Pinball (18 page)

Chapter 65

It was late 2005, and Steven and Lynne were at an auto dealer in Bozeman, standing in front of a shiny metallic turquoise 2002 Jeep Grand Cherokee. Lynne fell in love with the color in sight.

The sales rep, a thirtysomething, mustachioed ex-athlete named Brent, informed them that it was a custom paint job. “They didn’t come from the factory in this color — it’s called ‘Tropical Turquoise.’”

He grinned when he saw Lynne’s eyes light up, knowing they were hooked. “It’s four wheel drive, which you definitely need with the winters we have around here,” he said. “It’s got a 3.7 liter V-6, decent on gas —17 in town, 21 highway is what it’s EPA rated. Five speed automatic tranny, A/C. power steering, power brakes, CD player… normally these babies run about seventeen grand, but this one’s got about 72,000 miles on her, so we have it marked down to just under $12,000. Were you planning to put some money down, or did you have a vehicle you’d like to trade in?”

Lynne and Steven glanced at each other. This guy was good.
Very
good. They both wanted to see the Cherokee sitting in their driveway.

“Well, to be honest, the car we have now is a piece of s—” 

“Steven!” Lynne interrupted. She smiled at the salesman. “The car we have now is pretty old. It’s a 1989 Buick Regal.”

“It’s been a good car,” said Steven, “don’t get me wrong; we’ve just worn it out,” he grinned. “I do have $2500 I can put down,” It was all that was left from Steven’s book advance after they’d paid off the house. “Could we do that, plus give you our old car too?”

Brent smiled and said that he was sure they could work a deal that would make everyone happy. They followed him inside, where he introduced them to the sales manager, a rotund fellow named Morty who smelled like Old Spice and cigars. He took them into his office and invited them to sit.

Twenty minutes later, after they had crunched the numbers, Morty told them that the dealership would allow them $200 for their trade-in. He smiled at them both from behind his massive oaken desk and went into his rehearsed spiel.

“This is a summary of the transaction. The purchase price of the vehicle is $11,995; this shows your down payment plus the $200 for your trade-in deducted from the purchase price; dealer prep fee is $195, and the taxes and registration fees are shown here,” he pointed to a figure, “and here. Your total loan amount comes to $9,867.45, at 7.5 percent APR for 36 months, which will make your monthly payment $306.93. If that all looks correct, just sign and date where it’s indicated at the bottom of the page.”

Steven picked up the pen that Morty offered him and began to sign.

“Steve,” Lynne said suddenly, “Uh… Morty, could my husband and I had a moment to talk?”

“Of course,” Morty said with a hint of disappointment in his voice, and went out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Lynne turned to Steven with a worried look on her face. “Steve, I don’t know,” she said, “Three hundred dollars a month is a lot. Maybe we should look around at some other vehicles, maybe something that’s not quite as much.”

Steven looked at her. “Honey, this is a good vehicle, and we’ll be able to swing the payment. I should have royalty checks coming in quarterly starting in about six months, and if they won’t cover nine hundred dollars worth of car payments every three months, I better quit writing and go back to work at the factory,” he laughed, “Plus, have you forgotten that we don’t have a $600 house payment any more? C’mon, you love this Jeep, don’t you?” Lynne smiled reluctantly and nodded. “Okay, then,” he said with a smile, “we’re buyin’ this puppy.”

And they did.

Now, four years later, the Jeep was in a salvage yard and they were putting Lynne in the ground.

Steven thought of an article he’d skimmed through in an old copy of Popular Science he’d been looking at while waiting for a dental appointment a couple of months before. It was about the possibility of small changes in events radically changing future events, as fictionalized in a movie called
The Butterfly Effect
that had come out a few months before.

Now he wondered whether Lynne would still be alive if he had bowed to her urging four years ago and decided to buy a different vehicle.
Maybe if I’d bought that 2000 Expedition that Roger and Nancy had for sale,
he thought. He’d never know now.  

When directed to do so by the funeral director, Steven shoveled the first spadeful of earth into the grave, wincing at the sound as the gravelly dirt struck the top of the grave liner. He turned and walked toward the car that waited to transport him and the children home.

