Skyline (22 page)

Gilbert
spread his hands. “It is crazy, ’Roe. But it’s true. When Bill died”—he shook
his head, remembering—“he lived on through you. Made you start thinking of
people, not buildings. Disregarding history in favor of a better future.”

“How?”
Charlotte asked him, this sudden husband. Their marriage wasn’t a deep mystery,
really. He sounded genuinely sorry to tell them this news. And the way his eyes
crinkled … But for Bill to grapple with this, he needed details. “What
happened?”

“There
was a fire,” Gilbert replied, a thick hand scratching the back of his head.
“Traffic was bad. When news traveled to Bill’s coffee shop, he didn’t
hesitate.”

Gilbert
continued, but he didn’t need to. It was so familiar.

This
was the same exact man Bill had been in the subway. The man he’d almost been
inside the Plaza. Time didn’t matter, and timelines wouldn’t either. Bill would
always be that person, the man who’d run headlong into disaster if someone were
in danger.

“We
still see the family you saved,” Gilbert said. “Every month. Julie and Jason
don’t really remember, but their parents … They don’t even understand why you
did it, Bill. Every time, we just tell them that’s who you were.” He paused,
pressed his fingers against his eyelids. “God, sorry.
Are
.”

Bill’s
eyes shone with tears, eyebrows twitching in shock, confusion, anger. He shook
all the emotions away, but the tears remained. “I’m a paradox.”

He
straightened his shoulders. “I should …” He looked behind Gilbert, to a wall,
to the door they’d just come through. “I think I need a walk. I’ll, um, see you
guys later.”

The
door slammed after him, leaving Charlotte to stare. Leaving her to contend not
with Bill’s death, but the less awful, stranger change of a new husband.

Monroe
spun to the door. “I should go after him.”

Charlotte
couldn’t allow that. She couldn’t be alone with Gilbert, no matter how kind and
tender he seemed. She shook her head no, and Monroe dropped his hand from the
doorknob, scowling.

Charlotte
mouthed,
Thank you
. She needed Monroe now more than ever.

After
all, how could she tell her husband that they’d never met?

They
shared an awkward dinner together. Monroe talked too much to compensate for
Charlotte’s relative silence. She’d texted Felix at the beginning, telling him
Charlie was fine, to wait, that she'd call him soon. Much as she tried to
interact with Gilbert, she couldn’t. It was too strange.

Bill
never returned.

Dinner
ended, and Gilbert dabbed at the edges of his mouth with a napkin. As the
conversation had died out, he’d grown quiet too. The lines on his brow seemed
etched in stone. “Well, bud,” he said to Charlie, “should we get you ready?”

Her
boy jumped from his chair and raced away. “I’ll get my backpack!”

Tonight
must’ve been the start of Felix’s week. Rather than confirming, Charlotte took
a risk and asked, “Gilbert, would you mind if I took Charlie by myself?”

Gilbert
sighed, but she didn’t have the heart to look his way. “Sure, Char. I’ll bet
Charlie wants to hear about your adventure.”

“Yeah.”
Now Charlotte tried to give him a smile. Tried to be the woman he’d known.
“Exactly.”

“You
need a historian along?” Monroe asked.

She
doubted she could get away with that. “Um, I thought it’d be just Charlie and
me.” He’d stayed behind for her, and now she was abandoning him. What was wrong
with her?

“Oh.
Great.”

“No
problem, ’Roe.” Gilbert squeezed his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “We can pick up
a movie while they’re out.”

“Uh,
that’s okay.” Monroe stared at Charlotte, his dark eyes flicking back and
forth. But then Charlie burst back into the room, saving her.

“Ready!”
he said. His same blue-and-red backpack was slung on his back, and he wore a
light gray jacket underneath. His shoes, Converse painted with puffy paints,
were well tied.

“You
tied the laces.” Her Charlie had always needed help. Her Charlie had struggled.
Well, now her Charlie was good at tying his shoes.

“I
used the bunny trick,” Charlie said over her shoulder, toward Gilbert.

“Well,
let’s be off. I’m sure Daddy’ll be waiting.” She tugged her son toward the
door, but Gilbert intercepted them. He leaned down to hug Charlie. “Love you,
guy.” He straightened. “And you, gal.” He paused, biting his lip before giving
Charlotte a kiss.

She
took it with pursed lips, and then pulled Charlie out the door, down the
stairwell, and onto the streets of Manhattan. She didn’t want to read into
Gilbert’s pause, into the bitten lip, into his growing unease.

