Downtime

by James Allen

  Van and the couple were staring at me bemusedly. I shrugged it off. "Sure. Want to show them how it's done?"

  We weren't exactly cutting edge New York as we waltzed on the sidewalk, but we won a smattering of applause from the crowd that had gathered. A little breathless, Caroline flushed to her brow and patted my arm in a maternal way. "Oh my dear, thank you. I've never met another soul who could dance the waltz minuet like my grandfather, but you have a remarkably good sense of how it's done."

  "I learned it from an old friend," I told her as we went back to the porch.

  "He must have been quite the dancer."

  I didn't like to talk of Ezra in the past tense. I was spared having to by the couple who'd decided to buy the victrola. It was just as well they were, because if they hadn't, I might have bought it myself and turned into even more of a pathetic recluse, locked away in my apartment playing ancient records over and over.

  Maggie showed up and dragged us away to lunch, but I wasn't much company. I couldn't seem to stay in the here and now longer than five minutes at a time. Unfortunately, it did not go unnoticed. After having their fill of teasing me, Maggie all at once drew the same conclusion Reese had.

  "He's in love!" she exclaimed and Van snorted with laughter. "No, no, I'm not joking," Maggie protested, gazing at me wide-eyed. "Come on, that's it. Guys don't mope around unless they're gone on some chick..." She grinned. "Or in your case, some hottie in a speedo."

  The image of Ezra in skimpy swimwear brought an inadvertent smile to my lips and Maggie crowed in triumph. "Yes, I knew it! Another margarita here for the man in love!"

  Donovan rolled his eyes. "It's like dining with wild baboons. Tell her you're not in love, already, before they kick us out."

  The smile wouldn't go away. "I can't."

  Donovan frowned. "Ah jeez. Anyone we know? Not someone in the Bureau?" he asked with morbid fascination.

  Maggie snorted. "Come on, how many other feebies do we know are gay? Who'll admit it?"

  "He's not a Fed," I told them in exasperation. Though I still thought that with some training Ezra would make a decent agent. "He's just someone I met across the pond on my last assignment. And yeah, we got pretty close in the two weeks we were together. But it didn't work out. He couldn't come here and I couldn't stay there."

  "Aw, no way," Maggie said. "You could've worked something out, couldn't you?"

  "Love doesn't always conquer all." Donovan knew from bitter experience. "And maybe Morgan doesn't want to talk about it, did you ever think of that? Look at him, sitting there, his heart broken in a million pieces, and you're trying to drag details out of him."

  Maggie looked at me with melting sympathy. "Is your heart broken?"

  "I think it may have sustained some internal injuries I wasn't aware of," I said, not sounding quite as flippant as I wanted to.

  On the way home, with the heated background discussion on who might or might not be gay in our department, I found myself scrutinizing those injuries a little more closely. I'd broken up with guys dozens of times and it had never felt like this--like a vital part of me had been abandoned, lost somewhere. And the hollow feeling seemed echoed by the emptiness of the life I'd come back to. I didn't remember my life being so remarkably lacking, before my little vacation into the past. Okay, so some break-ups needed more time to mute into half-forgotten aches and vague regrets. That the hurt of missing him had been pretty much unrelieved from the moment we'd said good-bye didn't necessarily mean I wouldn't get over him at some point.

  Back at my apartment, I put the bag of gifts into a closet before it elicited any more interest. I had become the object of enough pity over lunch. But Maggie and Van were more focused on the gifts they'd gotten me, evidently thinking I needed cheering up. I went with Van's first. He was one of those gift givers who buy a gift they know you'll love, because they love it so much themselves. Usually it was a spy novel, true crime, or thriller. It wasn't enough for Van to live the life; he devoured it in fantasy too, voraciously for a guy who was cautious and sensible about everything else. Tearing off the wrapping paper, I had to grin at the lurid title. I thanked him, which got me an eye roll from Maggie.

  "For crying out loud, Van. Morgan doesn't read that crap." She looked at me. "What crap do you read, 'sides the baseball magazines?"

