Coin #2 - Quantum Coin (27 page)

“Sort of, kid.” Ephraim smiled.

“He's your spitting image, Ephraim,” Nathaniel said. “Only smaller, cuter, and a quarter more Korean. He's probably smarter too.”

“I know you want to see your parents,” Jena said. “But we're going to take care of you for a little while, okay, Doug? We're your…babysitters.”

Doug broke free of Jena and Zoe and ran toward Nathaniel. He tugged on his jacket.

“Yes?” Nathaniel asked.

“Up!” Doug extended his hands upward.

Nathaniel bent and lifted the boy up on his shoulders. Doug reached his arms higher. “I lost my balloon,” he said.

“We'll get you another one,” Nathaniel said. “We'll get you a whole bunch of balloons. Just don't cry again. Deal?”

“I want that one,” Doug said, pointing at the one stuck at the top of the atrium.

“This is the strangest thing I've ever seen,” Ephraim said.

“He's adorable,” Jena said.

“I guess.” Zoe stuffed her fingers into the pockets of her shorts and avoided looking at Ephraim.

“Can we get him back?” Dr. Kim said to no one in particular. She stood in the open door of the control room, staring up at the balloon bobbing gently at the top of the atrium.

“I don't know if we can send him back,” Hugh said. “I'll have to study this data extensively.”

“Not the boy,” Dr. Kim said. “Ephraim. He was right there. Can you bring him back here?”

Hugh frowned. “We already have an Ephraim,” he said.

Dr. Kim looked at Ephraim. “Yes, we do. Work on it, Mr. Everett,” she said.

Hugh was taken aback at her businesslike tone.

“Let me know if the situation—or anything else—changes. I need to lie down,” she said.

She shuffled into the building with her head down.

“So. What do we do with Doug?” Ephraim asked.

“Well, I have a lot of work to do,” Hugh said, edging toward his lab. “Jena, when you have a moment, I could use your help.”

“I'll be right there,” she said.

“What do you think, Eph?” Zoe said.

“We should take him home. We know which universe he came from.” Ephraim pulled the coin out of the pocket of his jeans and looked at it doubtfully.

“Keep it in your pants,” Nathaniel said.

“Too late for that!” Zoe said, pointing to Doug and grinning.

“No way you're using that coin. After what we just saw, we are not taking any more stupid chances with this universe or any other,” Nathaniel said.

“He's got your DNA, Eph. You take care of him,” Zoe said.

“He has your DNA too!” Ephraim said.

Jena crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at him.

Nathaniel swung Doug down and dropped him between Ephraim and Zoe. He ruffled the boy's hair, and Doug ducked away, laughing.

“I have a job for you two,” Nathaniel said.

Ephraim and Zoe exchanged apprehensive looks over Doug's head.

“How did
we
become the most useless people on this team?” Ephraim asked.

He was pushing a half-full shopping cart around the Stop n' Shop. Doug, seated in the rear basket, was reaching out to grab every brightly colored package they passed. Zoe followed behind with a small tablet displaying Nathaniel's grocery list, grabbing boxes from Doug and placing them back on the shelves.

It felt like they were playing an all-too-realistic game of house; Doug was an analog of the son Ephraim and Zoe
could
have together. Ephraim was surprised that he didn't mind the idea that much.

“We're serving a very important purpose,” Zoe said. “Distraction for the boy.”

“Keeping him out of everyone's hair, you mean?” Ephraim dropped five boxes of dry pasta in the cart.

“No. Doug just went through something horrific. I'd be traumatized if I were him. He needs to be doing something normal. And what's more normal than shopping for groceries?”

“With younger versions of your parents,” Ephraim said. “In another universe. That's
so
normal.”

Zoe shrugged. “I used to love shopping with my dad.”

A happy memory suddenly surfaced: young Ephraim sitting in a shopping basket, his mom and dad laughing together.

“At least seeing us doesn't make him scream. I think he likes us,” Zoe said. She lowered her face to Doug's, so their noses were almost touching. “You like us, Doug?”

