There Will Come a Time (14 page)

“Big?” Sebastian says. “ ‘Big' is an understatement. It contains billions of stars, stretching out across billions of light-years, containing a trillion galaxies. It's not flat. It curves.” He shows us with his hands. “And that's only what we can observe. Yep, pretty big.” He points to a big branch that's in front of us. “Watch your step.”

“Thanks. Well, how big is a galaxy?”

“You sure you want to get him started?” I ask, although I love hearing Sebastian talk about galaxies and stars. It makes everything seem so ridiculously huge but also connected at the same time.

“A galaxy is like a way to organize, a unit of measurement.”

“Like math?” Hanna says.

“Our galaxy, the Milky Way, contains between two hundred and four hundred billion stars alone. A galaxy can typically contain about ten million to a trillion stars.”

Even though it's daytime, I look up to try to see all these stars he's talking about. All I see is blue.

“Think of it this way: The sun is a star, right?”

“Sure,” Hanna says.

“The Earth has about, what? Seven billion people? So take seven billion humans per star. Now think about how many people could occupy the space in just our galaxy. How many humans per star?” He stops and picks up some of the sand from the riverbed. “More than the number of grains of sand that are on the Earth's beaches.” He lets the sand run through his fingers. As it falls to the ground I try to imagine each grain representing a human life.

We start walking again.

“Wow,” Hanna says.

“Yeah,” Sebastian says.

“So why haven't we discovered aliens?” she asks.

“Well, they wouldn't come from our galaxy. Ours is quite small in comparison to others, and if there were space-traveling civilizations, it would seem they would have made contact. But it's still plausible.”

“You watched a lot of science fiction as a kid, didn't you?”

“Of course, but that doesn't mean anything. So let me ask you again. What's your view on alien life?”

“The probability seems very high,” Hanna says, making me smile. Sebastian has converted her in five minutes. “But I think it's like those miners, except sifting through galaxies and infinite space. Finding other life-forms would take lifetimes, maybe all time.” She pauses and looks up at the sky. “But it doesn't mean they aren't out there.”

Sebastian stops. He begins clapping. “Bravo.” He bows in Hanna's direction. “And my job is done.” She gives a small curtsy and laughs.

Hanna doesn't realize it, but she's made Sebastian's day. I'm glad they're getting along. Grace always liked Sebastian too.

“What about the parts we can't observe?” I ask.

“What about them?”

“Could there be other universes? Other realities?”

“Sure.” Sebastian practically starts skipping along our trail. His enthusiasm pulls us forward with him. “ ‘Multiverse' is what the theory is called. So if time and the universe are infinite, by the law of probability, we can say that there are an infinite number of worlds and people. Or even parallel universes, universes where our choices actually create side-by-side worlds, where we are different versions of ourselves.”

“So you're saying there's another Mark out there who is doing or thinking the same thing that I am at this moment.”

“Possibly.”

“Like someone's doing this.” Hanna jumps up and kicks her legs in the air like a frog.

“Let's hope not,” I say.

She sticks her tongue out at me.

“It's more like there being a world where I didn't choose to learn the drums. Maybe I don't play music at all. How would that alter my life? I probably wouldn't know Mark, wouldn't know you, and wouldn't be walking this trail right now.”

“But we make choices all the time,” I say. “There'd be an infinite number of parallel universes then. Kind of seems impossible.”

“I don't know. It'd be like the Internet, always expanding,” Hanna says.

If I had turned left that night, maybe Grace would be sitting at home, writing in her journal. Or out with River. Or playing with Fern. Or cooking with Jenny. Or sharing a cup of tea with Dad in the kitchen. I see the infinite possibilities of Grace.

“There really wouldn't be any death, then,” I say. “Even if you die in one universe, your other self goes on living.”

“That's one way to think about it, but it's not like you'd ever know. If the universes came into contact, they'd implode.”