  "He's read every book I ever got him," Van retorted and turned to the built-ins, which were loaded with baseball souvenirs, plants, magazines, and some old newspapers and files. Under all that, safely out of view, were the books Van had given me on my last four birthdays. He went for a slim volume on top of the magazines. "See, right here we have..." His eyebrows rose. "Poetry?"

  "No way!" Maggie shot off the sofa. "Let me see."

  It was the book Ezra had given me. Following that thought was the alarming realization he might have written something personal in it. "Guys, do you mind?"

  I tried to get the book, but Maggie had pried it from Van and she evaded me neatly. "Poetry," she said in amazement. "Wait until this gets around--oh my, what have we here?"

  I groaned and went after her again, but she ducked behind Van. It wasn't the book that had her interest now, but a white slip of cardboard that had been tucked inside it. I could see Ezra's scrawl on the back and it occurred to me just what she'd found. "Mag--"

  "This him?" She grinned and waved the photo at me. "Check it out, partner." She let Van get a look before she bounced back to the sofa for a better view under the light. "Wow, he's cute." She read the back of the card and laughed. "Got a sense of humor, too."

  Van sat down beside her. "What's it say?"

  "October 6, 1888," she said with a giggle. "How'd he talk you into this get-up? You guys are adorable."

  I sat down between them, forcing Van over a few inches, and took the photograph from Maggie. Cute...

  Goddamn, he was beautiful. The hint of that smile I loved, the light of it warm in his eyes. His hand in mine, he looked carefree and ready to take on the world. As for me, I looked ridiculously pleased myself.

  "Yep," Maggie said softly over my shoulder. "In love and then some."

  "You do look sappy," Van confirmed.

  "Thanks."

  But they were right. I'd blithely lectured Ezra about following his heart and I hadn't even given my own the time of day. Now it was taking revenge in the most vicious way. After Maggie and Van had gone, I made an attempt to get into the novel, but I didn't make it past the first paragraph. That required concentration I no longer possessed. Tossing the book aside, I turned the television up and surfed with a speed that would have made Reese threaten my continued existence. Reese with his damned lectures and insightful little comments...

  You must be in love.

  So fucking hopelessly in love and I'd walked away from it--shit, I'd run away from it. If I showed up on Ezra's doorstep, he'd be more than entitled to tell me to go to hell. But whether he'd take me back was a moot issue. There was no way to go back. No way to reach him, to put my arms around him and tell him how much I missed him. To admit I didn't want to slog through this life or any other life without him.

  I muted the TV and slumped down on the sofa to watch the night fall instead. The sea of lights twinkling in the darkness had never made me feel lonesome before now, as lonesome as I'd ever felt in my life. Yeah, sure, I could go back. No problem at all. I only had to hire a coven of witches to spell cast me through time, once I'd found a copy of the book and gotten Sully and the higher-ups to give me the go-ahead. It would be a breeze, as long as I landed in the right year, survived the trip without requiring medical attention, and Ezra agreed to take me back...

  But the desire to find a way wouldn't leave me alone. It lingered in my head all through the workday Monday and pushed itself to the forefront of my thoughts as I finished the leftover Chinese and settled in front of the television to kill the rest of the evening.

  Funny, I didn't remember the twenty-first century being this boring before. The book of poetry Maggie had left on the c
offee table caught my eye and I thumbed through it. Tennyson. Ezra's favorite. I stretched out on the sofa and started to read, not really expecting to find much in it except maybe a little comfort at the thought that Ezra had read and enjoyed those same words. But I was drawn into the circumstances that felt oddly similar in a way to my own. I got as far as, "But I remain'd, whose hopes were dim, Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth, To wander on a darken'd earth, Where all things round me breathed of him," before I had to leave the quiet apartment and go for a run in the park.

  Under a sky as ablaze as the trees, I ran until protesting muscles overcame all other aches and I had myself convinced there might come a time when life seemed normal again. Leaving the park, I heard the clatter of hooves on the pavement and my heart lifted even as my brain registered that it was only a park cop behind me. I dropped onto a bench and pushed my fingers through damp hair, resting my head in my hands.

