Time After Time (22 page)

I visualize the yellow paint that’s chipping and peeling on the side of the Greenes’ house, and clear my head of everything but today’s date: November 15.

I pick a time I know he’ll be home: six thirty
A.M
.

And I choose a year in my past, but in Anna’s future: 1997.

I arrive on the side of Anna’s house, exactly where I planned to, and slowly peer around the corner. It must have snowed last night, but not hard. I can still see tiny tips of grass poking up through the thin layer of ice covering the lawn. I feel overdressed in my heavy winter gear.

Peering in the window, I find that the kitchen looks exactly the same—same appliances, same bar stools. I can see the coffeepot perfectly, in the same spot it’s always been. I look around, waiting for someone to appear and preparing to duck down fast when they do.

By now, Anna must be away at college, but this is a good time to catch Mr. Greene making the morning coffee.

I hear the front door open and peek around the corner just as footsteps land on the porch. The feet look like they belong to a man, but the door is blocking my view and I can’t be sure. The newspaper disappears and the door closes again. I race back to my spot at the window.

Mr. Greene steps into the kitchen and walks straight for the counter. He unfolds the newspaper, removes a section, and tosses the bulk of it onto the kitchen table.

As he steps away from the counter, I notice the slight limp on his right side. Over at the coffeepot, he treats his right hand like it’s cumbersome and in his way, and when he tries to use it to open the bag of coffee he quickly gives up and uses his left hand and his teeth instead.

As the coffee brews, he reaches up into the high cabinet above him and pulls down two mugs. He shuffles over to the refrigerator and returns with a carton of milk.

He’s about to bring it back where it belongs when Anna comes around the corner. She rests one hand on his shoulder, takes the carton from him, and puts it away. Then she gives him a quick peck on the cheek, and heads over to the counter for her mug.

Her hair is shorter, hanging loose and just brushing her shoulders. She’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. It takes me a minute to realize that it reads
NORTHWESTERN CROSS COUNTRY
and to put the pieces together. Anna still lives here.

Mr. Greene starts off for the pile of newspaper again, and Anna speeds past him and grabs it first. She hands him a section and he folds it in half and uses it to smack her on the arm. She laughs, but I can hear him through the glass as he tells her to stop helping him.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings, and I look around the corner and find Justin standing on the porch. He’s wearing a baseball cap and his backpack is slung over one shoulder. The door opens and Anna yells, “Bye, Dad,” before stepping out and shutting it behind her. The two of them head down the walkway toward campus.

I’ve seen all I needed to see. I close my eyes and bring myself back to my room at Maggie’s.

My temples are throbbing. I sit down on the floor next to my bed and reach into my backpack for the water. I down both bottles without stopping, and reach for a room-temperature Frappuccino. When the bottle is empty, I let my head fall back onto the bed and I wait to recover.

I’m in pain, but the symptoms feel more like what I’m used to—a fierce headache and a dry mouth—but no nosebleeds, no piercing sounds, and most important, no losing control of my place on the timeline. I’ve managed to stay in 1995, successfully go to 1997, and return to 1995 unscathed.

I lie there, picturing Mr. Greene moving around the kitchen, the way Anna helped him, and the way he scolded her for doing so. He’s okay. He’s not back to normal, but he’s alive, capable, and obviously in good hands. And while I know that part of him is relieved that Anna’s still living at home, I’m sure that a larger part feels guilty, knowing that Northwestern was never her first choice.

My eyelids are heavy and I can’t wait to let them close and drift off to sleep. But just as I start to doze off, something the doctor said tonight jolts me awake again. She said it would be a slow recovery. That it might take years. Her comment makes me wonder what I might have seen if I’d gone forward even farther. Maybe I’d have more solid news for Anna tomorrow.

I stand up and return to the center of the room. I stomp hard until the last of the snow has fallen from my boots. I close my eyes and picture a date in the future when I know Anna will no longer live at home, but will certainly be visiting: Christmas Eve, 2005.

I’m at the wrong house.

