Reaching Through Time (16 page)

“What did you forget, Luc—” Dylan stopped mid-sentence, stared out at her. “You!”

Maura smiled weakly. “It’s me.”

“The girl who ran away from me.”

“I—I was scared.” She had formed her story during the night between bouts of sleep, part truth, part fabrication. Every lie cost her a jolt of pain in her head. Sensitives had finely honed consciences, and lies sent discomfiting waves through their brains. Now she was starving and had to lie as she stood in the past confronting humans of lesser intelligence.

“Maura, right?” He leaned against the doorjamb. “You weren’t jogging yesterday, were you?”

“Hiding in the bushes.” The lie made her wince.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want them, the police, to find me.” Truth.

“The police? Why are the police after you?”

“I ran away.” A half-truth. Small jolt.

“From what?”

“A bad situation.”

A flicker of empathy showed on his face. As a Sensitive, Maura was able to read others’ moods and the auras surrounding their bodies. Dylan’s aura was cloudy, meaning he was troubled. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Maura tried to appear pitiful, which was in fact the case—she was in a mess and needed help. “Can I bum some food? I’m really hungry.”

His expression softened and he stepped aside. “I can feed you. Kitchen’s this way.” She followed. He said, “I thought you were my sister, Lucy. She always forgets something and has to come back for it. Mom’s taken her and my other sister, Casey—they’re twins—to ballet class. Not that they can dance. But they think they can.”

Maura appreciated his easy chatter, an attempt to make her feel comfortable. Something she’d said in her partly fabricated story had connected with him.

In the kitchen he directed her to a barstool at a high counter, where she sat, trying not to let her eyes dart everywhere at once. The kitchen was an archive from over
a hundred years before her time. She had no idea what some of the equipment was for.

He pulled open the door of a large box that lit up, and rummaged inside. “What would you like?”

Maura was stumped. Her survey in the library had been extensive, but she hadn’t zeroed in on food. “Some fruit …”

“Come on, you need some real food. How about I fix you some toaster waffles and ham?”

She had no idea what he was offering. “Sounds good.” She watched, fascinated while he poked discs into slots in a machine and put a slab of something pinkish into another machine called a microwave. Minutes later, he was pouring liquid goo atop the stack of discs and shoving the plate toward her. The scent was awesome. She tasted the waffles, liked them immediately, but wasn’t fond of the ham. She realized ham was meat, and her family didn’t eat meat—too expensive.

As she ate he leaned toward her on his elbows from the opposite side of the counter. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you.”

She stared down at the plate, echoed a story she’d read about a homeless boy in the library. She was also homeless, so she knew her words were believable. “I ran away a while ago. Just been living however I can. I need to hold up, get a job, make some money so I can keep on moving.”

“Money’s critical to travel,” he said.

In her society there was no money, only credits and
debits, but she understood the concept of payment for work performed.

“Why’d you run?”

“Bad home scene.” Big jolt. She had the best family in the world. “I-I’d rather not go into details. If that’s all right.”

“No pressure. Where’s your stuff?”

Stuff. What did he mean?

“Your things,” he said. “Clothes, bedroll, whatever.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “I don’t have any stuff.”

“You left with nothing?”

“Short notice.”

Dylan grinned, shook his head in disbelief. “Didn’t you have a plan?”

“No plan.”

His expression sobered. “Must have been a really bad situation.”

She watched his aura darken. The words
bad situation
had hit some mark inside him, turned him pensive. Nonchalantly she asked, “You ever been in a bad situation?”

She felt him shutting down, pushing her away emotionally. “You could say that.”

Maura backed off. The nerve she’d hit with her question had alienated him. “Well, then you understand what’s going on with me. I have to hunker down somewhere. Just until I can pay my way out of here.”

“I can’t put you in our garage like some homeless cat.”

“Oh, I’m not asking—”

“It’s okay. I get it. Your back’s to a wall. You need help.”

She nodded, watched him as he considered her problem, turning it into his own. Amazing! This perfect stranger was willing to help her. She’d been taught that people from the past were self-centered and totally devoid of values. He wasn’t a Sensitive. He was a male human from the past with noble impulses. Unexpected.

“My dad’s a vet,” he said.

She sorted through a jumble of new words in her brain. “An ex-soldier?”

Dylan looked quizzical. “No. An animal doctor. Dad runs a clinic. He usually hires extra help in the summer. Maybe I can put in a word for you.”

“That would be good.” In her future only the wealthiest people kept pets. “And really nice of you.”

“Yeah, I’m such a nice guy.”

The nuance of bitterness in his voice took her aback. He was really telling her he
wasn’t
a nice guy. She let it pass. “Now, about your garage …”

He smiled. “Won’t work. But I might have something else for you. I’m cutting grass, doing odd jobs for neighbors this summer. I’m house-sitting for the Carters two blocks over.”

“You’re sitting in their house all summer?”

He shook his head, looked puzzled. “I’m watching their house while they’re gone. Get it? I water their plants, feed their two cats, and keep an eye on the place. If I set you up to live there, you can dump litter boxes
every day and feed the beasts. I’ll give you twenty-five percent of the money they’re paying me.”

She’d have to return to the library, get on those slow ancient computers and figure out what he was asking of her. “I’ll do it,” she said, clueless as to what she was signing on for. Still, how difficult could it be?

“But you can’t be seen by the neighbors,” Dylan said. “No lights at night. No coming and going out the front door.”

“I’ll be careful.” She was amazed by the lengths he was going to just to help her out. What a research paper she could write. Her classmates were limited to viewing the past through a time prism, watching without hearing conversations, making assumptions based on intuition. Images, but no involvement. Maura had
gone into
the past. She was living it, expanding her knowledge base, which would serve her profession in countless ways. If she got home and wasn’t prosecuted. Cheater, her conscience shouted.

