There are certain fixed points on this planet that people are naturally drawn to. For the citizens of Windswept, Arizona, it's the Sunny Day Diner. Regulars treasure the Sunny D's consistent mediocrity. No matter what turmoil the world is going through, here the eggs are always runny, the coffee strong and black, and the jukebox willing to play your favourite song for a nickel.
Right now it's the radio playing. Susan Slaughter, 27, day shift waitress, sways to the music as she refills customers' cups of joe. Today the lunch crowd consists of Ira Bell, a field naturalist busy sketching portraits of cacti in his notebook, police officers Matheson and Sterling, working hard to stretch their fifteen minute break into a full forty-five, and air force pilot Marty Jones, on a date with his girl, Molly Adams.
Susan starts to sing along to the radio as she cleans the counter, her back to the front entrance. She doesn't hear the jingle of the bell above the door. It's only when she turns around that Susan notices the newcomer. It's a little girl wearing slacks and a shirt made from some strange, silvery material.
The girl looks up at Susan with a very serious expression. "You," she says with the air of someone stating a fact rather than an opinion. "Have a lovely singing voice."
Susan smiles. "Well, thank-you, honey. And what can I do for you?"
The girl walks over and spins one of the stools by the counter. She climbs up onto it hesitantly, like she's never seen one before.
"I'm looking for my mother," the girl says. "Have you seen her?"
Susan shakes her head.
"No, honey, I'm sorry. 'Cept for you, there haven't been any new faces 'round here lately."
"Oh," the girl says, the serious line of her mouth bending downwards. Susan goes back behind the counter. She reaches over and squeezes the girl's hand.
"But I bet we can find her. What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Ainsley," the girl says.
"Okay, Ainsley, where did you see your mama last?" Susan asks.
"In her lab."
"In her lab?" Susan echoes back.
Ainsley nods. "Yes, and then I followed her here."
"Oh, so she's here in Windswept," Susan says. "Well, she's probably looking all over for you!"
Ainsley nods. "Yes."
The young girl turns to slide off the stool. Susan shakes her head.
"Hey now, don't you go running off!" She leans in. "Do you know the best thing to do when you're lost?"
"What?"
"Stay in one place," Susan says.
Ainsley shakes her head. "But if my mother's lost, and I'm lost, and we both stay where we are, how will we ever find each other?"
"Don't you worry about that, chickie," Susan says. "We've got Windswept's finest on the case."
Susan slams her hand down on the Formica counter, causing every other person in the dinner to jump in their seats.
"Reginald! Bobby!" Susan shouts at the two police officers. Matheson and Sterling look over. "There's a little girl named Ainsley here who's lost her mama. How about instead of sitting around guzzling coffee, you two go out there and find her?"
"Sure, Suzy," Sterling says. "But how are we supposed to know who she is?"
"What's your mama look like, Ainsley?" Susan asks.
"She's tall and very pretty."
"What's her name?" Susan asks, trying a different track.
"Margret. Margret Spire."
"You get that?" Susan asks, looking at the two policemen. "You're looking for a woman named Margret Spire. She's not from around here, and she'll be looking for her little girl, so I'd think she'd stand out."
The two men nod. Susan cocks her head to the side. "Well, what are you waiting for? Hop to it!"
Officers Matheson and Sterling put down their coffee and vacate the premises. Susan sighs and shakes her head. The girl is once again looking up at her, wide-eyed.
"Are you the mayor?"
There's a bark of laughter from behind Susan. She looks back to see Eddy, the cook, standing at the window between the dining room and the kitchen. Susan glares at him, but Eddy keeps on grinning.
Susan turns back to Ainsley. "Well, honey, while we're waiting for the keystone cops to find your mama, how about I get Eddy to fix you up something to eat?"
Ainsley nods. "I would like that."
"So what do you want?" Susan asks, taking out her order pad.
"Do you have any nutri-fruities?" Ainsley asks.
Susan and Eddy trade a look. Eddy shrugs, the motion making the grease burns on his face wrinkle.
Susan shakes her head. "Honey, I don't know what that is. How about a grilled cheese?"
Now Ainsley looks confused. "What's that?"
Before Susan can explain the intricacies of a grilled cheese sandwich, the music stops, and a frantic voice cuts in on the radio.
We interrupt this program with breaking news. Earlier today, shots were fired on the President of the United States. President John F. Kennedy was on his way to a luncheon here in Dallas, Texas when his motorcade turned onto Elm Street, and shots rang out. Witnesses say that there were three shots and that at least one of them hit the President. We cannot confirm at this time whether he is alive or dead. We will bring you more news as it comes in.
Eddy comes out from the kitchen. The scritch-scritch of Ira's pencil halts. Marty and Molly stop giggling.
"No, no, no," Marty says. Molly grabs his hand.
"Did he—" Susan stops, gulps. "Did he just say that the President's been shot?"
"He said they don't know anything yet," Eddy says.
"That's right!" Marty says, getting up from his seat and shaking Molly off. "It could all be a big load of baloney. Maybe it was just some kid in the crowd shooting off firecrackers. Or maybe someone did take a shot at him, but missed. Or maybe they did hit him, but just winged him. He's probably at the hospital right now feeling up the cute nurses."
"No," Ainsley says. "He died right away."
Five pairs of eyes look over at Ainsley. Ainsley seems to feel the collective gaze on her, because she squirms in her seat.
"They were talking about John F. Kennedy, right?" she asks, gesturing to the radio. "He was shot in the head by Lee Harvey Oswald. He died right away. Everyone knows that."