The driveway is in the right spot. The kitchen window is where it’s supposed to be. I walk around to the front of the house and look up toward Anna’s window. I’m in the right place, but the house is no longer covered in yellow, peeling paint. It’s now painted deep gray with white trim. It looks nice.

It must have been snowing just hours ago because my feet are buried deep in this light, white powder that doesn’t look or feel at all like the snow I remember. It covers my jeans, up to my shins, and I can feel my toes turn cold inside my winter boots.

I look through the window. The kitchen looks different too, with fresh paint and new cabinets, new granite countertops and a bunch of new appliances. It could be the work of new owners. But then I notice that the bar stools are exactly the same, and I smile when I think back to the first time I came to Anna’s house and perched myself there, carefully studying her for signs of fear as I disappeared before her eyes.

Anna’s mom walks in and I duck back down under the windowsill and count to five. Then I peek inside again, studying her as she reaches into the oven and removes a roasting pan. She scurries around the kitchen, stirring pots on the stove and putting rolls in the oven.

I’m starting to get concerned about Anna’s dad, when he breezes into the room and sticks his finger into one of the pots. Mrs. Greene slaps his hand with the wooden spoon she just took out of the gravy, and I can practically hear her chide him from here. I can’t hear his response, but it makes her throw her head back and laugh.

I watch him walk through the kitchen and into the dining room and notice a slight limp. When he returns he’s carrying a silver platter, and he rests it on the countertop. It’s hard to see from this vantage point, but his hands appear to be working like they’re supposed to.

Then I hear tires slowly crunching their way through the snow. Lights reflect off the snow on the front yard, and I stand still and watch as a car pulls into the driveway. I come out from behind the house and hide behind the large oak tree so I can get a better look. I’m just in time to see Anna step out.

The driver’s-side door opens, and someone else comes around the front of the car. The house lights are illuminating Anna’s face perfectly, and I’m close enough to see every detail, but he’s in shadow, and all I can see is the back of his head. He casually grabs her hand, like he’s done it a million times before. Then he kisses her. He says something that makes her smile at him. My chest constricts and I suck in a breath.

It’s a smile I know well. I thought it was the one she reserved for me, but here in 2005, it seems to belong to him.

The two of them walk toward the porch, holding hands. Before they’ve even hit the first step, Mr. Greene flings the door open wide and scoops Anna up in his arms. She laughs and says, “Hi, Daddy,” as she regains her footing.

Mr. Greene turns to the guy and says something I can’t hear from this distance. He pulls him in for a fatherly hug, patting him on the back. He releases him but keeps one arm over his shoulder, leading the two of them into the house. The door closes behind them.

I head across the lawn, over to the driveway, and look inside the car for anything that will tell me who he is and where they came from, but the interior is completely clean. I walk around the back of the car and look at the license plate, and spot a sticker from the rental car company in the corner. They flew in from someplace. Or at least he did.

I retrace my footsteps until I’ve returned to my position under the kitchen window. I must be a glutton for punishment because once I pull myself up into the corner and peek inside, I find myself stuck there. I want to stop watching them, but I can’t.

The guy is nowhere to be seen, but I have a perfect view of Anna as she stands in the center of the kitchen, her parents buzzing happily around her. God, she looks incredible. Her hair is long again, and tonight it’s pulled back in a clip at the nape of her neck. I can’t stop staring.

She’s fluttering around the kitchen like she used to, breaking off pieces of bread and dipping her finger into sauces and closing her eyes as the tastes fill her mouth. She turns and says something to her dad, and he starts cracking up.

Suddenly, Anna pivots toward the window and looks right at me. I duck down quickly, out of sight, and everything’s quiet for a moment except the sound of my heartbeat, which I’m pretty sure they can hear from inside. I wait for a full minute to pass before I look through the corner of the window again.

Anna’s now sitting on the bar stool with her back to me. Mrs. Greene sets a drink on the counter in front of her and I watch Anna bring the glass to her lips.

He’s back. The guy she brought home with her returns to the kitchen and walks straight to the refrigerator. Anna’s blocking my view of him and I adjust my position, trying to get a better look, but I accidentally tap the windowpane. Anna spins in her seat and I flatten my back against the side of the house.