Chapter 66

For more than two weeks after the funeral, Steven did nothing but sit in his room watching television, eating chips and drinking beer. His hair was greasy, his bed unmade and he wore the same clothes for days at a time until Nicolette harassed him into changing them.

They had no worries about finances; Lynne had seen to that. The proceeds from the life insurance policy that she’d had through the school had been paid promptly, a check having been delivered personally and with many condolences by an agent from Bozeman. While it wasn’t enough to make them millionaires, by any means, it did ensure that Steven didn’t have to worry about paying the bills or feeding the children.

However, it also meant that he had no motivation to do anything at all. Nikki cleaned up the beer cans and tried to tidy up his room, but when she started to change the bed, he flew into a rage. The bedding smelled like Lynne
,
and he absolutely refused to let go of that.

Finally, Thanksgiving approached, and Nikki planned to take the entire week off from school to prepare for the holiday. On Sunday night, she walked into her father’s bedroom and pointed out that Thanksgiving was only four days away. He shrugged through his pounding headache and mumbled, “I got nothin’ to be thankful for.”

Nikki’s blue eyes flashed fire, like her mother’s had when she was angry. “You don’t have anything to be thankful for? What the hell do you mean? Daddy, I
know
you loved Mom. We
all
loved her. But you still have
at least
four other people who love you, and instead of living your life and dealing with things the way Mom would have wanted, you’re sitting here in your own stink,
fucking off and doing nothing.
”

Steven did a double take at the profanity, staring at his daughter with new eyes.
Man,
he thought,
when did she grow up?

“Now, wait just a —” he began.

“No, I’m not waiting any longer,” Nikki hissed. “I’ve waited three weeks for you to pull yourself together.
Three weeks
. You’ve been in here, moping around, only coming out of this room when you need more beer, watching TV — and it’s not even
good
TV — and sleeping off your hangover every damned day. It’s time to get back to the real world. It’s what Mom would have wanted you to do.”

Steven looked at her for a moment as she stood defiantly, daring him to try to oppose her. He looked at the floor. “You’re right, Nikki. I’m sorry. I — I’m really sorry.”    

He went to hug her, but she refused, saying he smelled like a garbage can. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll go get cleaned up,” he said, and went into the bathroom to take a shower.

Steven stood in front of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. Taking a good look at his reflection, he realized just how far he had let himself slide.
For God’s sake,
he thought,
you look like a homeless drifter or a resident of Skid Row,
which made him wince. Nikki was right. How had he let himself get sucked into such a vortex of self-pity?

Sucked into a vortex.
Something about that phrase struck a nerve. He had the most peculiar feeling of déjà vu.

He shaved the nearly three weeks of beard from his haggard face, feeling like he was fighting his way through the tangles of a tropical jungle. Finally he was at least semi-presentable; now for the shower.

He adjusted the water temperature, stripped off the rank polo shirt, stained sweat pants and soiled underwear he’d been wearing for days, and stepped into the stinging shower. The water felt incredibly good on his aching back. Why hadn’t he done this days ago? He began to scrub the sweat and grime from his weary body.

Suddenly he became aware of an intense amber glow that lit up the bathroom, shining through the Plexiglas shower doors, and of a
presence
. Somebody was in here with him; he was sure of it, although he hadn’t heard the door open. Besides, it was locked. He stood stock still as the shower beat against his skin, uncertain of what to do.

He heard the sound of a woman clucking her tongue.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
His heart raced. It sounded like Lynne, but of course that couldn’t possibly…

“Hello?” he said, “Who’s there?”

The shower door suddenly slid open. There was a woman standing there, shaking her head at him, her hand on the door railing. She was surrounded in a halo of light, sparkling like a diamond, and was dressed in what seemed to be a champagne-colored silken robe. The hair color was a medium blonde, like Lynne’s, but the resemblance stopped there. This woman was most definitely not Lynne.

“Are you an angel?” he asked wide eyed, half expecting to find that a heavenly messenger had been dispatched to reunite him with Lynne, in some celestial realm. He wasn’t a religious man, by any means, but for some reason he had an odd feeling at this point that anything was possible.