We round a curve and an old arch bridge suddenly rises
above us. I do a double take because the bridge looks like a smaller version of the Colorado Street Bridge. Whitney tells us it was built in the 1930s to connect to a tunnel in the mountain, but it was never finished, so it literally dead-ends into the side of a mountain. It's called the Bridge to Nowhere. It's so odd. There's something science fiction about it, but maybe that's all Sebastian's crazy talk about parallel universes.

At the top of the bridge, there's a white tent set up with the bungee jumping equipment. Whitney walks us through a demonstration, how he'll put on the harness, and the three different ways we can jump. There's the swan dive, basically hurling yourself off the bridge face-first. There's the backward leap, where you jump back without looking. The third option is the elevator fall, where you fold your arms across your chest, jump back a little off the bridge, and fall straight down, feetfirst.

Beneath the bridge the river tumbles over huge boulders, which look as if they've been piled to dam the flow, but the water finds a way over and around them. This river would clearly not break your fall, more like break your body, if you dropped into it.

Hanna is very quiet as she eats a granola bar. I pull out my phone and record her.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, thinking maybe the hike has been a little much for her.

“Terrified.” She peers down at the river, so I'm capturing only her profile.

“You're not backing out, are you?”

“No.” She faces the phone, resolved. “It's not about me.” She gives a scared smile, which makes me want to hug her.

What's it about?
I think.
Grace?
She's not even here. She's split across universes, a fragment of the Grace I know. Or she's a soul without a body. I like to think she's in a space called Heaven. A place with no more suffering. No more pain. But without those things, is she even human anymore? Because how can you really know joy if you don't know despair? Nothing exists without its opposite.

Does Grace miss me? Does she remember me?

One of the older women volunteers to go first. She makes the rest of us look like chickens because we all avoided Whitney's eyes when he asked who's ready to jump. Rick straps her in, puts a helmet on her head, and helps her climb over the side of the railing.

“Go, Mary!” her friend yells.

She gives a thumbs-up and Rick starts the countdown. We all join him.

“Five, four, three, two, one.”

She opts for the swan dive. Mary jumps forward. She stretches her arms out. Her body does a flip right before the rope snaps her back up and she flies toward us before falling again.
Even above the roar of the water, I can hear her laughing.

“If she can do it, I can,” Hanna says. “I wish Grace were here.” Her eyes water, so she turns away from Sebastian and me.

“How would she have done it?” Sebastian asks.

“Jumped?” she asks.

“Yeah, the elevator?” Sebastian asks.

“No,” Hanna and I both say.

“The swan?” Hanna asks.

“The swan,” I agree.

Grace didn't like heights, but she didn't like not seeing what was coming even more. We went rock climbing last year with River and his dad up in Joshua Tree. Grace got scared about halfway up. She clung onto the side of the rock. River tried to talk her down, but she wouldn't listen to him. I was right above her and had to get her to visualize where to put her feet. Once she saw the route, she gained her confidence and gradually didn't need me anymore.

Grace didn't like surprises. She liked to know where she was going. When she was really little, she used to have a thing for maps. Memorizing routes, planning the best way to get around Los Angeles. When we'd go on vacations, my dad would refer to her for directions.

There was only one direction she could go when she bungee jumped off the bridge, and that was down, but she'd want to have the full view.

Hanna wants to get it over with, so she's next. She looks cute in the helmet. It kind of reminds me of when she and I used to skate as kids. She keeps her eyes on mine as Whitney tightens the gear. I take her hand and tell her she'll do great. Whitney and I help her over the rail. She doesn't let go of my hand.

“Ahh,” she says. “I don't know. I don't know.”

“You'll do great. Don't think about it,” Whitney says.

“Mark?”

“You can do it,” I say. “For Grace.” I pry her hand free of mine.

“Okay. Okay. For Grace.”

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One!”

Hanna jumps and screams the whole way down. I watch her bob a couple of times until she's pulled back up.

When she's back on the bridge again, her face is flushed and she's grinning.