“I saw it again, Dad.” She’s far away and muffled, but I can make out her words, and her voice grows louder, clearer, as she cups her hand to the window and speaks. “There’s something out there, I swear.”

My heart is pounding hard against my rib cage and it takes every ounce of control to remain silent and motionless. She’s right there. I want to say something. I want to stand up and look at her face and see how she reacts. There must be something I can say that will make her come outside, put her hands in mine, and let me take her away to a warmer place so we can sit in sand and talk. I need to know who this guy is and what he’s doing in her house and why she’s looking at him like that. I need to know what happened to us and how we stop it.

I hear her dad’s voice, low and clear. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but I swear, I keep seeing something move out there.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says. “Stay here. I’ll go outside and check it out.”

I spin in place looking for somewhere to hide, but there’s nowhere to go. I hear the front door open and slam closed, followed by soft footsteps on the wooden porch.

I panic and close my eyes.

When I open them, I’m back in my room at Maggie’s. I’m sitting on my bed with my head pounding and my stomach sinking, knowing that Mr. Greene found all my footprints, and wondering what happened when he did.

The hospital is busier today. I step out of the elevator and into the waiting room, and it takes a full minute for me to spot Anna. I finally see her, sitting in a chair against the far wall, her mom on one side and Justin on the other, holding her hand. Emma is sitting next to him, arms folded across her chest and staring up at the ceiling.

There isn’t anywhere for me to sit, but I walk over to them anyway. As soon as I arrive, Justin stands up. “Hey.” He gestures toward the seat. “Take mine. I was just leaving anyway.” Anna stands up next to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, and Justin hugs her tightly, eyes closed as he rubs her back. “Call me later, okay? Or even better, come by the store. I’ll be there late.”

Anna kisses him on the cheek.

“Mrs. Greene?” I hear the voice behind me, and when I turn around I find the doctor from yesterday standing there. “You and your daughter can see him, but let’s keep this visit short.”

Anna grabs my hand as she walks past and gives it a squeeze. She and her mom follow the doctor out of the room and I flop down next to Emma. I let my head fall back against the wall. “How’s he doing today?”

“Better, it seems. He regained consciousness in the middle of the night. The test results are promising, but he doesn’t have any function on his right side.” I picture Mr. Greene using his teeth to open a bag of coffee beans. Emma rubs her forehead with her fingertips. “But they think he’ll make a full recovery, eventually.”

This is good news, but Emma’s lower lips quivers and I can tell she’s fighting back tears. “Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Me?” She takes a deep breath and brushes her fingers across her cheeks. “I should be asking you that question, Shaggy. You look like hell.”

I thought I looked pretty good considering everything I’ve been through in the last fifteen hours, but then I bring my hands to my face and feel the thick stubble and realize I’m still wearing the same clothes I was wearing yesterday. “I’m okay,” I lie.

She takes a deep breath and sits up straight in her chair, looking around the crowded waiting room like she’s taking in the ugly furniture and the stacks of magazines piled up on the end tables for the first time. “This is so weird. I’ve never been in a hospital before. Have you?”

I picture Anna and me sitting in a different waiting room in a different hospital—one closer to Chicago and the scene of Emma and Justin’s car accident—but similarly ugly and equally devoid of anything even remotely cheerful. “Yeah, I’ve been in a few.”

“It’s so strange… I have this feeling, you know, like I
must
have been inside a hospital at least once, aside from being born in one, but I don’t think I ever have. No one in my family has ever been sick and I’ve never broken a bone or anything… Knock wood,” she says, bringing her knuckles to the chair’s wooden arm. Then she shudders. “This place gives me the creeps.”

I never saw Emma after the accident, but Anna told me everything. It’s impossible to look at her right now without picturing her in that sterile hospital room, scratched up and stitched together on the outside, broken and still bleeding out on the inside. Emma will never know what I did for her and I’ll never want her to.

Emma’s eyes dart around the room again and she leans in close. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

She comes in even closer, resting her forearms on my chair. “Do you think Justin has a thing for Anna?”

