Relativity (43 page)

“It's okay, Mum. I can feel it again now. I think my head grew back.”

Ω

ETHAN FELL BACK
into a dreamless sleep, where time didn't pass and space didn't expand. When he woke up again, he was in another bed, up in one of the bays of the wards. Comforting sounds and smells of the hospital soothed him: sweet powdery custard, rustling magazines, chatter and beeps. Outside the window it was getting dark, but Mum wasn't in her chair.

He sat up and touched his head. It was covered in bandages. His skull felt smashed and tender; his brain throbbed, like it had its own heartbeat; his skin was hot and raw. Ethan wanted to rip the bandages off and scratch his stitches.

Someone pulled the curtain back. “Hey, sport.”

Ethan did a double take. “Dad?”

“How are you feeling?” Mark sat on the bed.

“Kinda like I'm missing a piece of my brain.”

His father glanced at the bandages. Then he shifted over slightly; he'd sat on a stuffed animal. Mark picked up the toy and handed it to Ethan. “Is this a wombat?”

“His name is Warren,” Ethan said, taking it from his father's hands. The wombat had patches of fur missing, loose stitches, and scratches on his plastic eyes. “He used to come everywhere with me. He's been my favorite toy since I was a baby.”

“Warren the wombat was your favorite toy,” his father said, smiling. “Listen, Ethan, I'm going back home. Back to Kalgoorlie. My flight leaves tonight.”

“Oh, okay.” Ethan's voice was flat. He felt a pinch in the nerves of his neck. “But I don't want you to go.”

Silence fell for a moment, hovering on the linoleum floor. Something compelled them toward each other, but both of them stayed still.

Mark sighed. “When I was your age, I wanted to be an astronaut. Float around a space shuttle. Visit the moon. I didn't think there was any gravity in space. Remember at the park, when I said the swing made you weightless? That wasn't right. You felt weightless, just like astronauts in orbit do. But gravity still acted while you were on the swing, as it does on the astronauts in orbit. They just don't feel its effect because they're falling with their ships. You can't escape gravity, it's everywhere.”

“Sure,” Ethan said. “But gravity also keeps the moon orbiting around Earth. And Earth orbiting the sun.”

“You blow me away, kid.”

“Then don't leave.”

His father slumped on the edge of the bed. He was close enough for Ethan to smell. “Ethan, I fucked up,” Mark said. “I hurt you, and then I lied about it. Can't even offer you an explanation either; I don't actually know why. But I did it. And then it was done. I've hurt the people I love the most, who love me the most. Put you through all this pain. You deserve better than me.”

Ethan shrugged. “But you're a quantum physicist. Obviously, light behaves like a particle and wave at the same time. Particles can be in two places at once. You understand paradoxes and extreme duality. Everything that can happen, does happen.”

“Schrödinger's cat is both dead and alive.” Mark laughed.

“And you can be a good person and still fuck up.”

“Don't tell your mother I swore in front of you.” His father cleared his throat. “I'd love it to be that simple, Ethan. I really wish I could stay. But I've made too many mistakes, put too much negativity into the universe.”

“Me too. Really, I make stupid mistakes all the time. I just tried to make a time machine. Once, I even punched my best friend in the face,” Ethan admitted. “Gave him a black eye, plus he lost a tooth. Making mistakes is normal. And I lose my temper too. We're the same. I'm just like you.”

“No, we're not the same. You're nothing like me.”

“You're my dad.”

Mark wiped his face. “There's a big difference between being a biological father and being a dad.”

“But you are my dad. I take after you.” Ethan pressed his lips together. They were running out of time. “Anyway, I don't care that you made a mistake. No wrongs and rights in science, remember? Just theories that need to be disproven.”

His father smiled. “Uncertainty is at the heart of every discovery.”

Ethan was struck by how much he wanted to touch his father, to have his father touch him. He wanted Mark to pat him on the back, touch his shoulder, and give him a hug. Craved that physical contact, knew he needed it to survive—the way the stamen of a flower reaches for the sun.

