The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 1): First Time (34 page)

She had been wearing a dress that cost her father in excess of three thousand dollars and the church had been decorated to the hilt. Being a prominent Dallas lawyer, and Heather being Dawson's only daughter, money was poured into the wedding like nothing Garison had ever seen. It must have cost more than the time machine, he thought to himself as he conjured up the memories. He remembered that the reception alone had cost thousands of dollars.

Still, he could not get that vision out of his mind of how beautiful Heather had looked coming down the aisle on her father's arm. And he knew, as all grooms do, that a big part of the beauty was knowing that she was coming to him. That smile on her face: it was for him. Even in the newfound memory, he was marveling at his unmerited good fortune. Then, such thoughts would make him mad at himself as he remembered that a short time ago he had been not only married to Sarah, but with her. Then he would get depressed as he realized he would never see Sarah again for she had been dead for over two centuries. Then another memory of Heather would pop up and he would momentarily enjoy it.

The cycle of memories kept repeating itself and he began to wonder if one of the Garisons had been a manic/depressive and he just hadn't remembered the diagnosis, yet. In all the memories that had come out in his head, though—of vacations, and trips to the beach, and fancy dress balls—the only thing that compared to Heather's beauty that day he married her was...Sarah's on his wedding day to her.

The memory of the two weddings was a torment to Garison Fitch. He had awakened that morning knowing he was, truly but oddly, in love with Heather. He was, however, no less in love with Sarah (and no less recently in love). The ancient practice of rending one's garments and sitting in ashes came to his mind again as he struggled over what to do.

His first step came to mind like a flash of lightening. Not being one to lay around once a course of action was decided on, he bolted out of bed and rushed into the shower, it not even registering on him the ease with which he found things in his parents' house. After taking a quick one, he hurriedly dried off and got dressed. His hair still wet, he went down the hall to Heather's room and rapped on the door. He could hear his parents up and stirring in the kitchen, but he wanted to speak to Heather privately first, before seeing anyone else. It crossed his mind briefly to wonder what his parents had thought about the two of them sleeping apart—but then he realized they probably thought it no more strange than the story he and Heather had told them the night before.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Garison," he replied. "May I come in?"

"Of course," she told him.

He went inside and she was still laying in bed. She was covered with a sheet and he could see from her shoulders that she was wearing a nightgown he had purchased for her last birthday. He was momentarily surprised that the memory of the nightgown had come so readily, but he didn't dwell on it. How different that gown was from the one he had bought for Sarah! he mused. In his mind, he was embarrassed when the image of what Heather looked like in the nightgown came to mind. Then, he almost chuckled as he pictured Heather, woman of the twenty-first century, in one of Sarah's nightgowns. Then the thought popped into his mind of Sarah in a nightgown of the modern era and it was a hard image to let go of. It was almost crowded out by a remembered image of Heather without a nightgown, then...

Shaking the multiple images from his head, he sat down on the bed and told her excitedly, "I am remembering more and more."

"Such as?"

"Our wedding. I remember how beautiful you looked. The mere memory of it nearly causes my heart to burst. I only have that sensation in relation to, well, my wedding to Sarah." He could tell the mention of his "other wife" stung Heather a bit, but he went on, hoping his news would cheer her. "And I remember it all in detail—everything about the wedding—except for the name of my best man. But, surely that will come to me."

She sat up excitedly and hugged him. She asked cautiously, "But what of...your other memories? Of Sarah and Mount Vernon and the Soviet Americas?"

"They're still there, here," he told her, shaking his head in wonder. "In fact, they haunt me. Both memories do. It's unnerving having two complete—completely real—sets of memories like this."

"I bet."

"That's why I woke up and came in here so early."

"I don't get it," she shrugged. Like the Garison of old, he frequently made her feel as if she had walked into the middle of someone else's conversation. Like her detective friend Garrett, she had learned to draw clues from Garison's speech over a length of time before finally deducing what he was talking about.

"I have reached the conclusion that I must treat my old life as just that—my old life. I love Sarah, and I always will. But present circumstances would seem to dictate that I must leave that life behind. I mean, it ended two hundred years ago and is, as far as I know, irretrievable." He paused, thinking for a moment about how to go on, before saying, "I remember—from somewhere—the story of Coronado. Remember how, after he got to the new world, he burned the ships so he and his men couldn't go back? I already did that—both figuratively and literally when I caused the meltdown. And even though a part of me—there's an appropriate metaphore—part of me would like to go back, unless I could perfect the intricacies of time travel, I would run the risk of doing like you said and making things worse. Now, I must step forward into this new world I live in and forgive my past, as it were. My feet are stuck firmly on this new world and I can't go back to the old one without taking the chance of destroying it. I don't know how possible that's going to be—getting used to staying here—because, right now, it seems impossible. I don't want to hurt you, but, honestly, the idea of staying kills me. I miss Sarah and I miss my kids so much I cried half the night. But there's a growing part of me that's realizing I couldn't leave you anymore than I could have chosen to leave them. Still, my only other option is probably to go insane trying to change what I can't undo."

"You must have done a lot of thinking," she commented.

"I have. And my eyes hurt." He quipped wryly, "You can do a lot of thinking when you have two minds. But I still need your help. Right now, I am only 'talking a good game' as I believe I used to say. It's like head knowledge that has not quite sunk into..."

"Heart knowledge?" she offered. "In other words, you know the truth, but have not been able to accept it?"

"Exactly! My head and my heart don't agree on this at all. To truly rid myself of the memories of the past—or, at least, come to grips with them—I must deal with them face to face. And while part of me wants to run from even that, I think the best course is the sooner the better, before I lose my nerve."