He grabbed her glasses from her face and hurled them over her head. His peals of laughter made other shoppers look their way.

She sighed. “Those are antiques, Doug,” she said.

She went to retrieve her glasses from a bin of GenMod apples. When she came back to the cart, she held two bags of gummy bears, one in each hand.

“If you want to be useful, you can make a big decision,” she said.

“What?” Ephraim asked.

Zoe held up the bags. “Haribo Gold or store brand?” She lifted her left hand and lowered her right, then lifted the right and lowered the left, like she was weighing them on a scale.

Ephraim studied his choices with his hand on his chin. “Stop n' Shop gummy bears are two dollars cheaper.”

“Yes, they are. They're
very
cheap,” she said.

“Uh-huh. Well, just get them both.”

“You can't have both, Ephraim! You have to pick one.”

“Okay, okay. But I don't even want gummy bears.”

“Pretend that you do.”

“Fine. It isn't our money, so get the more expensive ones.”

“Price isn't the point.”

Doug reached out to grab the Haribo bag, but Zoe held it over his head, just out of reach.

“Don't taunt him,” Ephraim said. “Put them both in the cart and we'll figure it out later. Sheesh.”

Zoe tossed the bags into the cart, pouting.

“Okay,” Ephraim said. “Good. I don't even remember seeing those on the list.”

“Oh. I'm sure someone wanted them.” Zoe put the tablet in her back pocket.

“‘Someone,’ huh?”

She smiled. “I love gummy bears. They make everything better.”

“In that case…” Ephraim added another bag of them to the cart. “How many gummy bears do we have to throw at the multiverse to fix it?”

Zoe stared at the extra bag. “You do prefer store brand,” she said in a wounded voice.

He sighed and pushed the cart down the aisle. Doug twisted around and grabbed for more candy.

“Doug, stop wiggling,” Ephraim said. One of the wheels of the cart got jammed, and he yanked it loose. “You'd think they'd have hover carts or something in the future.”

“This place hasn't changed much,” Zoe said.

It was almost indistinguishable from the store his mother worked in—a tiny piece of Summerside frozen in time while skyscrapers, condos, subways, and strip malls had sprouted around it. This was the only time he hadn't felt completely out of place in this universe, but he couldn't tell if it was because he was shopping, or because he was shopping with Zoe.

Maybe he'd needed to do something completely normal too; he often picked up groceries for him and his mother. She'd said she didn't want to bring her work home with her.

Was Madeline Scott still in this future? His analog's mother would be in her seventies by now. What did she think her son was doing? Did she know he was dead? Maybe she'd like to meet her grandson-who-might-have-been, and a strangely young version of her own son.

Zoe picked up a jar of peanut butter and tilted her head. “Does Jena have any food allergies?”

“You'd know better than I would,” Ephraim said. “I think she doesn't like some fruits. Wait, why?”

“No reason,” she said quickly. “Hey, do you realize how much power we have right now? Whatever we buy, they have to eat. We could chuck the list and just bring back fifty boxes of Twinkies.” Zoe tossed three boxes of Twinkies into the cart.

“You're going to be an awesome mom one day,” Ephraim said.

She opened one of the boxes and gave a Twinkie to Doug. He bit into it happily, smearing white cream all over his nose and chin. Ephraim grimaced.

As they moved down the frozen food section, a middle-aged woman with a red shopping basket followed Ephraim with her eyes.

Zoe rummaged in one of the freezers and dumped five boxes of fish sticks into the cart.

“Who are these for?” Ephraim said.

“Who do you think?” Zoe asked.

“Doug?” Ephraim asked.

Doug stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry. Bits of Twinkie sprayed everywhere.

“Nice.” Ephraim brushed the crumbs off his T-shirt.

“Nathaniel likes them,” Zoe said. She tapped the screen of the tablet to cross fish sticks off the list. “Now we just need a box of wine.”

“Aisle Seven,” he said. He guided the cart around a corner, narrowly missing a cart with a little girl sitting in the back. Doug and the girl smiled at each other as Ephraim headed for the beer and wine section.

“Did you see that?” Zoe asked. “They start young.”