“I’ll walk you over.” Dylan plucked a set of keys off a hook by the door.

“You’d do this for me?”

“Sure. My payback good deed to the universe,” he added.

Again she heard a bitter edge in his voice.

Suddenly the kitchen door flew open and two little girls hurtled into the room. They stopped cold when they saw Maura at the counter. Behind them came a short
woman juggling purse, clothing and dance shoes. “Dylan I thought you were going to cut—” She too stopped when she saw Maura.

Maura slid off the stool, her heart pounding and her body poised to run.

“H
ello,” Dylan’s mother said. “Have we met?”

“I’m Maura.”

“Sandra Sorenson.”

“She’s staying a few blocks over.” Dylan said. “With her grandparents for the summer.”

His mother smiled, accepting the explanation without hesitation. “Where are you from?”

Maura flipped through maps she’d studied in the library. “Kansas,” she said, hoping it was a good answer.

“Like Dorothy,” one of the girls said.

Maura didn’t know any Dorothy, but she nodded agreeably.

“Butt out, Lucy,” Dylan said. “We’re not in Oz.” He waited a beat, added, “Maura needs a job. Dad hired on for the summer yet?”

“I don’t think so,” Sandra said. “How old are you, Maura?”

Maura didn’t want to admit to being only fifteen. She’d read that people from this time weren’t really considered adults until they were eighteen. “Seventeen,” she said. “Almost eighteen.”

Lucy piped up with, “Me and Casey are eight. Dylan’s eighteen. He’s older than you.”

This surprised Maura. In her society, eighteen-year-olds were either finishing university studies or living in co-ops, working and earning credits toward their futures and the futures of their aged loved ones. Only rarely did an able-bodied person as old as eighteen remain at home. In her day, hard work and planning were required of everyone.

“Girls, go up and change,” Sandra said. Both of them bounced out of the kitchen. Sandra turned to Maura. “Are you good with animals? Can you deal with yappy dogs that might bite? Cats that scratch?”

Of course Maura didn’t know, but she said she could.

“I’ll speak to Jerry tonight. Maybe you can go into his office and meet him and see the place tomorrow.”

“Absolutely. Thank you.”

Dylan said, “Okay, all set. Come on. I’ll show you that place we were talking about.”

Maura followed him outside. “You have a nice family.”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

She knew he was glossing over sentimentality. He liked his family, but something was not right. She sensed it. There was a darkness that separated him from them.
She itched to know more, but she would have to get the information properly. As a Sensitive, she could read thoughts and scan memory cells. As a doctor-in-training, she wasn’t allowed such privileges unless a patient was under her care and she had his or her permission. If she was going to be a doctor of the mind and spirit, she mustn’t invade and take information. Unguarded thoughts and memories and discards of the mind were fair game, though, akin to overhearing a conversation between strangers.

Maura fell into step beside him. “Where’s your father’s office?”

“Too far to walk. I’ll pick you up around eleven tomorrow and take you. And take you to lunch after. You’ll be hungry again by then.”

She thought about it. “I guess you’re right.”

He laughed. “I’ll bring over a hamburger and fries tonight, plus some other food.”

She thought about the ham he’d fed her this morning. “Vegetables are fine. And fruit.”

“You’re a vegetarian?”

“Is that bad?”

“No … it’s just that—I know someone else who is. Once knew someone.” He corrected himself.

His aura darkened; his eyes saddened. “Whatever you bring me, I’ll eat,” Maura said cheerfully. “Doesn’t matter.”

Two blocks later, he turned onto a walkway leading
to a trim brick house. “Your new home,” he said, unlocking the front door. He punched a keypad on a small wall panel. “I’ll write down the security code for you.” Of course, Maura already knew the code from Dylan’s unguarded thoughts. “Use it when you come and go. Punch in the code, go out the back door. You’ll have about a minute before the house gets locked down.”

Two cats met them inside the front door. Each stopped, tails twitching, and watched Maura. “The beasts?” she asked. The animals’ brains weren’t complex and she had no trouble making the cats feel at ease.

“I’m impressed. They’re usually pretty squirrelly,” Dylan said.

She guessed he meant rambunctious. She held them still for a minute with the power of her mind, then released them, and they bounded off.

Dylan walked her through her responsibilities for the cats and the house. The idea of tossing out cat poop seemed wasteful. In her society, nothing was thrown away. All matter, even waste, was recycled, a necessity to keep the earth clean and productive.

Dylan said, “The Carters have a teenage daughter. She’s heavier than you, but you might want to borrow some of her clothes until you get paid and can buy your own.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve got to go. You all right until I come over tonight?”

“Sure.” She stopped him at the door. “Thanks for your help. Really. I need it.”

He shrugged self-consciously. “I need the good karma.”

She closed the door, wondering what he’d meant. Except for the cats scratching something with their claws, the house was still and quiet. Maura strolled through her quarters, reveling in the solitude of noncommunal living, likening the house to a museum. If only she could take pictures on her recorder. She didn’t dare. The time police might pick up the activity from another time period. She decided to return to the library the next day and zero in on information that would help her win a job and blend in better.

She closed her eyes, revisited her morning with Dylan and his mother, and the tension she had sensed between them, so real she had seen auras of disturbance around them, even around the twins. Dylan and Sandra acted like nothing was wrong, but that was a lie.
Something
was wrong, and it acted like a wedge keeping them apart and at odds.

Maura considered her own duplicity, the half-truths and outright lies she’d told. She realized that the jolts she received for fabrications had lessened in intensity each time she told one. Professor Trevvida had been correct when he’d once told her class, “Each time the conscience is breached by lying, pain caused by creating lies toughens your conscience. Eventually lies come more readily—until there’s no pain at all.”