Now and Forever (62 page)

They rose from the table and moved toward the fountain where the photographers were gathered snapping pictures.

Shannon drew Andrew aside. "They're going to photograph us," she said in a low voice. "They'll aim the camera in our direction and you'll see a bright light flash."

"And that captures our image, does it not?"

She smiled. "Depends how good the photographer is."

They took their places.

"Great," said one of the photographers. "Good contrast. Now you, mister, put your hand at the lady's waist. Big smile...big smile...great! You'll see the results in the morning paper, folks."

"'Tis an amazing thing," Andrew said as they made room for Karen and John to be photographed. "Our image on paper for the world to see."

She thought of the man who'd recognized her at the mall and a shiver of apprehension moved through her. All evening she'd found herself looking at the masked faces and wondering if Linc Stewart might be here, as well. Foolish thoughts. Ridiculous, idiotic nonsense.

"Lass? Are you unwell?"

"I'm fine," she said, summoning up a smile. "Just tired."

"Aye," he said, his hazel eyes twinkling. "The thought of bed holds definite appeal."

You've had your photo in the paper before,
she told herself as they left for home.
There's nothing to worry about.
It might be the best thing that could possibly happen. Linc Stewart would see the picture and discover that her name was Shannon Whitney, not Katharine Morgan, and the whole thing would be forgotten.

 
#

Karen suggested they stop at the Bridgewater Diner for coffee and conversation but neither Shannon nor Andrew was much in the mood.

They rode home in silence, a silence that seemed different from any that had come before.

"We shouldn't have gone to the gala," Shannon said later as they lay in bed together. "You had a terrible time."

He didn't deny it. "They talk and talk and nothing comes of it. You say they are the best the state has to offer and I did not see a man or woman of true accomplishment among the lot of them."

She leaned up on one elbow. "Andrew, how can you say that? Philip Stallings is president of the biggest computer company short of Micro-Soft. Francesca Duval is C.E.O. of La Visage Cosmetics, a Fortune 500 company. Lee Prescott is--"

"Yet among them I did not see a happy face."

"Dinner was an hour late," she said with an uneasy laugh. "Nobody was very happy about that."

"There is more to it than that, Shannon. Those men and women have all that I came here to find and still--"

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

They didn't make love. Instead they held each other close and waited for the dawn.

Chapter Twenty-Two

"'Tis not right to leave you alone," Andrew said the next afternoon. "This trip into the woods can be done another day."

"No, it can't," Shannon said firmly. "Most of these kids will be gone in a day or two." She smoothed the collar of his work shirt. He looked much the way he had the first day they met, and less like the man she had created. It was not a thought she wished to pursue. "Besides, I'm exhausted after last night. I don't think I have the energy to rough it with the rest of you explorers." She had dozed for a little while just before sunrise, only to awaken to find Andrew standing by the window, staring up at the towering cloud cover.

"Your fatigue does not worry me, lass. 'Tis the fact that you will be unprotected that causes me concern."

"I was unprotected, as you put it, for quite a few years before you dropped into my life, Andrew." She softened her words with a kiss. "I think I can manage one more night."

"The doors and windows have been repaired and you will use the mechanical alarms."

She saluted. "Yes, sir."

Apparently he didn't see the humor in the salute for his expression remained serious. "I understand more now than on that first night. Your world is a place of violence and cunning. If the alarm can guarantee a measure of safety, you will use it."

She wrapped her arms around him, glorying in his strength and solidity. "Poor Andrew. I should never have told you to watch the news on television."

"'Twas more than that, lass. I left in the midst of a rebellion only to find a war raging right here."

"I'll admit we have problems, but it isn't as bad as all that."

"Social anarchy," he said, warming to the topic. "Good men--" He paused, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. "Good men
and
women without a way in which to make a living while the devil's own thrive."

She couldn't argue the point. "We have wonders that didn't exist in your time, modern medicine for one. People no longer die from smallpox and influenza. Certainly that makes up for at least some of our shortcomings."

"This world has you," he said. "That is wonder enough for me."

She walked outside with him and found Dakota waiting in the driveway, perched atop her beat-up Mustang.

"Need an ex-Girl Scout and former librarian on the camping trip?" Dakota asked.

"Former librarian?" Shannon countered while Andrew headed for the garage. "Forsythe fired you?"

"Fired. Sacked. Pink slipped. I'm finished."

"We shouldn't have dropped by that day."

"It wasn't you, it was my mother. She sat on my desk and told me about her dreams."

"He fired you for that? The man's a beast."

"Yeah," said Dakota. "And cheap, too. So far, no severance pay."

"Isn't that against the law?"

"Try telling that to an academic despot. You won't get very far."

Shannon lowered her voice. "You're not serious about the camping trip, are you?"

"Actually I am. Two of the kids, Derek and Angela, told me about it and asked me to tag along." She grinned ruefully. "And since I don't have anything else to do, I said I would."

"I don't think it's a very good idea."

