Page 71 of Intersect

His raises his hands, exasperated. “I don’t know! That’s the problem. What if she’s got some magic portal to the future you don’t even know you’re walking into?”

I laugh so hard that I collapse back on the bed. “Did you really just say you’re worried about magical portals?” I glance down at my stomach. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, little embryos, but your father is a total dork.”

“How is that any more unlikely than time travel?” he argues. “Just wait. I’ll try to come home for lunch and we can go then. But just so we’re clear, if there is a magical portal that pulls you away forever, I’m going to be very annoyed.”

“If that happens you can say I told you so all you want.”

He glares at me. “If you’re pulled away forever you won’t be able to hear me say it.”

I grin at him over my shoulder as I head to the bathroom. “Precisely.”

* * *

After he leaves I finish unpacking, carefully placing the knickknacks I bought Darcy on the kitchen table so I don’t forget to bring them to her this weekend. I hold the Eiffel Tower snow globe in my hand, watching the flakes settle along the banks of the Seine. She’s never going to see that. All my dreams came true in one fell swoop, while not a single one of hers will. She’s never going to travel, or fall in love, or have children. I understand Nick’s point about the dangers, but it’s just so fucking wrong that I’m not even going to try to help.

I walk to the store, but once I’ve done my shopping and returned home, the silence of the house eats at me. No—not silence—guilt. Because maybe our caution is for no reason whatsoever. We don’t know what Grosbaum’s wife was really doing when she disappeared. Maybe she decided to go to medieval England during a vicious bout of the plague. Maybe she met some real-life version of Lord Darcy and decided to stay. And maybe if I took baby steps I could build up to jumping a few months, back to the day I saw Rose. How badly could I possibly mess things up? I’m not even sure I’m capable of doing it outside of really extreme situations.

I should at least see how hard it is.

Am I breaking a promise to Nick if I just try it? One tiny jump, an hour back in time? Yes, probably. But if it was up to him, I’d go through the rest of my life encased in bubble wrap, and while I agree that any major attempts at time travel should be avoided for the time being, I just don’t see how much harm this could possibly do.

I ignore the twinge of guilt I feel, and try to remember what I did in Sarah’s basement. I close my eyes, just like I did then, and picture the upstairs hallway, maybe an hour earlier. I squeeze my eyes tight, clench my fists, try to make my mind go there.

My eyes open to discover I’m still standing downstairs like an idiot. Absolutely nothing has happened. So perhaps all my angst over not helping Darcy is unnecessary, and finding a friend of my mother’s is our best bet.

I’ve finished unpacking the groceries and started a load of laundry before I decide I should try again, once more. A smaller jump. Maybe five minutes.

I picture the hallway, focusing on it as if nothing else exists. I picture the divots in the hardwood, the way the balusters are slightly loose and in need of paint. At last I feel the rush of air in the darkness, see a night sky flecked with light. Fear and triumph twine together in my stomach, but I ignore them both, and I land exactly as I pictured—naked in the upstairs hallway. The clock in the bedroom says I’ve gone back only a few minutes, just as I planned.

“Now to see if I can return,” I say quietly. I’m slightly unnerved by the idea of jumping down a floor, but I ignore it. I close my eyes and think of the kitchen.

Nothing happens. I’m just standing naked in the upstairs hallway, five minutes back in time. How does this even work if I’m unable to return? Does Nick come home to an empty house, or am I here, just five minutes behind? I don’t want to find out.

I close my eyes and try harder. I imagine the smell of bananas starting to ripen, freshly ground coffee beans on the counter, empty Gatorade bottles in the recycling bin. I hold onto it and don’t let it go, and at last there’s a rush of wind. I land precisely where I pictured, with a ridiculous smile on my face. It’s hardly going to change the world, my ability to go up and down the stairs this way or move forward in time by a whole five minutes—but it’s a start. I could build up to a week, and then two weeks, then three. I’ll tell Nick so it’s not as if I’ll be lying, and maybe if I get good enough at it, if it starts to come as easily as it did long ago—the prospect of going back a few months to find Rose won’t seem so terrifying to either of us.

I try it twice more. It comes to me more effortlessly, and though I’m tempted to keep going, I decide I’ve pushed it far enough for now. I get my clothes on and make a smoothie. I’m about to take it into the garden when I hear my phone ringing in the bedroom. I turn toward the stairs, wishing I could just jump for it. It would certainly make getting around here a lot more efficient. With my luck, I think, I’d end up going back a year and give the old tenants a heart attack. I laugh to myself as I picture landing naked upstairs on a summer night in a different year.

By the time I realize the air is rushing around me, it’s too late to take it back.

38

NICK

I move through my morning rounds, wishing I could have gotten the day off. Quinn starts school Tuesday, and even though we have the weekend, I wanted just one idyllic day with her after the upheaval of Paris.

My first stop is Darcy’s room, which I enter with a heavy heart. She went into a coma while we were in France—a fact I haven’t shared with Quinn—and while it’s always hard for me to lose a patient, this one hits harder than most. I can’t believe she’s never going to open her eyes again. She’s never going to correct me when I try to discuss Teen Titans with her or crush every opponent at Connect Four.

I know I should have told Quinn when I heard, but she’d been through so much with Sarah that I decided to give it a day or two. I suppose, selfishly, I also didn’t want to tell her anything that might encourage her to time travel. But I cringed, watching her buy souvenirs for someone who will never be able to see them.

Christy’s face as I enter the room is blank. I’ve seen this look from patients’ families too many times before. Exhaustion and distress, at a certain point, don’t just weaken you. They empty you. “There’s not much longer, is there?” she asks, her voice flat.

My lips press together. “I don’t think so, no.”

She looks at her lap, and when she speaks again her voice is choked. “Her father’s on a plane home…I just wish he could have seen her while she was still conscious.”

I flinch. I know it’s selfish, what I’m asking Quinn to do. And standing here, I’m no longer certain I’ve made the right call. She has a gift, and maybe it’s meant to be used. If it were anyone but Quinn, I’d probably insist it should be. Except I just got her back. I can’t stand to lose her all over again.

* * *