“Naw, ‘fraid not,” she replied in a broad accent. “Believe me, I’m no angel. Ask anybody.” 

He stared at her. “Who
are
you?”

“You don’t remember me, do you? No, of course you don’t. Technically, we’ve never met before,” she said, smiling. “You seem like you’re in need of a little guidance.”

Steven nodded. “God, ain’t
that
the gospel truth.”

She gave a crooked grin and said, “Oh, I know, honey. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He frowned, wondering who this person was, what she had up her silken sleeve, and how she got into his locked bathroom.

He heard Nikki’s voice in the hallway. “Daddy? Who are you talking to?”

“Uh… no one, baby. I was just… uh… singing in the shower,” he answered.

He stood staring at the unknown woman until she handed him a bath towel and said, “Here, maybe you better cover yourself up, big guy.”

He suddenly realized that he was standing naked in the shower; he turned off the water and wrapped the towel around his waist, his face flushing.

“Don’t worry about it. Where I come from, a naked body ain’t no big deal.”

“Where exactly
do
you come from?”

“Well, it’s a long story,” she answered. “Easy answer: the future.” She pronounced it
fyoocha
. “Long answer:
way
in the future.
Your
future. And Lynne’s, too.”

Steven froze, his face suddenly stony. “Lynne’s dead.” All the emotions he’d held back for the last three weeks, the feelings he’d drowned in gallons of alcohol and anesthetized with untold hours of mindless television, came rushing out like flood waters bursting through a collapsing dam. He found himself weeping, the crushing weight of Lynne’s death bearing down on him once more.

“I know,” she said with a sad smile. “That’s why I came to see you the last time.”

“The last time?” Steven frowned.

“I know you don’t remember, but I was here before… except I wasn’t, now, because you… hmm, do you remember somebody showing up pretending to be one of the Muses? Oh, never mind, you don’t even remember what it was that you did that made you forget.” He looked at her, clearly bewildered. “Let me explain,” she said.

Her name was Callie, she said, and she had traveled back from the distant future, where apparently everyone wore silky robes and glowed like fireflies, because something that Steven had done, or more importantly, failed to do — it kind of depended on your point of view, she explained — was threatening to erase her and her entire family tree from ever having existed.

Steven stared at her. “Something I did?”

“It’s —” she stopped and looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“What is it?” Steven asked.

Callie was silent for a moment and then said, “You really don’t remember anything… odd that happened recently? Or perhaps I should say, something that it seems like you ought to remember, but can’t quite recall?”

Steven frowned, thinking to himself. He remembered the odd sense of déjà vu he’d had minutes before, but now that he thought about it, he couldn’t seem to pinpoint what had triggered it. 

“The last few weeks have been crazy,” Steven finally said. “My wife…” the tears welled up again. “My wife was killed in a car accident earlier this month.”

“I know that,” Callie said, “and that’s why I’m here.”

Steven stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t… oh, for God’s sake, the timeline is screwed up enough as it is, I don’t guess it matters now if you know this,” Callie said. She hesitated just a moment and then continued. “Lynne wasn’t supposed to die in that accident. In my timeline, she lives to be a little old lady knitting afghans. You and Lynne are supposed to have another child, and…” she stopped in mid-sentence.

“And what?” Steven asked.

“The baby you are supposed to have… grows up to be my great-great-great, I don’t know exactly how many times great, grandmother,” Callie said, “and if Lynne dies before you have her, she’s never born, and if that’s the case… well, then… neither am
I.
”

Chapter 67

“You’re my
granddaughter?
” Steven said. 

“Well, great-great-great — about eighteen times or so.”

Steven’s knees suddenly felt rubbery. “I think I need to sit down. Can we go in the other room?”

“Sure. I’ll be in there after you get dressed.” She suddenly became as transparent as saran wrap and walked through the wall in the direction of his bedroom. Steven stared after her, certain that he would wake up any moment.
Sure, that’s it. This is a dream. Maybe this whole three weeks has been a dream and when I wake up Lynne will be lying next to me and I’ll tell her about it and she’ll hold me and tell me how silly it was, that she’s not going anywhere.