"How can I help?" she asked, her head still in a swim, from sleep and his sudden change. "You know I'll do anything for you."

He explained, "We must start by going to Virginia. That's the best place to begin since I've already been to where it all started: La Plata Canyon. I must find out what happened to Sarah and my children. In Virginia, we should be able to look things up and see where they went, right? What they did, and who they married, and all that stuff.

"And," he added after hesitating, "I must know how they died. I know they have to be dead because it's been two and a half centuries since they were born. But, if I never found proof of their deaths, I think I would forever be haunted by wondering if I could still help them out in some way. They are my wife and my children, after all, and I must know what became of them." He paused, then said uncomfortably, "I'm going to be haunted anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"They are my children." Suddenly with tears in his eyes, he said, "Three days ago I had two little boys and the prettiest little girl you've ever seen and now—now they're gone." He glanced away, then looked back, and said, "I had a friend back in Marx—maybe my only really good friend. His name was Charlie Begay. One day coming back from town, his first wife and littlest boy were in a car wreck and died. I always wondered what that was really like for him. One day he's got this great family then—boom—half of it's gone. The part of me that's still that Garison...my whole family's gone in—in a flash of lightning."

Heather nodded, understanding much of what he said even if the basic premise was still incomprehensible. She told him, "I have three older brothers. Two now. The oldest was nineteen years older than me. He—he never came back from Korea. I was only twelve when he shipped out in 1990—and even before that he'd been almost grown and gone before I really got to know him. A year later he—he apparently stepped on a thirty-year-old landmine. Peacetime and everything, but...but his memory still lingers with my father because no positive proof was ever found of what happened to him, only dog-tags and a few dubious reports. Somewhere in the back of his mind, I think my father still holds out hope that my brother is alive and will somehow come back from Korea after fifteen years. That part of his life is an open wound that's never been closed, and I don't think he can close it—unless my brother's body were somehow found, which will probably never happen. Knowing my brother is dead would be easier than not knowing anything. I see in you what I saw hurting my father for all these years. You just need to know. I'll gladly help you." She forced a smile and said, "Gladly's not really the right word."

He looked around and said, "I guess there is really no rush. I—I kind of forget that they lived two hundred years ago. The records will be there tomorrow, but—"

"I understand," she told him, putting a finger to his lips. "I know you well enough to know that, once started on something, you can't sit still until it's done. We'll try to explain this to your parents—as best we can—then leave this afternoon, as soon as I can file a flight plan. I've never flown to Virginia. It should be pretty."

"It is. Especially this time of year."

Heather's Diary

March 18, 2005

I wouldn't tell Garison this, at least not now, but I am a little afraid of going to look for Sarah. Maybe for several reasons.

One, if we find her—or her grave—then that means that Garison is telling the truth about all this time travel stuff and the stuff about the Soviet Americas would probably be true, too. I've been willing to claim I went along with him, and I think I've started to say it often enough that I've begun believing it myself.

Still . . .

Time travel? Am I really admitting that I think it's true? Do I really think there was another Garison Fitch? One who grew up somewhere else but has now melded somehow with the Garison Fitch I know and love? Do I really believe that?

I don't know.

I mean, it all somehow seems to be true. But it's just too fantastic for me to believe. I mean, how can I believe such nonsense?

But I guess I do.

There's another reason I'm leery about going to look for Sarah, but it may seem kind of silly. After all, she is dead, right? She died two hundred years ago, maybe more.

I'm worried though, because it seems like I've been through this before. And the last time it didn't work out too well even though it was on a much smaller scale. I mean, I guess it did work out in the long run, but it didn't seem like it at the time.

While it seems a lot longer, it was only three years ago that I was in love with Bat Garrett. I never told him that—and at the time I wasn't even willing to admit it to myself—but I know now it's true. I really was.

Bat had been engaged once before—or at least in love—with a girl named Jody. But Jody was shot and, we thought, killed. I helped Bat catch the people responsible and, during the course of working together, we fell in love.

I really think Bat was in love with me. He never said it in so many words either, but...sometimes you just know. You know?

Then Bat found out Jody wasn't really dead; that it was all just a set-up for some people that wanted to use her for their own purposes. Even as I write this, it sounds too ridiculous to be true, but it did happen.

I guess what I'm worried about here is the same thing happening. Crazy, huh? I lost Bat because he never stopped loving Jody and he went back to her when he found out she was still alive. (I don't blame him because, after all, she is my best friend and I found Garison. Boy, this is twisted.)

I'm just worried I'll lose Garison to Sarah. I know Sarah would have to be dead after all this time. I'm not worried about that. I guess I'm just afraid that I'll lose Garison because he won't be able to turn loose of the memory of her. And somehow it just seems to complicate the whole mess that I am also pregnant with my husband Garison's baby, but Garison may not be Garison.

My little one, I hope, if you ever read this, things have sorted out.

While Heather took a shower and readied herself for the day, Garison went into the kitchen to be with his parents. While part of his mind thought little about seeing them, it having been only two weeks since the previous visit, the rest of him still could not get over seeing them alive, again. Flashes of being a fifteen year old boy and being called in to identify the charred bodies of the two people sitting before him went through his mind, seeming incredibly surreal in the face of the current situation. The fact that they were alive now, though, made the former sensations of vomiting just seem absurd.

"Breakfast?" his mother asked.

"Sure. I—uh—you still make those great pancakes?"

Garison's father replied, "You're mother makes awful pancakes."

Garison laughed, thinking his father was joking, but Loraine told him, "He's right, I do. I always either burn them or don't cook them enough. I gave up trying years ago."