate, which a person could still do in 1979, an era unaffected by shoe bombs and planes flying into buildings. At the gate, Doris hugged both women and watched them walk toward the ramp to the plane. Just before they disappeared, Doris called out, “Ronnie! Ronnie!”

  Veronica had to fight her way back upstream to her mother who stood, embarrassed and clutching her purse. “What, Mom?”

  “Nothing. I’m being silly. For a minute, I wanted to get on that plane and come with you.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? You definitely deserves a getaway. “That’s not silly at all. I’d love that. We’ll plan that trip as soon as we get back from this one.”

  “That would be wonderful. Okay, foolishness over.” Doris smiled, made a shooing gesture at Veronica. “Go on now, Ruthie is waiting for you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Acapulco was the trendy destination for jet setters from JFK to Elizabeth Taylor from the mid-fifties through the late sixties. By the week before New Year’s Eve, 1979, the bloom was off that rose for most of the world. But, word of kidnappings, murder and a soaring crime rate had not reached small towns in western Oregon, yet.

  Veronica and Ruthie didn’t have a care in the world about being in the right place to see and be seen. They just wanted to find warm sandy beaches, work on their tans, and maybe dance at a discotheque. They craved a carefree, responsibility-free life for a few weeks. Then, they could head home to winter and the blank slate staring them both in the face.

  They didn’t touch down in Acapulco until after dark. That meant they couldn’t see the promised ocean view from their balcony, but the sound of the surf softly crashing on the shore promised it was there.

  Veronica twirled around in the middle of their room. “I swear, I could get used to living like this.”

  Ruthie opened the cupboards of the small kitchen attached to the living room, and said, “Hey, looks like we’ve got everything we need here.”

  “Ruthie, Ruthie, Ruthie, if you are thinking we are going to be cooking while we’re here, you are out of your ever-lovin’ mind. This is a vacation! We can pick up some fruits down at the Farmer’s Market, but we are here to indulge. If I don’t gain at least ten pounds while I’m here, I’ll know I’ve done something wrong.”

  “I feel like I’m sponging off you,” Ruthie said, walking into the living room.

  “Let’s reverse this. Let’s say you had a bunch of extra money piled up in your savings account, and I was broke. What would you do? Go off to sunny Acapulco all by yourself?”

  “No, you know I wouldn’t.”

  Veronica took three quick steps toward Ruthie, threw her arms around her, and said, “Relax, my young friend.”

  “Stop it. You’re three weeks older than me.”

  “As I was saying, my young friend, this is the time for us to live! So, what do you want to do first tomorrow? And, if you say, ‘Go to the market,’ I’m gonna haul you down to the beach in the pitch black and throw you in the Pacific Ocean.�
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  “Lay out?”

  “Yes! Lay out. Then, find someplace for a decadent lunch, order a drink with a silly umbrella in it for me, and look for cute men to ogle. Deal?”

  “I love you, Ronnie,” she said, laying her head against Veronica’s shoulder. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without you.”

  “You are much stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Veronica said, kissing the top of her head. “Now, I’m off to get my beauty sleep, because that flight did me in.”

  VERONICA AND RUTHIE both slept in much later than they had intended, and woke only when the sun rose high enough to slant through both their bedroom windows.

  “No way am I sleeping my whole vacation away,” Veronica said. “Or, at least if I do, I want it to be while water is lapping at my toes. Come on, I’ll buy you a virgin Bloody Mary, and we can count the celery as breakfast.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were in chaise lounges in front of their hotel. The promised Bloody Marys sat chilling on the small table between them.

  Ruthie had a natural olive complexion, so she slathered herself in baby oil. Veronica, with her red hair and pale complexion, opted for the SPF 36. Still, after only an hour in the sun, Veronica was the first to feel the tingle of sunburn.

  She lazily turned her head to Ruthie and said, “This trip will turn me into one giant freckle. I am perfectly fine with that. Freckles are cute, right?” She dropped her oversized sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and looked Ruthie over from head to toe. “I think I hate you. You’re already tan.”

  “It’s the luck of the genetic draw, Ms. McAllister,” she said, putting the emphasis on the ‘mac’ in her name.

  Not used to that, yet. I’d been a Coleman for so long, but it didn’t seem right to keep it after the divorce. Not in Middle Falls, where that’s like being named Kennedy.

  “Hey, what are you saying, that we Scottish girls can’t tan?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Ruthie said, undoing the strap on her top and rolling over onto her stomach with an “oof.”

  “I’m going to take a dip and cool off, then maybe we can hike up to where the cliff divers are?”

  “Muscular guys in swimsuits performing feats of derring-do? Yes, please.”

  Veronica waded out into the blue water of the small lagoon in front of them, then shouted over her shoulder. “Oh, my God, Ruthie! Come in with me. It’s like bath water!” She turned onto her back and kicked out from the shore. “I don’t think two weeks is going to be enough,” she yelled and turned to swim back. She picked up a towel back at her chaise and rubbed her hair. Ruthie seemed lost in her sun worship.

  Veronica nudged her. “Come on, Miss-I-tan-don’t-burn. Let’s go slip a sundress or shorts on and walk over to the cliff divers. Miguel at the front desk said they’ll be diving this afternoon.”

  “Okay, okay. Whatever happened to laying around all day and doing nothing?”

  “That’s on the agenda for tomorrow, I promise. I’ve just got all this energy today!”

  Ruthie reluctantly rolled off the chaise lounge, took one last sip of her Bloody Mary, and followed Veronica back up the path to the hotel entrance.

  They walked into the dim interior and were crossing the lobby toward the elevator, when they heard the man at the front desk say, “Miss McAllister. Miss McAllister!”

