Mittman, Stephanie (42 page)

"No,"
he said more adamantly. "I know I don't deserve a second chance, but the
boy, M.G., think of the boy. A boy needs a father. She said... the woman
at your office,
she said you had no family. You never married, did you?"

She
shook her head.
"I
have no family. Not even the boy."

"But..."
His eyes darted around the room as if there would be some clue as to what she
had done with him.

"They
gave him away when he was born. My parents did. I never even held him in my
arms."

He
took the news quietly.
Of course,
his face said. He should have expected
as much. "We could try to find him," he began.

She
shook her head. "Leave it alone. Please, Father, just leave it be."

He
sat beside her, silent, for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was
hopeful, the end of each sentence rising in question. "We could find him
somehow. You search for children. You could find him and we could be, I don't
know, his guardian angels and watch over him and make sure nothing happened to
him and..."

She
bit her tongue, but she couldn't hold back the tears. For the first time in ten
years the anger was gone, and all that was left was the sadness. "It's too
late."

"I
understand that you can't forgive me. I don't deserve another chance, but I
swear, Mary Grace, I will make it up to you, to both of you. I'll marry you, if
you'll have me. I'll give up my position." He unfastened the clerical
collar along with his rabat and placed it softly on her stomach. "See me
as a man. A man who wants to do what's right."

"Father
Dougan," Mary Grace began, "you don't understand."

"Dennis.
You should call me Dennis, since I'm going to be your husband."

"No,"
she shook her head at him, but he was so far
gone in his need to set things right
that he didn't seem to hear or see her.

"First,
we'll be married, and then we'll find our son and be a family. I'll hold you
sacred and I will..."

"He's
dead."

There
was no reaction.

"He's
dead, Dennis. I went after him. I searched for him for a year once I turned
eighteen. No one would hear me before then. I was a nonperson."

His
eyes were fixed on a spot behind her, and he said nothing, so she continued.

"He
needed a liver transplant. His best hope was us, his biological parents. I
don't know how, but somehow they managed to keep our names a secret. His
parents tried to find out who we were, but they kept running into the same
brick walls I did. By the time I found them, it was too late."

"But
surely, I mean, there must have been... I would have... I..."

"I
know." She touched his hand, but he pulled back from her as if he couldn't
bear her touch. "They were wonderful people. Kind and loving. Maybe your
God..."

He
rose slowly, his movements strained and his shoulders low. His jacket, without
the bulk of his vestments, seemed to hang on him the way an old man's clothes
highlight the lack of vigor and robustness that time has stolen.

"Is
there anything you need?" he asked her politely, his eyes vacant, his
voice hollow.

"I'm
sorry," she said.

"No,
no. You never had anything to apologize for. You were never to blame." He
reached for his collar and rabat that still lay across her. "There's
nothing you need?"

"Nothing
you can give me," she said.

"I
wanted to be his guardian angel," he said as he dropped the vestments in
the waste pail by the door.

"Maybe
instead, he's ours," she said as the door slowly closed behind him and a
thin beam of sunlight crossed the floor and climbed the closet door. Before the
door was fully closed, she had ripped the I.V. from her arm and was out of the
bed and slipping into her dirty clothes. Everything was suddenly so clear to
her. But time was of the essence. Who knew how long a minute was when it was
passing in another century? And a minute could change everything. How long had
it taken her to become pregnant all those years ago? How long to fall into Oak
Creek Canyon? How long to come back?

She
looked at her watch. No matter how many time zones it might feature, it
couldn't tell her what time it was in Oak Creek Canyon in 1894, nor whether
everyone she had come to love was safe by now.

She
knew she must look a mess in her tattered clothes as she slipped out of her
room. A desperate woman, she kept the derringer in her hand as she checked up
and down the corridor. Except for a woman with a walker at one end, the hall
was empty. She hurried down it toward a door marked "Exit."

She
had one foot out when a hand grabbed her arm. "That's an emergency exit
only." The man who looked at the plastic bracelet on her right hand was in
his early sixties, bulky, but not too formidable. "You been
released?"

"Does
an alarm go off if we leave this way?" she asked. She hadn't heard
anything yet, and the door was already partially open, but she wasn't taking
any chances.

"No,
but—" the security guard started. He stopped when he saw the gun in her
left hand.

"That
a toy?"

She
shook her head. "You have a car?"

"You
don't want to do this, lady," he said. "This ain't a good idea. I'm
twice as big as you are, and you ain't gonna win. I don't wanna hurt you, so
let's just..."

"How
long till retirement?" she asked.

"A
couple of months. Jeez, don't make me do this." He reached for her gun,
and struggled with her. She slipped behind him and managed to get his gun out
of his holster while giving up her own.

"Look
lady, this ain't a game. Give me my gun." He was more afraid of the big
silver weapon she was holding than she was of the derringer in his hand, though
she'd be sorry to have to leave it behind. "You got a gun, I got a gun.
But I ain't afraid to use mine. That is... yours."

"This
gun loaded?" she asked, feeling its weight. It was a hefty thing and the
barrel kept pointing to the ground.

"No."

"Then
you're right, we are even. Neither is mine." She put her finger around the
trigger of his and aimed it at him, steadying it with two hands.

Sweat
beaded on his upper lip and his arms shook. "Don't do nothing rash,"
he said.

"Then
yours is loaded," she surmised. "Now. This is easy." She heard
footsteps in the hall and motioned him to precede her out the door. "I
want you to drive me up 89A. I'll tell you when to turn off, and then you'll
leave me there. That's it. Piece of cake, no?"

