Yesterday (26 page)

“Thank you.” I’m disproportionately grateful, as though she actually is saving me from a life of drug addiction.

It’s not long before I’m on the subway, sliding down into a seat near the door and shutting my eyes. The motion of the car heightens my nausea and forces my lashes open again. Next to me a man’s reading the newspaper and listening to a Walkman, the Tears for Fears song “Shout” leaking out of his earphones. One moment I’m concentrating on the lyrics and trying not to throw up and the next I’m jolting awake at Chester Station. Across the aisle a different man is watching me over the top of his paperback, frowning. Maybe he thinks I’m a drug addict too.

I pull myself up and haul myself off the subway car. I’ve
gone too far east and need to work my way back to Bloor so I can transfer to the Yonge line. Thirty-two minutes later I arrive at Lawrence Station. For the first time I take the shorter route to Cranbrooke Avenue, straight up Yonge Street. I’m burning up and tear off my coat to carry it. The Eggo I had before leaving the house hours ago is snaking its way back up my esophagus. I can’t keep it down. I stagger away from the grocery store on my left and throw up next to a fire hydrant.

My vision’s blurry and my feet are clumsy. I clomp up the street like I’m wearing clown shoes. The only thing keeping me going is Latham. I don’t want his death to be for nothing. I can’t have been sent back in time seventy-eight years only to be captured and killed like he was. I turn onto Cranbrooke Avenue, walking faster now. On the sidewalk I skirt past a woman and little girl who might be the same people Garren and I saw from the Resniks’ window the afternoon we first broke in. The woman offers her own version of the scared/disgusted look everyone’s been aiming at me since I left Lou’s place but her daughter smiles at me.

I smile back, my teeth sticking on my gums, and the two of them hurry by me. Once they’ve gone the street looks clear. I reel towards the Resniks’ front door and let the house swallow me whole. I’m overjoyed to be back inside it again; the house is the closest thing I have left to an ally. I teeter in the direction of the living room and collapse onto the couch where I sleep like the dead.

L
ater I wake up in the dark to the sound of scraping. Garren took both flashlights with him and I don’t know what time it is or how long I’ve been out for. As I lie motionless, listening to the noise in the blackness, I realize someone must be shoveling outside. Janette’s brother probably. I climb upstairs to the twins’ room and risk a quick glance outside to confirm my guess. I’ve never seen Janette’s brother but the boy pushing snow to the curb looks about the right age.

I remain upstairs until the noise has stopped, signaling that he’s finished the job. Then I head back to the ground floor, light a candle and carry it into the kitchen where I drink three glasses of water in record time. The thirst aside, I feel better. Hungry even. I notice that the clock reads two minutes to nine. I must have been asleep for over four hours and I hope I’m going to be okay now that the worst is behind me. But I’m scared to eat much in case I get sick again and limit myself to applesauce from the fridge.

I have huge doubts about whether I can trust Nancy but I plan to meet her tomorrow anyway. As much as I don’t want to risk being caught, I can’t give up on the idea of finding out how I got here and whether she has news about my father or any of the other people left behind. If I don’t take the chance I’ll never know more than I do right now. Every remnant of my old life will have been washed away without a trace. There’s the money too. I desperately need more. Garren and I have already been over the Resnik house with a fine-tooth comb. If I don’t get extra cash from Nancy it will mean either begging or stealing to get enough money to make it to Vancouver.

I wonder if Garren’s already on his way there or maybe he’s changed his mind and is heading for some other place. That’s a distinct possibility, considering that he thinks I’m crazy and therefore more likely to be caught and share whatever information I have about him.

I feel so lonely without him. I don’t know how to think of him anymore—as the person I knew in the past or as the guy I’ve gotten to know in the past few days. I’ve felt alone before but never like this.
Me against the world
. I need to hear a friendly voice. It’s a risk like everything else but I don’t even try to talk myself out of it, just resolve to wait until ten o’clock to leave the house. Coming and going like I have increases the odds of being noticed by neighbors but there are less people out at night and I’ll be extra careful.

