Page 40 of Parallel

I knew he wasn’t listening before. I introduce Nick again and Dr. Grosbaum’s head cocks to the side, observing us both like pieces in a museum. “Interesting,” he says, rubbing a pen against his mouth vigorously. “Very interesting.”

Nick already looks irritated. “Your website said you’re affiliated with Princeton?” he asks, his voice heavy with doubt.

“I was,” says Dr. Grosbaum. “The university, in their infinite wisdom, no longer permits me on campus.”

Great. I’m beginning to see all this through Nick’s eyes, and it increasingly looks like a fool’s journey. Nick’s hand squeezes my thigh and I’m not sure if he’s trying to comfort me or signal that we should leave, but either way I remain in my seat. We’ve come this far, and I have to at least try.

“Have you had a chance to look at the images I sent over?” I ask.

He nods. “Didn’t need to, though. Based on your description of the events, I knew what was happening, and your MRI confirmed it.” He flips on a light board, where my scans already hang. “Dr. Reilly, tell me something. Do you see anything unusual about Quinn’s brain? Not the tumor. The brain itself.”

Nick studies the images. “The amygdala. They’re maybe a bit larger than normal. More oval in shape.”

Dr. Grosbaum nods, a teacher rewarding an apt student. “What else do you see?”

Nick sighs heavily. Irritated, perhaps, or maybe he’s just reluctant to answer. “You could argue that the frontal lobe has more density and nerve endings than is typical.”

“Exactly,” says Dr. Grosbaum, turning to me. “Quinn, the frontal lobe performs higher-order thinking. And yours, if I were to venture a guess, has about twice the capacity of a human’s.”

A small laugh escapes. “You say that as if I’m not human.”

He shrugs. “Whether you are or are not is arguable. You’re certainly a different variety of human than most. You are thorax laneus tempore.”

I look from him to Nick, who is pinching the bridge of his nose. “Time jumper?” Nick asks. “Are you actually trying to say she jumps through time?”

“I am indeed,” says Dr. Grosbaum.

For a single moment I’m speechless with shock. And then common sense returns. “I’m not jumping anywhere. I’m dreaming. And this is the only time I know of.”

“Except it’s not really the only time you know of, Miss Stewart, since you appear to be remembering others, yes? Tell me something: these dreams of yours…are they particularly realistic? Do you emerge from them certain they happened and knowing things you couldn’t possibly know?”

The accuracy of what he’s said is unsettling, but just because he guessed something correctly doesn’t mean his insane theory is right. “I suppose. But I’m remembering things that happened in the past few years, when I know for a fact they didn’t. My passport very clearly shows that I’ve never been to London.”

He leans back in his chair, the springs groaning beneath his weight. “If I were to venture a guess, I’d say there’s been some foul play. Someone has gone back in time and done something to change the course of your life. I could jump back twenty-eight years ago, for instance, and give your father the job of his dreams somewhere in Germany. Suddenly, you are no longer here. You are Frau Stewart, dining on wienerschnitzel in Munich with your German best friend. One small tweak can alter everything.”

Nick’s lips press together, amused and irritated simultaneously. “So you’re saying she’s jumping between her life as it is and her life as it could have been?”

“No, I’m saying she’s jumping between her life as it is and her life as it was,” replies Dr. Grosbaum. He sighs. “Although I have no idea how. I’ve met many like Quinn but none who were able to go back and forth between different timelines the way she must be.”

“Why would anyone reset my timeline in the first place?” I ask. “It seems like an awful lot of trouble for someone to go to, given that I lead a pretty uneventful life.”

He gives me a small smile. “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. You have no idea which of your actions now could have a lasting impact on someone else down the line. Maybe she’s trying to stop you from doing something in the future. Maybe she wants something you have,” he says, nodding at Nick.

It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes. He’s just like one of those palm readers who pulls tiny facts from what a customer is wearing or asks about to make predictions that feel real. He sees me here with a particularly attractive man and assumes jealousy is a motive I’d understand. I guess he’s not entirely off base, but I resent it all the same. “And the culprit would need to be a female, and from the sound of it a jealous female, because…?”

“Because only females can jump. I’m not sure how, but it appears linked to the X chromosome. Men can carry the mutation, but that’s it. So, your husband here might carry the markers for it to pass on to your children, though it would be incredibly unlikely, but nothing more.”

“Dr. Reilly is not my husband,” I remind him. Nick is tense beside me, ready to walk out the door. “Forgive me for my uncertainty, but this is a lot to swallow. How did you, um, come up with this theory about time-jumping?”

“It’s not a theory. It’s a fact,” he replies. His eyes soften and he looks almost vulnerable. For the first time I see a bit of who he was in those wedding photos. “My wife…she was one of you.”

“Was?” I ask.

“Time travel is far more dangerous than you can begin to imagine,” he says, frowning at his desk. “She jumped back to check on something and never returned.”

Ah. It’s easy enough to see what happened and my heart aches a little for him. This poor guy was left by his wife—maybe he was already crazy, or maybe her leaving made him so—and he’s created this whole myth to justify the fact that she’s gone.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I reply. I pick up my purse to signal the meeting’s end. “Well, I guess that’s about it. I appreciate you taking a look at the images and seeing us on such short notice.”