But
she’d ignored him. If she wasn’t careful, he’d learn what she’d hidden. The man
who’d taught Charlie how to tie his shoes didn’t deserve that. “Charlie, can I
ask you a question?”

Paused
before a crosswalk, her son regarded her with his deep brown eyes. His forehead
nearly as lined as Gilbert’s had been. “It’s about Gil, isn’t it?” Before
Charlotte could say no or put any thought together, Charlie continued. “You
don’t remember him, huh?”

Charlotte
squeaked. “How did you know?”

“Because
of my laces. Because of your kisses.”

She
rubbed his soft black hair. “Such a smart boy.” Had he always been this
intuitive? “I don’t; you’re right.”

With
lips squished to one side, he asked, “Something changed, didn’t it? Did you
guys save the Plaza?”

Charlotte
nodded, unable to speak. Charlie had always been brilliant, but he was wise
now. Even if he had the same longish curls, the same backpack, something deep
within him had changed. The transformation took her breath away.

“I
thought so.” He reached a hand up and held her arm tightly. “You love him, Mom.
And he’s great. He’s a great dad. Just like Dad.” Mom. Dad. Before, Charlie
always called them Mommy and Daddy. “He likes traveling back in time with us,
to see cool things. He likes all sorts of silly movies, just like Uncle ’Roe.
We have fun,” he finished. That was enough for him.

“Good,”
Charlotte said. What else could she say?

“Mom?”
he asked. They were drawing close to Felix’s apartment now, only a block away.
He tugged her to a stop, and she turned to him. His tiny eyebrows lifted, his
eyes filled with worry. “Promise to give him a chance? I really like him. You
do, too.”

“Of
course,” Charlotte replied, crouching beside him. “But how do I tell
Gilbert—Gil—that I don’t know him?”

Charlie
shrugged. “You tell him.”

God,
he was such a smart boy.

He
pulled her away, once more walking toward Felix’s apartment. “I used to want
you and Dad to get back together,” Charlie told her. “But now I like Gil.”

“He
seems like a great guy,” she said. This world was so different. Too different.
Whether it was better or worse, she didn’t want it.

Paris
had stolen Charlie, but why hadn’t he waited to give her son back? Why couldn’t
he have brought the boy directly to her? It wouldn’t matter if Charlie remembered
his time with Paris. He’d be
her
Charlie. Was that what Paris meant,
about liking the previous version better?

She
shuddered.
No
. She wouldn’t think like that. She squeezed Charlie’s
hand.
This
was her Charlie.

Felix
waited for her at the doorway of his apartment, as he had a few days before.
Tonight his face was drawn, his watchful eyes dimmed. He squeezed her into a
hug when she arrived. “How are you? Aside from, uh, remarried. That must’ve
been awful.”

“Not
awful,” Charlotte admitted. Stuck in her own head through dinner, she’d almost
forgotten Bill, revived and now a paradox. He had it worse than she did.

“Hi,
Dad!” Charlie said, hugging Felix’s knees. He pulled back, his mouth twisted up
to one side, just like Monroe did when he was about to say a hurtful truth.
“Mom doesn’t remember Gil.”

“Yeah,”
Felix said. “She texted me.” But Charlie was off before either of them had to
elaborate.

“Come
on in,” Felix said, opening the door wide.

But
Charlotte hesitated, her lips trembling. Her eyes watering. Should she? “I
don’t know,” she finally replied. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” The sobs
came. Racking, heaving sobs that took her breath away. Tears streamed down her
face. Her legs wouldn’t support her any longer, and she crumpled against the
doorframe.

All
along, she’d been focused. Save Leanor. Stop Ana. Even when Paris came along,
her focus was on getting Charlie back. Now that she had him, could she keep
going? How could she continue when every action made everything worse?

Monroe’s
apartment was now occupied by a stranger. Bill’s life had been taken away. Even
if he was alive—a living paradox—he couldn’t be in this city. Couldn’t use his
credit cards, his identity. At least Felix was closer than he’d been.

“Why
didn’t I ever tell you?” she asked. “In my time, I justified it. It was
Leanor’s secret; I wanted to show you the final product; I wanted it to be a
surprise.”

Felix
drew her inside, sat beside her on his ratty couch. “Your time.” Her tears
ebbed, and he couldn’t meet her eyes. “I keep forgetting. That night at the
Octagon. The ring?”

Charlotte
coughed. She hadn’t even told him that they were married a few days ago. She’d
thought she was saving him from a hurtful truth. She should’ve just gotten it
over with, like Charlie had. Like Monroe would’ve. “We were married, Felix. Not
in the best shape, but together. And then I came back then, I come back now and
…” The tears started flowing once more.