“Anna?” I don’t mean it to come out in such a “
my
Anna” tone of voice, but I think it does. “No. I mean, they’re friends. They’ve known each other all their lives. Anna thinks of him like a brother.”

“Oh, yeah…of course. I’m not talking about Anna’s feelings for
him
—it’s all
you
in that department—I’m just referring to his feelings for
her
.” She looks around the waiting room. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have even mentioned anything. I’ve just been curious about your opinion and we’re here, just the two of us, stuck in this crappy hospital.” She taps her bright pink painted fingernails on her jeans. “It was just the way he hugged her a few minutes ago looked a little bit ‘more than friends.’” She says the last part with air quotes. “That, you know, combined with the whole near-kiss thing…”

My head falls to the side and I look at her. “What ‘near-kiss thing’?”

Her eyebrows furrow as she chooses her words more carefully now. “You know. After you left town last spring.” She must be able to tell from the look on my face that I’m hearing this for the first time, because she covers her mouth with her hand and pulls away from me fast. “Anna told me you knew. She made it seem like it was no big deal.”

She never told me. And it might not have been a big deal. If this conversation were happening yesterday, I might have just laughed it off, but coming in on the heels of what I saw last night, I might be feeling a little too raw for this.

“Justin got a little bit drunk at my birthday party, and I might have been taking advantage of the situation, because I finally decided to come right out and ask him how he felt about her, you know? Just to see what he’d say.” I’m not sure I want to hear this, but she keeps talking and I don’t stop her. “At first he swore they were just friends, but then he told me that after you left last spring, they were hanging out at the record store together one day and they almost kissed.” She shrugs, as if that will make it seem like she isn’t bothered by the whole incident, but I can tell by the look on her face that she is.

“But don’t get mad. It wasn’t Anna
at all
. Justin tried to kiss her—he made that part crystal clear. I mean, if you weren’t in the picture, who knows, but…”

I flash back on what I saw last night when I went to 1997. How Justin met Anna at her house, and the two of them walked to school together. And then I think about the guy I saw her with eight years later. The guy she kissed in her driveway. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that it could have been Justin, but now I can’t get the idea out of my mind. I don’t think the guy had red hair, but I never got a very good look either. I remember how Mr. Greene wrapped him up in a fatherly hug and led him into the house.

“The whole thing is totally one-sided…” She stops and lets out a cynical laugh. “Which should have been my first clue, right?” She matches my posture, her head against the wall, her legs kicked out in front of her. “I’m not quite sure why I’m waiting around as if I’m perfectly content with being his consolation prize.”

She starts to say more. I wish she wouldn’t. I don’t have the energy to think about any of this right now and I have much bigger things on my mind. Before Emma can speak again, Anna and her mom return to the waiting room and sit down in the chairs across from us.

“Nothing new, I’m afraid,” Anna’s mom says as she twists her hair around her finger and lets out a heavy breath. Then, without prompting, she launches into a story about a stroke patient she worked with a few years ago. I pretend to listen before I shoot Anna a look and thankfully, she understands.

“We’ll be right back, Mom,” she says, and she grabs my hand and leads me down the hall toward the vending machines. She digs around in her jeans pocket for change. “Want to split a bag of Doritos?”

She’s about to slip a quarter into the slot but I stop her. “Wait. There’s a coffee shop across the street.”

“Yeah?” She covers her mouth as she yawns. “Actually, that sounds good.” She tells me to wait by the elevator while she tells her mom where she’s going, and she comes back holding her coat. I help her into it.

The coffeehouse is nothing like the one we’re used to, far more institutional than cozy, with metal tables and matching chairs. Anna finds a spot in the corner window while I go to the counter to order. A few minutes later, I return with a bowl of soup, a chunk of bread, and a latte.

Anna picks up the bread and turns it over in her hands. “This reminds me of Paris,” she says. She gives me a tired smile before she takes a bite. “Sadly, this tastes nothing like
that
baguette.” She stares down at the bread, looking disappointed. “I’m convinced I’ll never taste anything that delicious again.”

I don’t respond. In fact, I hardly say a word as she finishes off her soup. But as she’s balling her napkin up and stuffing it into the empty soup container, I can’t hold it in any longer.