"You're
the one with the gun." He shrugged and pointed to the car marked
"Security" a few feet away.

"Sorry.
I've got a lot of western blood in me lately. And I'm in a big hurry. I don't
know how time works, and I'm afraid I might be too late." They made their
way to the car and got in. It seemed as though he believed she wouldn't hurt
him.

"Too
late for what?" he asked, starting the engine.

"Too
late for something that happened a long time ago. Isn't that ridiculous?"
She was giddy with her plan. It was hard to sit still in the car. "How far
is Oak Creek Canyon?"

***

"Just
leave you? I can't do that," the security guard said when Mary Grace
instructed him to pull off the road.

"It's
OK. That's my car." She pointed to the Mustang still parked where she had
left it a lifetime ago.

"Lady,
you know you could have just taken a cab." He shook his head, his mouth a
thin line of disgust.

"I
hadn't thought of that," she admitted, feeling stupid. "I just had to
get here. Can you understand?" Of course he couldn't, and explaining would
only make it harder for anyone to accept.

"Can
I have my gun back now?" the security guard asked.

She
began to hand it to him, but the eagerness in his eyes stopped her. What if he
insisted on bringing her back to the hospital? She could miss her chance and
maybe wind up in some padded cell telling everyone that she traveled through
time and loved a man who died before she was even born.

"I'll
give it back to you when I come back to the hospital, OK? There might be snakes
here and I could need it." Feeble. Very feeble. Why did she have such
trouble thinking on her feet?

"You
expect me to believe you're planning on coming back to the hospital? Now why
don't I think so?" He began to get out of the car.

"Of
course. I just needed to see something down in the canyon." She started
walking toward the precipice, the guard a few feet behind her.

"What?"

"I
said, I just..."

"I
heard you," he said. "What do you have to see?"

"I
think I left something important down there." She was nearly at the edge,
and he was close enough to reach her. Below her was the dried-up riverbed she
had seen just a few days before. It was dull and lifeless, and nothing stirred
around her. She tucked the gun into the back of her jeans and sidled closer and
closer to the brink of the rocks, ready for destiny to sweep her over the edge.
Nothing happened.

"Come
away from there." He took her gently by the arm, and she let him lead her
to a safer vantage point. "There's nothing down there for you," he
said softly.

"Maybe
not now," she said. There was no guarantee it would happen again. She
could simply plunge to her death. Worse, she could live and be trapped in a
crippled body for life. Worse still, she could make it back only to find Sloan
and the baby dead. With heavy feet she accompanied the guard back toward his
car.

He
opened the car door for her. "You have to have hope."

But
how will I know what to do? Let reason guide your head. Let love guide your
heart. Let hope guide your feet.
There was nothing for her here. It was
all at the bottom of the canyon. If there was a chance...

She
broke away from the guard at a run. She didn't even stop at the edge of the
bridge. Her feet kept on pedaling like a cartoon character's even after there
was no more land beneath her.

Water.
It surrounded her,
filling her lungs, choking her. Her arm hit something
hard, and pain seared through her. Still more water rushed into her mouth and
her chest as she gulped for air. She tried to swim for the surface but any
movement of her arm was agonizing.

Two
strong hands dug into her armpits and yanked her from the creek. Sputtering and
coughing, she lay on her back on the bank of the creek, her head resting
against muscular thighs.

"My
arm!" she moaned, cradling it to her. She was soaked through to the skin,
her arm was certainly broken, but what did it matter? The trees above her, the
rushing water, all told her she'd managed to do it again.

"Well,
if it ain't Mary Grace O'Reilly floatin' into my arms once more." With a
great deal of pain she rolled over to stare at her rescuer.

Wilson
Tate's angry eyes flashed back at her, his two gold teeth glistening in the sun
as he smiled widely. His hand tangled in her hair and yanked her head.

"You're
hurting me," Mary Grace said, her eyes overflowing with tears of pain and
fear.

Wilson
pulled her closer to him, unmindful of her arm. "This ain't pain, darlin'.
That comes later. When this mess is settled and I take you to my bed. And that
ain't nothin' compared to what Mason'll do to ya when I'm done."

"What
mess?" What had happened since she'd been gone? Where was Sloan, Ben, the
baby?

"Never
you mind. You'll get what you deserve later." He shoved her away from him,
her pain nearly unbearable, and ordered her to her feet. On the ground lay
Harlin Tate, his mouth open, along with his fly. He was still unconscious. Then
no time had passed at all.

Wilson
grabbed her good arm and headed for the trees. "Mason?" he yelled.
Only the sounds of nature answered him, the rustling leaves on the mesquite
trees, the noisy chirping of the blue jays. "Damn. If Westin's got him,
you're the one that's gonna pay."

"Westin?
Sloan's here?" She had told so many lies she could hardly remember where
she stood with the Tates anymore.

He
gave a quick jerk of his hand, and the front of her shirt came open. Beneath it
she was wearing nothing. Wilson roughly grabbed her breast and squeezed. His
ragged fingernails bit into her skin as he pushed her back against a tree.
Something hard pressed into the small of her back. For a moment she thought it
was the tree itself, but then it came to her. "And he's gonna watch you
get what you deserve."

"Get
off me," she hissed at Wilson. "Or I'll kill you." Her left hand
reached behind her and pulled the security guard's gun from her waistband. She
pressed the barrel into Wilson's belly. His eyes widened and he took a step
back. "Who are you to tell me what I
deserve?" Mary Grace shouted.
"All my life I've let people tell me about what I deserved, and I never
deserved any of it."