  “I don’t think Ms. has caught on in southern Mexico yet,” Veronica whispered to Ruthie. “Yes?” she said, walking toward the front desk.

  “There’s a message for you. The man said it was urgent, but I didn’t know where you had gone.”

  About 100 feet outside the front door. Thank God our lives didn’t depend on your tracking ability.

  Veronica reached for the note, which only had two words on it: Call home.

  She hurried back to Ruthie, standing at the elevator, just as the doors opened. They stepped inside and pushed their floor number. Veronica unfolded the paper and, grim-faced, showed it to Ruthie.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Ruthie said, but Veronica could tell she didn’t believe that. It was just something empty you say when you have no idea what else to say.

  They hurried to their room and were flummoxed by how to make an international call. Eventually, Veronica called the front desk and asked him to connect the call and charge it to her room. Each second of delay in making the call stretched out, until Veronica’s nerves were stretched taut with worry.

  Is there any reason Mom or Dad would call me here that isn’t horrible? Why can’t I think of one?

  Finally, she heard a far-distant ringing. After three rings, her brother Johnny’s voice answered.

  “Johnny? Why are you at the house?”

  “You need to come home, Ronnie. Mom and Dad are gone.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Flying on the red-eye flight to Portland that night, Veronica and Ruthie didn’t speak. Ruthie held Veronica’s hand and squeezed it from time to time, but there was nothing else she could do.

  Other information, unimportant details in the grand scheme of things, had followed those initial two sentences that changed this life for Veronica.

  You need to come home, Ronnie. Mom and Dad are gone.

  Johnny hadn’t told her many other details, just enough. A surprise weekend getaway. Slick roads. A horrible accident.

  Mom and Dad are gone.

  This isn’t the way this life was supposed to turn out. I know things are different in each life, but no one has died when they’re not supposed to.

  Her mind pulled her inevitably to a mental image of her father’s Cadillac, spinning out of control, going through a guardrail and plunging down an embankment, then slamming into a tree with incredible violence. Veronica did her best to push the image from her mind, but like a tongue seeking out a sore tooth, she kept returning to it again and again.

  WITH RUTHIE, BARBARA, and Johnny to lean on, Veronica made it through the next few weeks. Barbara had inherited her mother’s knack for organization, and took the lead on handling the near-endless arrangements.

  The funeral was almost more than Veronica could bear. The church was filled, and the sight of the two white coffins, lined up side by side, tore at her heart. Time and again, she thought of Doris running up to her, calling her name as she boarded the plane to Mexico. Had she known, somehow? She couldn’t reconcile how her parents, so alive and vibrant in her mind, were in those two boxes.

  But of course, they aren’t. They’re gone on somewhere, too. Are they back in their youth somewhere, trying to figure out how to make Johnny, Barbara, and me happen again?

  Once they got through the ceremonies that accompany death in America, the three siblings agreed that since Veronica was effectively homeless at the moment, she should stay in the family house while they prepared it for sale. As dear as it was to all of them, Barbara and her husband already had a home they loved. Johnny couldn’t imagine living in such a large house as a perpetual bachelor, and Veronica couldn’t stand the thought of living with so many memories, but none of the people who made them.

  Veronica had a few arrangements of her own to make, then she had decided to spin the wheel again. How many lives does it take to get something right? I thought Danny and I together would be the answer. The only answer was, it was a little better than my life with Christopher. But, there’s got to be something more than that. I wanted to get away and think, and plan. Did that cause both Mom and Dad to die somehow? Did Dad know that Mom wanted to get away, and that’s what made them take that unplanned trip? They weren’t supposed to die for a long time. I thought I had more time with them. And, I guess I do, if I just start over again. I’ve got things to do, first, though. I have no idea what happens to these worlds I leave behind, but I want to do what I can.

  A week after the funeral, when everyone had gone back to their own homes, their own lives, Veronica kept an appointment with an attorney who specialized in family planning. It was a fast and simple meeting—she w
anted him to draw up a will that would leave everything to Ruthie in the event of her death. It wasn’t a fortune, but as frugal as Ruthie was, Veronica knew it would make a long and lasting difference in her life.

  Her meeting with the attorney lasted fifteen minutes. He told Veronica it would take him a few days to draw the paperwork up for her to sign. That gave her those days to wander around Middle Falls and plan out what she would do if it all happened to her again.

  In the course of this wandering, she stopped by the Middle Falls Library. If she had a few days to kill, she knew she would need a few more books to get her through.

  This is one of the problems with living the same years over and over. I’ll never see any new books published—only ones I missed the lives before. I’m going to have to expand my horizons, pick up some new genres.

  She walked through the wide double doors of the library and inhaled that unmistakable smell of a building filled with books. Libraries of the era were still depositories for books—they hadn’t evolved into row after row of computers, with people making travel plans, checking their Facebook, or looking for jobs. It was just books, magazines, and newspapers, and Veronica loved it.

  There was a series of meeting rooms off the main hallway where book clubs or civic groups could meet. Outside one open door was a handmade sign. Across the top of the sign, it read: Do you remember these?

  Below that were hand-rendered ink drawings of some unmistakable corporate logos—Google, Starbucks, Amazon, and Apple.

  Veronica actually took two steps past the sign, not thinking anything of it, then stopped cold. The incongruity of the images cut through the fog of grief and snapped her to attention.

  Wait. Hold on. None of those things will exist for decades yet. How am I seeing this?

  Slowly, she approached the open door. Inside the meeting room, a young man of maybe twenty, with longish, shaggy hair sat behind a table, reading a book. He was alone in the room. He was turned sideways, so she could only see the right side of his face.

 

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