Once Beyond a Time (32 page)

We’re winding our way up the mountain toward the house. “Have you told your brother about what happens in the house, as far as seeing into time?” he asks.

“We haven’t told him yet. Mom and Dad plan to, but they want to give him a few days to settle in before they hit him with that one. Meanwhile, we’re hoping he doesn’t bump into somebody who’s not really there, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes.” He manages to chuckle. “I know what you mean. I remember the first time I ran into you. You were lying out in the sun in that little bit of a bathing suit.”

“You thought it was my underwear.”

“I’d never seen anything like it. Not in 1916. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on.”

At first I want to be creeped out by that, but then I remember the way he looked standing over me. Young and handsome and alive. “Really?” I ask. “You really thought that?”

“Yes, Linda, I really did.”

“Thanks,” I say. Then I add, “Austin.”

We pull up in front of the house, and I turn off the car. “Come on in,” I say.

Bim gets out of the car slowly, like his joints don’t work quite right. As we move up to the porch, he says, “You used to wait for me here on the steps.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Seems like a long time ago.”

“For you, it was. Not so long ago for me.”

I open the front door for him, and he steps inside. I follow. He’s looking around like he’s mesmerized by the place. Finally, he says, “You’re right. Not much has changed.”

“Come on,” I say, nodding toward the kitchen.

“Where are we going?”

“Outside.”

“Outside?”

“That’s right. Come on.”

He follows me through the kitchen and to the back door. I notice he draws his sweater more tightly around him when we step out back. I remember then that old people are always cold. Suddenly I want to yell at him for growing old on me, as though he did it on purpose. I know he didn’t, but still I want the old Austin back—or the young one, rather. I want the Austin who gave me the necklace, but I know I can never have him.

We stand in the middle of the yard with the stars shining overhead. “Well?” he says.

I point upward. “Remember?”

He tilts his head back. “Remember what?”

“That,” I say. “The star. Remember we looked at it together before?”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, he shakes his head. “I don’t remember. What is it?”

“It’s the star that showed up the day Digger disappeared. It’s been here every night since—but only here. You can’t see it from anywhere else. So it’s got to be from another time.”

“Another time?” he echoes.

“Yeah. I brought you out here to see it once when you were still back in 1916. Don’t you remember that?”

He squints and moans like all of a sudden his head hurts. He’s looking up, but I know at the same time he’s thinking back, trying to remember. “Oh yes,” he says. He’s speaking so quiet I can hardly hear him. “Now I remember.”

“Well, back then you were sure science could explain it. I thought you might be right, but now I’m not so sure anymore.”

“So why did you bring me here tonight, Linda? Why did you want to show me this now?”

“Because I think it’s the Star of Bethlehem. Remember, I told you that before. I was wondering what you might think now. Do you think it could be the Christmas star?”

His eyes grow small, and his head moves slowly up and down. “Well, I don’t know,” he says. “If the star can be seen from nowhere else but right here, then it’s got to be something that happened in another time. But the Star of Bethlehem?”

“Well, if it
is
—and I say it is, because it’s got to be something pretty important—then wouldn’t the whole thing be true? I mean, the whole thing about God coming to earth? I always found it hard to believe, like it was just a story or a fairy tale or something. But with the star showing up every night, I kind of have to wonder.”

He stops looking at the sky and looks at me. He’s rubbing the back
of his neck like it’s aching from looking up too long. “I’ve never believed in any of it, Linda. You know that. Not in God. Certainly not in God coming in the flesh.”

“But the star?”

He takes a few steps forward, looks up, looks down. He paces in a small circle, finally coming back to me. “It’s real, isn’t it? The star is real.”

“Yes,” I say. “Of course it’s real. We can see it, can’t we?”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s what you think it is. It doesn’t mean …” He stops talking and starts pacing again.

“Dad said something about, if we peeled back time, we could go back to the day Jesus was born. He says it was a real event, you know, something that really happened.”

He stops pacing. He looks at me, and he looks angry. “What are you getting at, Linda?” he asks.

I shrug. I’m beginning to be sorry I brought him here. “You just sounded so sad in the hospital. I thought if I brought you out here and showed you the star and told you it just might all be true, that would give you a little hope.”

He stares at me a long time like I’ve said something terrible, but then he tilts his head back again and looks up at the star. “Such foolishness,” he says. “But perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it’s a glorious foolishness. It would be worth considering.”

I don’t really know what he’s talking about. But as he’s standing there in the light of the star, I can see that some kind of sadness slips off his face. He breathes in deeply like he hasn’t been able to catch his breath in a long time. He looks at me again and says, “Thank you for bringing me here tonight, Linda.”

I give him a nod. “You’re welcome, Austin.”

“Maybe I’ll come back and look at it again sometime. You’ve given me much to think about.”

“All right.”

“For now, I’m tired. I think I’d better go home.”

“Okay. But Austin?”

“Yes, Linda?”

“Just speaking for me, I’m finding it easier and easier to believe.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything as we walk across the grass to the house.

Saturday, April 26, 1969

C
ARL LOOKS AROUND
the dining room table, his eyes shifting from me to Meg to Linda and back to me. His fork hovers over his plate, interrupted in its otherwise frantic journey toward the next bite. Finally, he says, “You guys been dropping acid or something while I’ve been away?”

“I wish,” Linda says, but when I look at her she shrugs. “Just kidding, Dad.”

Meg says, “Listen, Carl, I know it sounds crazy. And heaven knows we didn’t believe it at first either. But it’s true.”

Carl’s eyes narrow. The fork still hangs motionless over the chicken fricassee Meg has prepared for lunch. “So you’re telling me you see people in this house that are living in different times?”