“Speaking of young: Will they sell alcohol to us?” he asked.

“I saw a sign. The drinking age in this universe is eighteen,” Zoe said. “And marijuana's legal. Somehow it's less appealing when you aren't breaking any laws.”

“That reminds me: belated happy birthday.” Jena had turned eighteen two weeks before prom.

Zoe picked up a six-pack of Summerside Special beer and raised it to him. “Cheers.”

“Put it back, Zoe,” Ephraim said.

“My ID, my beer,” she said.

“Didn't your license expire like seventeen years ago?”

Zoe fixed her eyes on him for a long, terrible moment. She put the beer back on the refrigerator shelf.

“I should have borrowed Dr. Kim's,” she said. “No wine, then.” She deleted it from the list.

A camera flash went off. Ephraim saw an elderly man aiming his wristcom at them, about to take another picture. The man quickly lowered his arm and pushed his cart in the opposite direction.

“What is going on?” Ephraim murmured. “People keep staring at me.”

“Maybe they think you're someone else,” Zoe said.

“My analog hasn't been around for over a decade.” Ephraim ran a hand through his hair. “Whatever. Did we get everything?” he asked.

Everything on Zoe's list was crossed off. “Yup,” she said.

Ephraim aimed the cart for the bank of checkout machines. They were all self-serve. There wasn't a single human employee in sight. A seven-foot-tall blue robot that looked like a refrigerator on tank treads was restocking a display with cans it pulled from inside itself. Some things had changed here, after all.

“Let's go,” he said.

“Ephraim, wait.” Zoe grabbed his arm. Cold air from the cooler washed over them. Goose pimples dotted her bare forearm. Did Jena have that mole there, just above her right wrist?

“I have to ask you something important,” she said.

Ephraim looked pointedly at the shoppers around them.

“Here?” he asked.

“Before we get back to Crossroads. Before I lose my nerve.” He'd never known Zoe to be nervous about anything. She took a deep breath and let it out. It misted in the refrigerated air.

“Ephraim…” She put her hands on her hips. “Seriously? You're staring at my boobs?”

“What?” he asked. “I'm not—” He was. She'd forgotten her hoodie, and her tank top was eminently more fascinating at the moment, thanks to the cold temperature. “Sorry. Was that your question?”

“No. Hold on,” she said.

She put her hands over Doug's ears. He giggled and closed his eyes.

“So why haven't you slept with Jena yet?” Zoe asked.

“Huh?”

“Simple question,” she said.

“Yeah, but it's also blunt. And unexpected.” Which described Zoe perfectly. “You know what? I'm not having this conversation.”

He yanked the cart toward the checkout machine and started running items through the barcode scanner and dropping them on the scale.

“Jena and I have talked about you,” Zoe said. “At length.”

“I am shocked by this startling revelation,” Ephraim said. He dropped a can of peas. It rolled under the machine. He decided to leave it there.

“I assumed Jena was holding out on you. She seemed like the type. But she says
you
wanted to wait. That sounded so improbable, I was certain she was making it up.”

Ephraim's eyes flicked to Doug.

Doug put his own hands over his ears and grinned, his eyes flitting between Ephraim and Zoe. The kid was going to need therapy one day.

“He doesn't know what we're talking about,” Zoe said.

“I'm not sure I do either,” Ephraim said. He put down a box of generic corn flakes and looked at Zoe. “Fine. You know we were planning to do it the night of prom.”

“Jena said she was ready to have sex months ago and she gave you plenty of hints. Even you can't be that clueless. I'm curious why you didn't jump her bones at your earliest opportunity.”

“She was telling the truth. I wanted to wait,” Ephraim said.

“You wanted it to be special?” Zoe asked.

“Yeah, of course. Duh. But that wasn't it.” He met Zoe's eyes. A serious question deserved a serious answer.

“Giving Jena the coin meant admitting I would never travel to another universe again,” he said. “Sleeping with her…was admitting I would never see you again.” He gripped the handle of the cart. His slick palms slipped on the glossy plastic. “I wasn't ready for that.”