  "Goddamn, Ezra, what did you do to me?" I could almost feel his arm over my shoulders, his voice somewhere between affectionate and reproachful telling me it was hardly his fault if I was suffering without him. All the time and energy I'd put into trying to forget him--and what good had it done? Ezra's world was far from perfect. But this life of mine I'd thought so goddamned great was a hollow shell in comparison--because that was my way. And my dad's.

  Don't go my way, he'd said. Hell, I'd been going his way for thirty-one--no, make that thirty-two years. My dad had worked long hard hours, too; not entirely out of necessity, but because that was the world he understood and had control over, unlike the more complicated world made up of a sympathetic but strong-willed wife and rebellious son. What I'd always thought of as a good work ethic suddenly seemed more like a good excuse to avoid those same messy relationships. But even if that was true, Ezra had gotten past it, going where no man had gone before. Maybe there was such a thing as a soul mate and he was my lost half, so to speak. Or maybe he'd just been the first who'd opened my eyes to the sort of love even someone as thick-headed as I was capable of.

  Jesus. And all the time I thought I'd been liberating him.

  I knew now I hadn't come home. Home was Ezra. Eighteen-eighty-eight, two thousand eighty-eight, eighty-eight, BC. It didn't matter. He could live on the fucking moon and that would be where something in me knew I belonged. Sure, I could stay here, live out my life, and maybe in ten years or twenty, Ezra'd be a half-forgotten memory that barely even stung. But was that what I wanted when I might have twenty years or even ten with him?

  I got up off the bench and wandered my way back to the silent tomb of my apartment. I didn't want a drink, I didn't want to sleep. There was only one thing I wanted. My heart wouldn't be leaping around wildly in my chest just at the thought, otherwise. I felt pretty confident about that. Getting back to him, however, was a bridge of substantial proportions I was less confident about crossing. I assumed that Henry and Ezra had found a place on the shelves for the spell book. I didn't know if it would be in the same spot after more than a hundred years. But maybe I didn't need it. Maybe an appeal to Sully and his higher-ups would be enough.

  There was only one way to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Since sleep was out of the question, I prowled the apartment in a feverish fit of planning. If I could go back, I was going a little more prepared this time. I had some savings and while I couldn't take the cash with me, I could exchange it for something I could sell any time, any place. My initial consideration of gold bars was squashed by the realization I'd have to carry it around; gems would do instead. There were a lot of other little conveniences I wanted to take with me, but I had to admit that whomever was in charge of sending me back would probably be less inclined to allow the trip if I tried to stuff into my suitcase everything from aspirin to my favorite catcher's mitt. The Glock, my badge, and ID also had to stay behind this time. Even the bag of flea market gifts I was wiser to leave. My mere presence would be enough of an on-going threat to civilization. And that made me aware that I might well be planning for something that simply wasn't going to happen. Why send me back now? Why take the risk just to make one soul blissfully happy? And it wasn't like I had a reliable record where love was concerned. I could fuck up my own life and a whole lot of others in the process.

  The higher-ups would probably think that reason enough to make me stay put. But what the hell, I had to try. If I didn't, I'd always wonder. I'd always regret. And God knew I'd collected enough regrets in less than half a lifetime.

  I caught a couple hours of sleep just after dawn, then showered and dressed comfortably, in exactly what I'd worn that day in the museum when I'd been spirited away. I wanted to attribute it to nostalgia more than superstition, but I couldn't entirely. With an excitement that barely masked my anxiety that all this was in vain, I closed my bank accounts and turned the money into a depressingly puny pile of loose diamonds. The most difficult task of the morning was asking Faulkner for a leave of absence. I was essentially saying good-bye and maybe he somehow sensed it, because he studied me for a long minute before finally granting me another two weeks. He knew something was up, but he didn't press, not even when I shook his hand and deliberately needled him once more for old time's sake.

  I didn't clean out my desk but I stuffed the slinky into an envelope and writing his name on it, put it in the bottom drawer beside the candy bars he always helped himself to. He would know then that my going was my choice, wherever I'd gone; and maybe when he could stop cursing my name, he'd conclude I'd done what I needed to.