“Here's what I've figured out about time machines: it's really hard to change the past. But we can change the future. So I forgive you,” Ethan whispered.

Mark was silent. They briefly looked at each other. Ethan carefully studied his father's face. He wanted to know every wrinkle, every gray hair in his stubble, every mole—memorize them, learn his dad off by heart.

His father looked away first. “Textbook quantum mechanics says Schrödinger's cat is both dead and alive, until you look inside the box,” Mark said. “But there's another theory that says the universe divides into two: in one universe the cat is dead, and it's alive in the other. Every action splits the universe. So I'd like to think there's another universe out there where you and I get to stay together. Where I made different choices.”

Ethan thought to himself for a moment. “Mathematically, I think that's possible. I'd like to think that too.” He smiled at his father. “And even if you did put some negativity into the universe, it's not the end of the world. There's still more matter than antimatter, right? So the universe must be optimistic. It prefers matter. That's why we exist.”

Outside, the street was tinted with silver light—the full moon had risen, had turned its face to face the sun.

“I'd better get going. My flight.”

Ethan nodded. “Will you ever come back?”

Mark gestured at the moon. “Doesn't it keep on orbiting around Earth? And doesn't Earth keep orbiting the sun?”

“Yeah, I suppose. At least until the Milky Way collides with Andromeda. But that won't happen for at least four billion years.”

His father tipped his head back and laughed. “Pretty sure I won't get to see that. You know, according to quantum physics, it's the act of observation that changes the universe. Opening the box. I was so scared to meet you but I'm so happy that I did.”

“Luckily, I wasn't a dead cat.”

Mark smiled, and then put his hand into his pocket, rummaging around like he'd lost something. He pulled out a watch and handed it to Ethan. “Here, I want you to have this.”

Ethan held the watch in his hands and turned it over. It was heavy: gold, with a black dial. “Wow, seriously?” He tried to put it on his wrist.

“It belonged to my father,” Mark said, helping him close the clasp. “But I want you to have it.”

“Thanks. It's awesome.”

His father stood up. “I should go.”

“Dad, wait.” This was his last chance to tell him, their last chance to make things right. “I'm happy we opened the box too. When two particles become quantum entangled, they still influence each other even when they're separated at great distances. I promise I'll never stop making you Father's Day cards. I love you.” Ethan had tears in his eyes. He reached for his father and hugged him, held him tight. Thick hair from Mark's forearm brushed against Ethan's skin, tickling his face.

Mark squeezed his son back. “I love you too, Ethan.”

And then his father loosened his grip and let him go. He stalled for a moment by the curtain and then he was gone.

Ethan wiped his eyes with the hospital blanket and caught his breath. The watch weighed down on his hand. He held his wrist under his bedside light and studied the shiny face. Golden stars covered its dark dial. Below the watch's hands, in the center, was a frowning moon—this was a moon-phase watch.

In the window, the real moon was bright in the sky. Perfect balance between its orbital velocity and the pull of Earth's gravity kept it spinning around them, stuck in orbit. Ethan smiled. No matter what, the moon always came back.

Ω

CLAIRE WAITED IN THE CORRIDOR,
outside Ethan's room. She tried not to eavesdrop on their conversation, but heard Mark laugh. His laughter gave her a vague sense of solidarity: knowing someone else found Ethan hilarious, that another human being recognized precisely how magical that boy truly was. Nobody else had been in on that secret before; she'd never had the opportunity to share it.

Mark pulled the curtain back, quickly walking away from Ethan's bed. His face was flushed; he rubbed at his chin. Claire could tell he was trying to hold back tears.

He gave her a stiff nod. “Thanks for letting me come and say good-bye.”

“Sure, I think it was important. For Ethan.”

“Ethan is . . . wow.”

Claire smiled. “I know, I can't really believe we made him.”

Mark readjusted the strap of his bag and glanced back at the drawn curtain. There was an uneasy silence. “Claire, I can't really take any credit. You did it all. All I did was contribute a single cell.”

She pretended to laugh off the comment, but it struck a tender nerve. “Thank you.”

