Second Time Around (11 page)

Mac had seen the three winners safely to their rooms at the Regency and had spent the last of his energy reassuring them that everything would be fine. Lottery jitters were inevitable. For tomorrow was D-Day. Departure day. The lives of David, Vanessa, and Lane would be changed forever. Whether they stayed in their Alternity or came back, the experience was significant and indelible. This memory they would not forget.

Mac shoved aside the popcorn bowl and got up to shut off the lights. Though he longed to talk to Cheryl, he knew it was best she wasn’t with him right now. For many reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she’d been called to the hospital for emergency surgery on an accident victim. Though her presence would have been a balm, it also would have been a distraction to a mind already fragmented and weary.

He entered the foyer to lock the front door and, as happened every time he completed this mundane chore, was reminded of the one time when the door hadn’t been locked. When evil had entered this house, killed his wife, and hurled his tiny son across the room. If only…

He shook his head against the daily—if not hourly—mantra and headed up the stairs. He’d had his chance to go back. He’d refused, because to live in the past with Holly would be to leave his son here alone. He would not do that to Andrew. He could not. No matter what his pain.

He walked softly into Andrew’s room. The boy lay sprawled on his bed, covers askew. Mac tucked in arms and legs and smoothed the blankets on top.
Safe as a bug in a rug.

Andrew stirred and opened his eyes. “Daddy…”

Mac stroked his head, smiling down at him. “Son.”

What else could be said?

SIX

Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the L
ORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:30-31

Kansas City

Vanessa Caldwell felt guilty. Here she was, in the waiting room, moments away from being taken into the Sphere to be hurtled back in time, and her overriding desire was to be alone.

But she wasn’t alone. Her loving family had gathered to see her off. As her father argued with Dudley about why there was air, and as her twenty-one-year-old daughter, Rachel, cowered on a chair like a wallflower afraid of social contamination, Vanessa envied the other winners’ decisions to do it alone, to not have anyone see them off. If only she’d been so brave.

As if she’d had a choice.

During the last week, Dudley had come to terms with her choice to revisit her twenty-first year, her pre-Dudley life. He’d come around when she’d begun to stress her desire to explore life with her mother rather than the life she’d have had with her aborted baby.

It had been the same in regard to Rachel. In fact, Vanessa had decided not even to mention the baby-detail to her daughter. Rachel had enough self-esteem issues. Rachel Frances Caldwell had often been teased by her grandfather that the
F
initial of her name stood for Frumpy. Though cruel, it
was
an apt description. Vanessa had hoped going to an Ivy-League school would help Rachel find a style. Any style would do. But the girl was decidedly blah and boring. Brilliant. But boring.

Not that Vanessa couldn’t have benefited by a makeover herself. She’d been pretty once. But in the last few years, her skin had lost its glow and was being betrayed by wrinkles; her thick, blond locks had darkened and thinned into the short layered style she wore now, whose only attribute was that it was easy to take care of; and her dark eyes had paled, reminding her of the bleached-out eyes of her Tiny Tears doll after she’d given her too many baths with Bab-O.

Dudley, Rachel… which left her father. Yardley Pruitt had not come to terms with her choice. It didn’t matter if she focused on the aborted baby or her desire to spend time with the woman Yardley had divorced. Neither option was acceptable to this man who had placed himself in the center of her life in so many ways. Too many ways.

In his defense, it wasn’t that Daddy was controlling. Vanessa liked to help him and felt most in control when she was doing so. She found her identity in being capable, organized, and dependable. She liked nothing better than to have someone comment on one of her good deeds, and fed on their awe and gushing gratitude, knowing that her offerings lifted her above the lowly recipients who wouldn’t know what to do without her. Only one person refused to play the game by needing her or paying homage: Rachel. Ever since she was old enough to form her own opinions, Vanessa’s daughter had rejected her mother’s favors, advice, and help with a cold, nearly disdainful scorn. Which is why Vanessa spent as much time as possible away from home. She’d be the first to admit she was a mediocre mother. And in psychobabble terms, perhaps she hadn’t tried too hard out of spite for her own mother’s abandonment.

Only now she knew it wasn’t an abandonment.
Ostracism
was a better word. Her mother had been banished from her life by a vengeful father.

She stole another look at Rachel. The girl returned a faint smile, then looked down. Vanessa had wanted to have a talk with her before leaving, confess all the mistakes she’d made, and tell her the truth about her grandmother, but she’d chickened out, supposing it was ridiculous to think she could develop a maternal backbone
and
a close mother-daughter relationship in a week.

What she
had
done was leave her mother’s letters on the dresser in Rachel’s room. Her mother was much more eloquent than she; let Dorian Pruitt Cleese tell Rachel the truth. The letters had changed Vanessa’s life; she only hoped Rachel would let them change hers, because Rachel was indeed the product of a too-busy father and mother. It would have taken a miracle for their progeny to develop any other way. And miracles had been decidedly absent in their lives.

Until now.