“That’s right, son,” I say.

“Well, what? Are they ghosts or something?”

Linda shakes her head. “They’re not ghosts. Some of them aren’t even dead yet. Heck, some of them aren’t even born yet, for that matter.”

“Not born yet?” Carl echoes. “Like who?”

“Well,” Linda says, “Dad said he saw Gavan’s son, Nicholas, who isn’t born till the twenty-first century.”

“The twenty-first century?”

I lift a hand. “It’s impossible to understand, Carl,” I say. “But I can tell you this much. It’s a gift. For whatever reason, God is allowing us to see in part what he sees in full. He’s giving us at least a glimpse into the Eternal Now.”

“Yeah?” Carl sounds skeptical. “How come?”

For love’s sake, I think.

Before I can speak, Meg says, “We don’t really know, Carl. We just wanted you to be prepared in case you see anything out of the ordinary.”

“You mean like somebody suddenly appearing on the couch next to me when I’m trying to watch TV or something?”

“Exactly,” Linda says.

The fork reluctantly stabs a piece of chicken and carries it to Carl’s mouth, where it is slowly consumed. Once Carl swallows, he says, “Peyote, right? Or magic mushrooms? Listen, I’ve heard ’shrooms can distort time and make you see things that aren’t really there. Not that I’d know from experience—”

“Sure, Carl,” Linda interrupts.

“But really,” Carl goes on, “you’re making me nervous here, folks. I mean, I come home from ’Nam thinking things are finally going to be somewhat normal, and I find my family’s been turning on with Timothy Leary or something.”

Meg sighs heavily. She looks at me, hoping I’ll have an answer for Carl. I take a long drink of water to give myself a moment to think.

“Listen, son,” I say at last. “Surely you know us better than that. We wouldn’t take drugs, and we certainly wouldn’t lie to you. At the same time, we don’t necessarily expect you to believe us either. Maybe you’ll see for yourself, and maybe not. For now, we’ll just let it rest, all right?”

But Carl’s not quite ready to let it rest. “And anyway,” he says, his eyes making the rounds again, “what’s so great about the place where we lost Digger? How can that be a gift?”

His words silence us. I for one feel momentarily chastened, as though
I’ve forgotten what happened here. Not that I could ever forget.

“Listen, Carl,” Linda says, “why don’t we go down to the ice cream parlor where I work? I can get us a couple of free banana splits.”

“All right. Sure.” Carl lays down his fork and pushes away from the table. He steps around to Meg and kisses her forehead. “Great lunch, Mom. I’ve missed your cooking.”

She smiles up at him and pats the hand that has momentarily alighted on her shoulder. Then Carl and Linda are gone, and Meg and I are left to gaze at each other across the table. There was a time when what we wanted most was to be alone, she and I. Now, it leaves us feeling awkward and afraid. Her face has grown pale, and her lips are slightly parted, as though she wants to say something and at the same time doesn’t want to say it. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry. My heart sinks in my chest like a stone.

Saturday, April 26, 1969

W
ITH
C
ARL AND
Linda gone, the room is so quiet I can actually hear a clock ticking, the clock on the mantle in the kitchen. The seconds fall away, telling me it’s time. No more waiting because the number of seconds is finite and someday there will be an end to them. So says Mrs. See, and I know she’s right.

I feel the words at the base of my throat, but I can’t seem to find the strength to carry them to my tongue. I squeeze my hands together in my lap and pray for courage, but several more seconds tick off and the moment passes. Sheldon is speaking.

“Well,” he says, “I guess we really couldn’t expect Carl to react in any other way. It’s a little, um—beyond the pale, so to speak.” He tries to smile, but his lips tremble.

I nod. This isn’t what I wanted to talk about, but I need to respond. “I suppose he’ll simply have to experience it to believe it,” I say.

“Yes, I suppose so. At least if something happens, he won’t be caught completely off-guard.”

“And if nothing happens?”

“Then he’ll go on thinking we’ve lost our minds.”

Sheldon and I look at each other and, suddenly, we laugh. Together.
Loud and long. As though our son thinking us crazy is the funniest thing in the world. Because somehow, in this moment, it is.

When the laughter trails off, I know it has taken something with it. Something bad that had been hanging in the air between Sheldon and me for far too long. And when the room is quiet again, I’m no longer with the man who wronged me; I am with an old friend.

“Sheldon?”

“Yes, Meg?”

The words are there now, and it’s not too late. “No matter what else happens, we need to be a family again.”

“We do?” His right hand shakes as he reaches for his water glass. He starts to lift it but changes his mind. “I mean, of course we do. For the sake of the children.”

“No, Sheldon,” I say. “Not just for them, but for our own sake too.”

His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s trying to understand. “For our own sake?” he repeats.

“Yes. I’m tired of being alone in our marriage. I want us to be together again, like we were at the start of things.”

He sits up a little straighter, and his face brightens. “Do you think we can be?” he asks. “Together again, I mean?”

“I don’t know. But I believe we have to try.”

“You want to try, Meg?”

Just as he says that, I picture Charlene and the baby. A sharp pain strikes at the heart of my resolve. I take a deep breath and let the pain roll through me. I can’t follow the lingering hurt because it’s headed in the wrong direction. Forgiveness, Mrs. See said, is the road between heaven and earth. It’s a difficult first step, but I decide again to take it.

“Yes, I do want to try,” I tell Sheldon. “What I don’t want is to grow old alone. I want you with me.”

Sheldon is smiling now, tentatively, as his head moves from side to side. “I don’t even know how to begin,” he confesses.