I pull on Paula’s boots before leaving, shove my long black hair under one of her hats. Henry’s men definitely
wouldn’t be able to recognize me at a glance and anyway, they’re probably still looking for a duo. They can’t have any way of tracking us, otherwise we’d have been picked up days ago. Our microchips must have been removed before we were sent back.

The real danger is that my call might be traced and I promise myself I won’t stay on the line a second over two minutes no matter what. Out on Cranbrooke Avenue, and then Yonge Street, I keep my eyes peeled for anything suspicious. The snow’s stopped and the sidewalk has been partially plowed. A happy young couple are walking their dogs (one small and one large) while chewing on pizza slices. I resist the urge to ask them where the pizza came from. It smells delicious and I feel my stomach growl in protest against my caution in sticking with applesauce. Across the street, I spy a phone booth outside a lighting store and sprint over to it.

I dial Christine’s number, hoping that she isn’t out or if she’s home, hasn’t gone to sleep yet. I need to know there’s someone out there who cares what happens to me, even if they don’t know what I’ve really been through or who I really am.

The phone rings four times before Christine’s dad picks up. I apologize for calling so late and give my name as Nicolette, which I know will throw Christine because she and Nicolette have probably never called each other in their lives.

“Hi,” Christine says suspiciously once she’s picked up the phone.

“It’s not Nicolette,” I say quickly. “It’s me.”

“
You
. Where are you? Do you know you’re officially
missing
? The cops have been questioning everyone. I told them about the guy you were meeting a couple of days before you went missing. Did he kidnap you? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Not really. But he didn’t kidnap me. It doesn’t have anything to do with him. I just …” My voice is beginning to crumble like a cracker. “I needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“Are you coming back? Where are you? I can get my dad to come pick you up right now.”

“No, no. I can’t come back. I can’t explain why either.”

“Then I can meet you,” Christine says. “Just me.”

“I wish we could do that but it wouldn’t be safe for you. I can’t even stay on the phone long.” I’m already running low on time.

“Are you going to be all right?” she asks, sounding scared for me. “Tell me what I can do.”

“I don’t know.” There’s really nothing. The unsaid words bring tears to my eyes. I fight them off, afraid that if I start crying I won’t be strong enough to cut the conversation short.

“Promise me you’ll call back and let me know you’re okay.”

“I’ll try.” I hope I can. Hearing Christine worry for me makes me feel like I matter.

“Did you call your mom?” she asks. “Can I tell her you called me?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Promise me you won’t. It could make things worse for me.”

“I won’t then,” Christine says solemnly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks. And thanks for being home tonight, Christine.” I hang up without warning. Christine’s someone else I’ll never see again but at least I know she’s still out there. I wish I could’ve spent more time with her and Derrick but I’ll never regret remembering Latham, even though this is where it’s led me.

As I exit the phone booth I notice someone else in the distance with a pizza slice in one of his hands. He’s just stepped out of a door that I assume is the entrance to the pizza place. I hurry down to it, remembering Garren’s joke about ordering pizza to see how seriously the residents of Cranbrooke Avenue take the concept of neighborhood watch.

I can’t let myself think about Garren. It’s too hard. I have enough to worry about without wondering whether he’s okay and whether we’ll ever run into each other again.

I buy a slice of Hawaiian pizza and a Coke and finish them both on the way back to the house. I feel more like a stranger in a strange land now that I know for a fact that I don’t belong in 1985 but the past several weeks and the false memories the scientists must have given me have lent me a familiarity with the era that makes it feel less jarring than it would’ve otherwise.

The food is weird (so much salt, fat and chemicals) but
my body craves it anyway. Cars and factories spew pollution into the air. People throw things away like it doesn’t matter what they do. It’s crazy and they can’t keep living like this but there are so many things about 1985 that I like. No SecRos. No terrorist plague. The freedom to do what you want and become what you want.

The people here fear nuclear war but I know that won’t happen anytime soon. Or could it? Have Garren and I changed the past by coming back? How many others like us are out there—refugees from the future?