Vanessa hugged herself. Any moment now Mr. MacMillan would come in to get her. Any moment now she’d be rushing back in time—or rather, her mind would take the trip while her body stayed here. It was unfathomable and she shook her head, not willing to ponder the idea long. She was more than willing to accept and enjoy the perks of technology as long as she wasn’t expected to figure out how they worked.

Suddenly, the door opened and thought became reality. Mr. MacMillan came in, smiling at her. “Are you ready?”

She put a hand to her stomach and nodded. At least she thought she nodded.

Dudley came to her side. “This is it?”

“This is it,” Mr. MacMillan said. “Time to say your farewells.”

Vanessa turned to Rachel first. The girl had stood but did not step forward, forcing Vanessa to go to her. She held her daughter’s face in her hands. “I love you, honey.”

She waited for Rachel to break down, tear up, offer some hint of emotion. But Rachel merely nodded and accepted Vanessa’s hug before reclaiming her chair.

Her father held out his arms. “Vanessa. Dear girl. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” She let herself be enveloped by his protective force. Oddly, the Elvis Presley song “Make the World Go Away” sang in her head. That’s what Daddy counted on Vanessa to do—make his world easy and snug. The term
enabler
came to mind, but now was not the time to entertain such psychoanalysis. Besides, that reality meant little right now when another kind of reality screamed in her ear, one she was going to have to face alone. Not just reality, but her Alternate Reality: Alternity.

She shivered, but the movement was absorbed within her father’s arms. Then he kissed her head and let her go.

It was Dudley’s turn. When she turned to her husband, it was as if she were seeing him for the first time. He was not a handsome man. Never had been. She’d married him soon after the abortion to escape her pain. To be needed amidst her own need. Ardor had never been a part of their lives. They were pros at nice-ing each other to death.

As they did now. Dudley gave her a quick hug, kissed her cheek, and said the right words. One, two, three, and she’d be on her way…

She suddenly found herself all out of politeness. The need to be alone returned, and she stepped toward the door with such purpose she made Mr. MacMillan scramble after her. Out in the hall she hesitated. “Which way?”

“To your right, Ms. Caldwell. Down to the last door on the left.”

She captured the hall with her stride, causing Mr. MacMillan to pull up on her arm, slowing her. He brought her to a stop. “It’s all right, Ms. Caldwell. Families mean well, but they don’t always help.”

She looked back at the door, then slapped a hand to her mouth, hating the emotion that had suddenly welled up inside. “I may never see them again! I need to go back. If only—”

With a firm hand, Mr. MacMillan stopped her from bolting. He nodded toward the door at the end of the hall. “The ‘if onlys’ are addressed in this direction.”

The door leading to the Sphere beckoned. Forget the new choice she was planning to make in the past; she had the biggest choice of her life to make right now.

She looked at Mr. MacMillan. He raised an eyebrow and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Lane sat in the waiting room. She bit a fingernail, made herself stop, then resumed biting. Her nails were a small sacrifice at the moment.

I should have let Brandy come.

But no. Though Brandy might have made her laugh or held her hand—saving her manicure—the final good-byes said here, just moments before
it
happened, would be too much. It was better they’d said good-bye back in California.

The sad thing was, there was nobody else she could have asked. No boyfriend, no friend-friend, no family. Her parents had died a few years earlier—her father of a heart attack and her mother of cancer—and she had no siblings. She was alone in the world.

How ironic to be recognized by millions, loved by millions, yet known by so few. The cost of fame was high indeed.

Help me. Please help me.

When she realized she’d just prayed, she nearly took it back. Surely God didn’t appreciate people like her who called on Him only when they were in deep need. Indeed, hers was a foul-weather faith.
Help me! Fix it! Make it all better!
When was the last time she’d called on the Almighty with good news? Happy prayers?

Sorry. I owe You so much. I’ll try to be better. Just get me through this.

The door opened and Mr. MacMillan entered. “Are you ready?”

Lane’s butterflies dive-bombed her toes but she nodded and found the strength to stand. “It’s show time.”

It didn’t surprise David that his first reaction to the inside of the Sphere was business related. As soon as he was through the door, he stopped and stared. It was like walking into the inside of a globe, except all the surfaces were painted sky blue. “Exquisite.”

Mac laughed. “Glad you like it.”

David did a three-sixty. “But one observation… there are thousands of wasted cubic feet. The TTC has money to burn?”

“We have a message to send. A square room with eight-foot ceilings may provide function, but it would not portray the dream properly, nor excite the senses.”

David snickered. “You excite the senses of your victims before putting them in a medically induced coma?”

Mac put a hand on David’s back and pointed to the people in the balcony encircling the room. He whispered, “I’m afraid it’s more for them than you.”

“Ah. VIPs. Can’t budget without them.”

“I see you understand.”

“I haven’t been in construction for nearly fifty years without understanding what’s what. What scares me is putting my life into the hands of the lowest bidder.”

Mac laughed. He extended an arm toward a team of employees in lab coats who were seated before a bank of computers and other machines. “These are the people who will make sure your trip is safe. As you so aptly deduced, the building has nothing to do with your trip. These people are the key.”