“Look, I need to get to the airport. Would you walk me out?”

“Sure.”

They sat outside at the bus stop, quiet for a while, watching for an available taxi. Claire was suddenly overcome by a strong sense of déjà vu, the way time could wrap itself into a circle when you recognized a familiar place.

“We've sat here before,” she said.

“I remember.” Mark rubbed his hands on his knees; he was having trouble sitting still. “Listen, about what happened when Ethan was a baby. It only took a few seconds to hurt him,” he whispered. “But by the time I realized what I'd done, it was too late. I knew I'd hurt you too. I just didn't want to lose you.”

“Why didn't you just—?”

“Because I loved you. Because I was scared. And then I lost you both anyway. Claire, I didn't realize I'd done so much damage.”

“Selective memory is crucial to survival.”

“No,” he said. “I don't mean that I don't remember. I didn't repress any memories. Maybe just pruned them back. Made it less severe in my head than it was in real life. But when I saw Ethan back in the hospital . . .”

“Look, I know I'm to blame too, I should never have left you when—”

He interrupted. “Last time we sat here, you said that too. And I didn't reply or correct you. That was the moment I made everything worse. What I should've said was you're not to blame. At all. I didn't take responsibility for what I did to Ethan then, but I do now.”

“No, if I hadn't gone to that audition . . .”

“You know, I never even asked you how it went.”

She laughed suddenly. “They offered me the lead.”

“Jesus, Claire. I had no idea.”

“A dream come true,” she said, waving a hand.

“That's why you stopped dancing, wasn't it?” Mark asked, his eyes scanning her face.

“That's the problem with dreams, right? They just live inside our heads. Dreams aren't ever real, they're always projections. And when they finally do come true, technically they stop being dreams. Then they're just your life.” Claire was quiet for a moment. “Anyway, that wasn't the only reason I quit ballet. There's no way I could've looked after Ethan on my own and kept dancing professionally. All of a sudden, I was a single mum.”

A bus approached, stopping in front of them. The doors opened. When the driver eventually realized they weren't boarding, he swore under his breath before driving away.

Mark kept his eyes on the bus. “That was the thing I loved about you most. How driven you were. Why don't you go back to ballet?”

“Oh, I'm much too old now.” Claire tucked her hair behind her ear. “Besides, I'm not in touch with that obnoxious, pushy side of myself anymore. Thankfully, I chilled out. Learned my limitations.”

“You were never obnoxious. Take some advice from our son. He is a genius, after all. Don't stop trying to disprove yourself.”

“Yeah, why do we resist doing the thing we love the most? I have been thinking of teaching. There's an opening for a kids' ballet instructor.”

“You'd be great at that.” Mark touched her leg then quickly retracted his hand. “So, I pretty much ruined your life, didn't I?”

“Don't give yourself too much credit.” She nudged him in the ribs. “You did ruin it a bit, for a little while. But you also gave me Ethan. He's the best thing in the world.”

“Like I said before, I'm basically a sperm donor. And you're wrong, Ethan's actually the best thing in the universe.” He raised his bag over his shoulder and held out his hand. “Here comes a cab.”

“Mark, you're not just a sperm donor. Ethan came from a place of love,” she said.

He smiled. “We were like a supernova. Burned brightly and collapsed, but for a brief moment, we did outshine the rest of the galaxy. Stellar explosions also stream elements from their core and release energy into the universe. So Ethan is a child of the stars.”

Claire laughed. “That's maybe the nerdiest and most beautiful thing I've ever heard.”

Both of them held each other's gaze until there was nothing else to do but look away.

Mark broke the silence. “There's something I've been meaning to tell you, Claire. My father left Ethan half his estate. The house in Woollahra is about to go on the market. Obviously, the money from the sale will go into a trust until he turns eighteen. Tom's organizing everything; I'm sure you can both work it out.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Mark, that's crazy. You have to be joking.”

He pulled out a folded document from the pocket of his jacket. “Not a joke. I have a copy of the will right here.”

“I can't believe your father did this,” Claire said quietly, carefully reading over the words on the page.