Back in the darkened Resnik house my mind runs wild trying to formulate answers to an endless sea of questions. Eventually my brain’s too worn out to think beyond myself and what’s going to happen to me tomorrow. I’m dying to turn on a light—or better still, the TV—but I have to settle for the kitchen radio. The noise is company. I’m afraid to go to bed because I know that when I get there it’ll be impossible to avoid being overcome with loneliness and fear.

When I can’t put off sleep any longer (I don’t want to be late meeting Nancy tomorrow) I try the couch where I toss and turn, not because it’s uncomfortable but because it’s not any less lonely than being in bed. In the end I head upstairs, pull off my clothes and change into one of Mr. Resnik’s T-shirts. Then I settle myself in the spare bedroom, the last place that Garren slept, as though that will somehow inspire a vision about him.

It doesn’t.

I just lie there curled into a ball until the darkness takes me.

For hours I have no awareness of myself. If I dream, I don’t remember it. There’s nothing and no one.

It’s still dark when I open my eyes again. There’s a figure in the room with me, coming closer. I must be dreaming and I try to open my eyes a second time.

“I thought you’d gone,” a male voice says. “I checked the kids’ room first and I thought you were gone.”

When I realize the voice belongs to Garren, it only confirms I’m dreaming—or having a premonition. The real Garren would be miles from Toronto by now. I was the only thing stopping him from going sooner.

“You were right,” Garren continues as he looms over me. He stops and sits on the side of the bed. I feel the mattress shift under his weight. “I don’t know why I couldn’t remember everything before but …” The pain in his voice prompts me into an upright position. Even in the dark I can see that his eyes look glassy. They gleam with grief in the moonlight. “
Kinnari
. I shouldn’t have let her go. There’d been so many terrorist threats lately. I should’ve known it was too big a risk.”

This is no dream and I feel tears begin to form behind my own eyes as I think of Latham and Kinnari and the years they should’ve had ahead of them. “It wasn’t the terrorists,” I say, my voice creaking with sleep and sadness.

“I know. I remember that too.” Garren grips the bedspread, his knuckles flaring. “But I could’ve stopped her
from going to the concert. She could be here now, with us. Alive.”

“I should’ve seen it beforehand,” I tell him. “I didn’t see anything until it was too late and then …” I don’t have the words. Latham’s lost forever. He would’ve loved this time, despite its many faults. I want him and Kinnari to be alive so much that it seems my will alone should have enough power to change history.

“It’s not your fault,” Garren says, tears fighting their way out of his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. “You can’t control what you see.”

If I hadn’t spent so long denying my gift maybe I would be able to control it by now. I should’ve tried at least.

Garren’s staring at me like he can guess my unspoken words. “It’s not your fault,” he repeats. “None of this is your fault.”

“And not yours either,” I remind him.

Garren’s head bends like a broken twig. I hear him crying under his breath. Such a low, desolate sound that I can’t stand it and pull myself closer to him on the bed. I fold my arms around him and feel his wet cheek against mine.

We don’t talk. We just hold each other, our tears mixing until I can’t cry anymore.

I kiss his cheek, my fingers creeping up the back of his neck and into his hair.

I’m glad he’s here but together our sadness is overwhelming, even once my tears have begun to dry. Garren holds himself apart from me and touches my face. Slowly, he
follows the curve of my cheek around my chin, like a blind man intent on discovering what I really look like.

No one’s ever touched me like that.

I stare back at him like we’re two other people entirely, although I’ve felt this way about him for so long. I lean closer and press my lips against his, our mouths closed. Mine tingles at the thought of what I’ve just done.

His lips are soft but cold and I wonder where he’s been all this time but I don’t want to break the quiet between us by asking. I open my mouth as I slide mine back against his, slip my tongue into the shared space we’ve created. We’ve never done this together either but it feels as familiar as walking, or maybe it’s just Garren himself who makes it seem that way.

My body feels like a constellation, like a hundred stars glittering in the darkness. To feel so sad and so light at the same time seems like a minor miracle. I thread my fingers through Garren’s and squeeze. He squeezes back. Kisses me longer and harder until I feel as though I’ll burst.