Felix
stood. “I’ll make tea.”

Why
the hell had Leanor ever started her on this path? It would’ve been better if
Leanor had found someone else. Someone without any ties. Then when the world
changed, that person wouldn’t care.

But
then, the Blast would’ve been undone and Charlotte would never have known
Charlie.

The
scent of peppermint announced her tea’s arrival, and Charlotte took a steadying
breath. She sipped at the hot tea, then opened her eyes. Felix’s forehead
crinkled in concern. “I don’t know why you never told me. But we weren’t really
happy. On different schedules. You up all night, me forced to work during the
day. We kept missing each other.”

Well.
That hadn’t changed.

“But
we can fix it,” Felix said, laying a hand on hers. “Get back what we’ve lost.
That’s what all this is about, right? Stopping the Blast?”

Charlotte
snatched her hand away. “We
can’t
, Felix. Not now.” What would Charlie
say if she did this to Gilbert? Would he forgive her and forget? Or would he
always remember that she’d rejected a man who—according to Charlie—she loved?
“I have to, I mean I think I have to get to know this Gilbert guy. Gil. Charlie
asked me to, and I have to give him a chance. I have to.”

But
that was wrong. Why care about a life she didn’t want? Why return to a husband
she never knew? Charlie, the brilliant, wise boy in the other room, would
understand. He probably expected this.

Felix
took her hand again. “What if, at the end, it changes back? What if you—we—get
everything you hoped for?”

She
shook her head. That wouldn’t happen. Had she ever have been as naive as Felix?
“We
met
in the days after the Blast, remember? If there was no memorial
to attend …”

Felix
paused. Admitted, “We wouldn’t meet.”

Together,
they twisted their heads toward Charlie’s room down the hall where he was
telling some tale, cackling with his toys. At their silence, he shouted, “Love
you, Mom!”

“Love
you, baby!” she called back, trying to make her voice strong for him. Why was
this so hard? “I know we won’t be rewarded for our hard work,” Charlotte said
to Felix. If time was a mountain, as Ana said, it was malleable, sure. But it
was also impassive, uncaring. “But this? I can’t take this, Felix.” Wiping her
eyes, she looked up to see that her ex-husband’s focus was on his lap.

“Then
take us with you,” he whispered. “Let us remember all this, Charlie and me.
We’ll be safe. All of us.”

“And
Gilbert?”

At
the name, Felix looked away, a frown on his face like he’d tasted something
bitter. “I had so much time,” he said. “While you had dinner, I looked up my
history. Past messages, e-mails, even looked at Charlie’s drawings.” He gulped,
shaking his head. At last, his dark eyes met hers. Sorrow tugged his lips
downward. “You love him, Char. You love him so much.”

She’d
felt that, even for a fleeting moment. It wasn’t Charlie’s shoelaces, or his
soft kisses. It was that she’d told him about the astrolabe.

“I
should go,” she said. “He’s home; Monroe probably walked out on him. And Bill
…” Her heart thumped. Gilbert was alone, Monroe was alone, but Bill was the one
without a home, without a life to call his own. “I need to find Bill.”

She
stood, finishing her tea for strength, and looked at Felix. “I’ll be back
tomorrow. I’ll be back for you, for Charlie.”

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

The
coffee
shop where Bill worked—where he
had
worked—was dark, too late to
entertain anyone in need of coffee. The cheese shop where Charlotte had found
Monroe and Bill—only an hour or two ago—was filled, but nowhere in sight was
Bill’s familiar bald head. Monroe’s school was shut up, no one lingering around
but a homeless man in rags.

Charlotte
couldn’t return home yet. It wasn’t just the stranger there. Even though she
owed Gilbert some explanation, she couldn’t face him. More than that, she
needed Bill. The way he’d handled the last two bombs, the way his style infused
her with calm, the way he and Monroe were together, she needed that.

So
Charlotte roamed the streets in ever-wider circles around her apartment, her
gaze surveying lit bodegas, Thai and Indian restaurants growing increasingly
empty as the night wore on, darkened bars that she’d never realized were so
close to home.

She
turned a corner, deciding to make one last sweep of Park Avenue, and there Bill
was.

Gone
was his furrowed brow, the frantic eyes not knowing where to look, the hands
squeezing in and out of fists over and over. Instead, his shoulders were loose,
his head held high, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Charlotte.” He gripped her
arm. “You have to see it.”

Before
she could agree, he pulled her across the street, around a corner, up another
couple of streets, then halfway down another until they were at a little park
set between two towering apartment complexes.