“I have to tell you something,” I practically blurt out, and she looks up at me. I probably should have planned out what I was going to say, but I didn’t. Now I’m just making it up as I go along and hoping it will make sense. “Remember last night, when we were sitting outside and you told me I couldn’t fix this?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I thought of something else I could do.”

She takes a sip of her coffee and waits for me.

“I went forward.”

She yawns again. Then she says, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I went forward…into your future. To see what happens to him.”

Her head springs up and she goes to set her coffee cup on the table but she loses her grip and it crashes to the table. Some of the coffee splashes over the side, and Anna reaches for her napkin to wipe up the mess. She suddenly stops and stares at me.

“I don’t want to know, do I?”

I nod my head. “You do. It’s good news. He’s going to be okay.”

She lets the napkin drop as she puts her elbows on the table and buries her face in her hands. I can’t tell if she’s crying or laughing or so overwhelmed, she’s doing a combination of the two.

“It will take a while. In a couple of years, he’ll still walk with a limp and he won’t have full use of his right hand, but eventually, he’ll be fine.”

“Eventually when?”

I look at her. “I’m sorry, Anna. I wish I could tell you that, but I can’t.”

“No, of course you can’t. Okay.” She shakes her head hard, like she’s scolding herself for asking in the first place. She comes in even closer. “I still can’t believe you did this,” she says excitedly. “What else will you tell me?”

She takes a big sip of coffee and licks the froth from her lips and I take a deep breath. “I saw enough to know that my coming here is a mistake.” There. I’ve said it. “I’m not supposed to be here, Anna. It’s changing your whole life.”

She presses her palms into the table to steady herself. “For the better.”

“I’m not so sure anymore.”

She looks out the window and doesn’t say anything. “What aren’t you telling me, Bennett? What did you see?” She gives me a hard look.

“I saw you and your family with a happy future. And if I tell you any more about it, it might not happen that way.” That’s enough. That’s all she gets to know. Anything else and I might change what I saw, and I can’t do that.

“Well, it’s
my
future. I want you in it.” Her eyebrows pinch together. “Don’t
you
want to be in it?”

I nod. “But think about it,” I say, shaking my head. “If you’d been in the car with your dad yesterday you would have known something was wrong. You would have seen the signs and gotten him to a hospital faster. He might not even be here right now.”

“Oh, come on…he had a stroke. That would have happened no matter what. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I was
here
, Anna. With you. And I shouldn’t have been. If I hadn’t been here you would have been with your dad.”

I didn’t expect to feel this way, but the more I talk to her, the more anger I feel building up inside me. I seem to be livid with everyone right now. With Emma, for telling me about Justin and Anna’s near-kiss, because I didn’t want to know that, especially today. With Anna, for making me think that do-overs were okay, simply because her best friend’s life was at stake. With my dad, for letting me believe I was more powerful than I really am. And with myself, for going forward and opening up a view into a future I never should have seen and certainly don’t want to exist.

And it’s selfish, but I’m angry because it’s starting to seem like every time I do something good for someone else, I’m the one who pays the price.

I take a deep breath and steady myself for my next words, the ones that have been rattling around in my head ever since I returned from her house on Christmas Eve 2005. This is it. If I’m going to guarantee the life I saw for Anna, where she’s happy without me, I have say it.

“I’m not coming back anymore.”

“What?”

I start to reach for her hands but before I can, she pulls them away and stands up. The metal chair tips over behind her and crashes to the floor, and she looks over her shoulder like she’s considering righting it, but she doesn’t. She turns on her heel and heads for the door, out into the cold.

By the time I catch up to her she’s standing at the edge of the curb, waiting for a break in the traffic. “Anna. Please.”

She stops and turns around, arms crossed, tears sliding down her cheeks. “You cannot do this!” she yells as the cars speed past us. “You cannot do this to me. You promised you wouldn’t leave…” Her whole face is bright red and the tears are coming fast now. She tries to wipe her face dry but she can’t keep up.

I grab her by the arm, but she pulls it away. “Go!” she yells. “If that’s what you want, just go!”