"If you're afraid I'm going to swoon every time I brush elbows with Balloon Boy, I promise you I won't."

Shannon laughed despite herself. "Don't call him Balloon Boy, please! That's our secret. Besides, how do you know you won't swoon?"

"Because I've had a long talk with myself, that's why. If I'm ever going to figure out why he doesn't have an aura, I'd better stay conscious."

"What do you mean, he doesn't have an aura? I thought even inanimate objects have auras." She'd seen Kirlian photography in some magazine once, where scientists claimed to have caught the aura of both a carrot and a garden rock.

Dakota's eyes darted toward the garage, the swimming pool, everywhere but Shannon. "Well, yeah," she said, finally meeting her eyes, "most objects have an aura, but he doesn't."

"Of course he does."

Dakota brightened. "You've seen it?"

"Well, of course I haven't seen it. You're the one who sees things like that. I'm just saying, he's here, he's real, he must have an aura."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe I'd better go on this camping trip with you, after all."

"I didn't know you'd decided against it."

Shannon shrugged. "I'm tired, headachy, and PMS-ing up a storm. I figured I'd stay home and give the rest of you a break. You won't--"

"Tell him I know he's from the past?" Dakota broke in. "Not if you don't want me to."

"I don't want you to," Shannon said.

"Thank you for making that clear."

She took Dakota's hands, desperate to make her friend understand her position. "It's not you," she said. "It's me. It's Andrew. It's the two of us together. The best thing for both of us is for him to cut ties with the past and make a life for himself here. You can't live in two worlds forever."

Dakota was silent but the expression in her dark brown eyes spoke volumes.

"You're not going to start that 'this is only temporary' routine again, are you?"

"I guess not."

"I can give him a life like he never dreamed, Dakota. He'll never want for anything. How can his world offer him anything to compare?"

Dakota didn't say anything.

She didn't have to.

That passage in
Forgotten Heroes
had said it all.

 
#

Andrew and Dakota left an hour later to meet the others at the shelter and begin the great camping expedition.

Shannon waved goodbye then opened the French doors and stepped into the sun room. It was a beautiful house but it had never seemed like a home until Andrew. Of course, it wasn't the house. She'd lived in enough different places to know that. It was being with him that made her feel connected to the world, safe and cherished and filled with hope for the future. Their future.

Don't say anything, Dakota,
she prayed silently
. Let us make our own decisions.

She'd been tempted to join them, but she was so bone-deep weary that the thought of trekking through the woods - even if they were
her
woods - was more than she could contemplate. At least she knew why she was tired. Typical PMS exhaustion.

And maybe a touch of regret?

She leaned back on the chaise and closed her eyes.

"Yes," she said to the empty room. "Regret."

Regret that there wouldn't be a child of her union with Andrew McVie. The emotion was so primal, it cut so deep, that it stole her breath. She hadn't thought about children in years. It was as if that part of her heart had been sealed away and forgotten. But loving Andrew had thrown open the doors and windows and made her want things she'd thought beyond her reach.

Husband. Home. Children. The entire American dream, no matter the century.

She settled down on the sofa and tried to imagine herself back in Andrew's world. There would be no central air conditioning, no big screen TV or VCR. A war raged as the nation struggled to be born while men and women of character sought to carve a place for themselves and their families.

She closed her eyes, letting the images come to life. So much could be done, she thought. So many mistakes could be avoided.
You're a born crusader,
Dakota always said, looking to save the world from its own excesses. What would it be like to go back to the beginning and have a chance to do it right?

Their children and their children's children would go forward with knowledge that would make them leaders and all of it would happen simply because Shannon Whitney and Andrew McVie met and fell in love one warm summer's night in central New Jersey.

Central air was a small price to pay for such riches.

But, of course, it was ridiculous to even think about it. It wasn't like she could drive over to the hardware store, buy a propane tank, and fire up the hot air balloon. There was no explanation for what had brought Andrew into her life and she could only pray that same mysterious force would not see fit to take him from her.

She tried to read but couldn't concentrate. She scanned the latest copy of
People
, then tossed it aside.
Newsweek
and
Time
quickly followed suit. Television held no appeal. She'd already leafed through the Sunday papers and had been relieved to note that the picture of her and Andrew was a grainy shot, buried on page 3 of the Living section. She couldn't resist, however, and clipped the photo and article and set it aside.

The good thing about PMS was the fact that it explained more than her sudden exhaustion. It put a lot of other things into perspective. The way she'd overreacted to that man in Lord & Taylor the other day. And the jolt of apprehension she'd experienced last night at the ball when faced with the photographers.

Life was good, she thought, closing her eyes as fatigue washed over her. Each day Andrew adapted to another quirk of 20th century life...and the shadow of his old life grew fainter. Less threatening. He no longer tried to wind quartz timepieces or talk back to the answering machine, although last night when he pounded the table while the others applauded the singer, they'd locked eyes and burst into delighted laughter.