“Wow. That was amazing.” She hugs me so tight that I feel her heart racing.

“Want to go again?” I ask.

“Never! Sebastian, you're up.”

Sebastian decides to go backward. He doesn't want to see. He closes his eyes and hops off. But he gets twisted around and he ends up falling face-first. He doesn't make a sound, but I know he's terrified. He's a little shaky when they pull him over the railing. He gives me a weak smile.

Whitney doesn't need to help me over the rail. This rail is shorter and much easier to climb than the one on my bridge. There are no suicide bars here. It's kind of ironic: Here on the Bridge to Nowhere, people pay money to perform a mock suicide. Perfecting their jump, wanting the rush of knowing a small cord is the only thread keeping them from their death.

“Ready?” Whitney asks.

I nod.

“For Grace,” I whisper.

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One!” everyone hollers behind me.

I hurl myself as far away from the bridge as I can. I imagine I'm jumping through a portal in time and space. It's as if Grace is jumping with me. She reaches out to hold my hand. We're flying, sailing through dimensions, as if each universe is a color in a rainbow. And in each one she is happy. She is alive. She smiles at me, revealing that small space between her two front teeth.

There's a snap and Grace's hand is torn from mine. My body jerks up as I reach out, trying to find it.

“Grace!”

The granite walls surround me and the rush of the river is louder and more present in my ears. I feel her death all over again. Grace is gone, forever. I am still here, trapped in a world without her. I go limp as they pull up my dead weight.

A
t night I pull out my phone to find a text from Lily. We had exchanged numbers after the last practice. I didn't think she'd actually use mine.

Today I miss when she'd make me tea and we'd talk.

Her words pick at a scab. Just when I think it's healing, the wound keeps breaking open. The bungee jump helped clarify that. I don't respond.

I take out a piece of paper and begin writing at my desk.

Top Five Things to Do When Bored

1) Eat

2) Watch TV

3) Play video games

4) Go for a drive

5) Play bass

I'm tempted to go to the bridge again, but it's not as if that'll make me feel better, so I write:

Top Five Reasons Not to Go to the Bridge

1) Cold

2) Pathetic

3) Grace isn't there

4) Need to move forward

5) Cold

Apparently I'm not as creative with the list thing as Grace was. There's a noise coming from the hallway, so I go investigate. The light is on in Grace's room. I push open the door. Fern is looking through drawers.

“What're you doing?” I survey the room to make sure she hasn't made a mess. Everything's exactly where it should be, where it's been for months, undisturbed. Someday we'll have to sift through Grace's belongings. Dad and Jenny are waiting on me, but I haven't been ready.

“Looking for something.”

“What?” I'm actually curious. What would Fern need in here?

“A pink scarf.”

I point to the bottom drawer, the one where Grace kept her accessories. “Did you try that one?”

Fern sighs. “Yes, but it's not there.”

“Isn't it past bedtime?”

“Mr. Fox is going to a party and he needs it.” She holds up a stuffed animal for me to see.

I open Grace's closet and her smell hits me. Grace's smell. I hold on to the door frame because it almost knocks me over.

“Good idea,” Fern says behind me. She pushes past me into the closet, moving aside Grace's shirts and jeans. Grace always ironed and then hung her jeans. They were perfectly organized, as if she were going to come and pull out a pair to wear tomorrow.

“Oh, here it is!” Fern says, and tries to pull the scarf off a hook. I help her get it down and she holds it tight against her chest. “Thank you, Mark!” She runs off into her room.

I close Grace's closet.

I walk around the room, touching things as I go. Her dresser. The corner of her bed. The top of her computer. A book on her shelf. I open a drawer. Inside are Grace's journals. I pull out my phone and text Lily.

Today it's her smell.

Grace's scent lingers like the wet smell after a rain. I wonder how long it'll be before it leaves altogether. I shut the drawer, turn off Grace's light, and exit the room.