  Back at the apartment, I did the same with my flea market gifts, labeling them for Van, Maggie, Reese, Kevin, and a few others I wanted to leave something to remember me by. Though the gifts had been meant for other people, they seemed surprisingly suited to the friends I was leaving behind this time. The shawl Kathleen might have worn primly about her shoulders Maggie would probably pair with a strapless black dress. The thought made me grin despite my regrets.

  I packed an overnight bag with a change of clothes and nothing more, figuring the fewer identifying possessions I left in London, the better. Deciding I owed Reese a good-bye, I gave him a call on my way to the airport. An unfamiliar voice answered the phone but quickly put Reese on.

  "Hi ya, Reese. Was that your dad?"

  He snorted. "What do you want, Morgan?"

  "Just wanted to say good-bye. I'm taking your advice..." which had to please him no end, "and getting my shit together. I'm off to London." Not entirely accurate, as I had a side trip to make first, but I was caught in the drama of the moment.

  It took Reese a good few seconds to find his voice. "You're going to London? After that guy you met?"

  "Yep. And if I don't come back..." I smiled to myself. "I hereby give you leave to dispose of my possessions as you see fit."

  Suspicion crept into his voice. "You didn't volunteer for some sort of suicide mission, did you?"

  "I'll admit there's an element of danger involved, but I figure it's worth the risk."

  "Morgan--"

  "I'm kidding. Really, I'm going to London to try to get back together with Ezra. That's his name." Funny how just saying it aloud made me feel warm and optimistic.

  "Yeah? Well, I hope he hasn't figured out in the meantime what a royal pain in the ass you are." He was only half-joking.

  "I hope so too," I said, entirely serious. "If it doesn't work, I guess I've just got myself to blame. Anyway, just felt I owed it to you to tell you. And to apologize for everything I put you through. I'm sorry. You deserved better."

  The silence lasted so long, I wondered if we'd been disconnected. "Reese?"

  "Uh, yeah, I'm here." He sounded a little dazed. "You swear you're not on a suicide mission or anything like that?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Come on. I wasn't that bad."

  "Yes, you were." Suddenly he laughed and I heard his friend in the background join in. I had the feeling I'd interrupted something. Reese cleared his throat. "Morgan, look--it's all okay, all
right? I appreciate the apology. I hope it all works out with Ezra. Take care of yourself. Take care of each other. Okay?"

  I could tell I was getting the fast hustle off the line. I smiled to myself. "Yeah, I will. You, too."

  I was glad I'd called him, even if I ended up coming back to New York with my tail between my legs and my heart a whole lot worse for wear. I drove on to the airport and parked my car in a shady corner, wondering if that was the last time I'd drive it--or drive anything, for that matter, that didn't have a horse pulling it along. I couldn't deny I was going to miss modern day conveniences. But it could have been worse. At least there were indoor toilets--and other advances were coming along at breakneck speed. If I'd met Ezra in 1388...

  Who was I trying to kid? I'd go back all the same.

  As I waited in line to board, I worried over how I would say the good-bye I'd saved for last. My mom had always wanted nothing more than for me to be happy, but I wasn't so sure that included the possibility of never seeing me again. I had to tell her the truth, nevertheless; I couldn't let her think I'd been killed in the line of duty once I was reported missing. I wanted her to be the one person who would know where I'd gone and why. And I had a feeling if anyone could understand it, she would. After my dad had died, she'd sold the farm and bought a dress shop in town with two of her friends. Working her way through her grief, she'd supported herself and me until I'd graduated and gone on to college. She was a firm believer in standing on her own two feet and fighting for whatever happiness she could. Though she'd never remarried, she had filled her life to overflowing in all other respects. That made me a little easier about the prospect of saying good-bye, but not by much.

  I found her at work and took her to an early dinner so we could talk in private. The boutique was too filled with activity and I didn't want to be overheard between lulls in the constant chatter. She knew something was up and seeing her smile, I had a feeling it was as obvious to her as it had been to Maggie. Women had some sort of sixth sense, to always know when someone was in love. She leaned across the table and patted my hand. "Who is he?"