"How do you know that, Ainsley?" Susan asks.
"Easy. It was on Ms. Mitchell's American history test last Friday," Ainsley explains. She sits up straight and talks in a deep voice. "'List at least three major U.S. political assassinations that helped define the 1960s.'" Ainsley drops the adult mannerisms and smiles. "I got a 95% on that test, and I didn't even study."
No one speaks. The only noise is the tinny stream of news coming from the radio.
We have just received word from the Parkland hospital concerning the President's status. The President of the United States is dead. I repeat, the President of the United States is dead. We also have reports that the police have arrested a man they found with a rifle, a man named Lee Harvey Oswald.
The diner is silent as the reporter goes on. Ainsley nods. "See? Told you."
Molly bursts out crying. Eddy leans against the wall and blinks rapidly. Ira closes his notebook. Marty sits back down, a stunned expression on his face.
Susan looks at Ainsley. The girl has her hands folded neatly on the table, her little legs swinging back and forth. "Ainsley," she asks. "What year do you think it is?"
Ainsley looks up at her with a frown. "It's 2096."
"No," Susan whispers. "It's 1963."
Ainsley just laughs. That breaks Marty out of his stupor. He strides over and towers over Ainsley. "Okay, that's it! I don't know who you are, kid, or who put you up to this, but it's one sick joke you're trying to pull!"
"I don't think she's joking," Susan says.
"Then she's crazy!" Marty says. "You can't honestly believe this kid's from a hundred years in the future!"
"A hundred and thirty-three years in the future," Eddy says.
"Whatever," Marty growls. His eyes light up. "Maybe she was in on it!"
Now everyone in the diner is staring at Marty.
"You think a little girl two states away had something to do with a presidential assassination?" Susan asks.
Marty huffs and looks down at the black-and-white tiled floor. "Hey, I'm not the one taking the time travel talk seriously."
Eddy shrugs and slips back into the kitchen. A second later there's the faint whirr of a blender.
Ira gets up and sits down on a stool next to Ainsley. He manages a weak smile.
"Hi Ainsley," he says. "My name is Ira. You said before there were three major assassinations in the 1960s. Kennedy was one, who were the other two?"
Ainsley scowls at the counter-top. "I don't know," she says. "If I had remembered, I would have gotten at hundred on that test instead of a ninety-five."
Ira nods sympathetically. "That's too bad. But I bet you can remember if you think really hard."
Ainsley squeezes her eyes shut.
"Kennedy wasn't one, he was two," she says.
"What are you talking about?" Susan says, her skin as white as the napkin she's gripping.
"One of the other answers was also a Kennedy," Ainsley says. "But I can't remember which one."
Molly's cries, which were starting to subside, start up again in full force. Marty glances back but makes no move to go to her.
Ainsley perks up, opening her eyes wide. "Oh, I remember now! I even remember who the bonus answer was! It was—"
"Ainsley, stop," Susan says, but her words are drowned out by the loud clank of Eddy putting a glass down on the counter.
Ainsley eyes the tall milkshake in front of her. "What's this?" she asks.
"Strawberry milkshake," Eddy says. "I don't know if it's anything like your nutri-fruities, but give it a try."
Ainsley leans forward and sucks on the straw. After a moment she leans back. "It's nothing like it," she says. "But it's still good."
"Glad to hear it," Eddy says. He looks around at the other patrons. "Can we talk?"
Eddy, Susan, Ira and Marty gather around the far side of the counter. Ainsley stays in her seat, working hard on her milkshake, while Molly stays in her booth, face in her hands.
"We should tell someone about this," Ira says.
"Tell them what?" Susan hisses. "She's just a little girl."
"Yes, a little girl who knows the outline of world history for the next hundred plus years," Ira says. "Think about that. President Kennedy has just been killed. At least two more prominent political figures will be killed before the decade's done. Both America and the Soviet Union have enough nuclear arms stockpiled to overkill the world twenty times over. It sounds like we're in for a pretty rough time of it. If we find out from Ainsley what's supposed to happen, we could prepare or even prevent some major world catastrophes."
Marty nods. "Yeah!"
Eddy shakes his head. "There's some holes in that plan."
"Like what?" Marty asks, practically snapping his teeth.
"Time travel is a tricky thing," Eddy says. "Let's say that Ainsley tells us that in three years time, Lyndon B. Johnson will be assassinated. For all we know, us acting on that information might actually cause it to happen, creating a stable time loop. After all, Ainsley being here is proof enough that certain events have happened and will happen no matter what we do, unless you want to get into alternate dimensions and parallel realities. But that's a whole 'nother can of worms."
Marty and Ira stare at Eddy.
Susan grins. "Where do you come up with this stuff, Ed?"
Eddy shrugs. "When you spend most of the day alone in a kitchen with only a stove and a deep fryer for company, it gives you time to think about these things," he says. "My point is that knowing what's around the bend isn't going to help anything. In fact, it will probably just make things worse."
"Maybe you're right," Ira says, pushing up his glasses. "But what if you're not? The doomsday clock is at twelve minutes to midnight. We are one wrong button away from nuclear annihilation. Maybe we can't change the course of history, but I know I would like to know how long I have before the missiles start flying overhead."
Susan glances down at Ainsley. "But isn't she proof enough that that doesn't happen?" she says. "Isn't the fact that she exists proof that mankind doesn't wipe itself out?"
Ira looks as though he is going to say something, but instead he just sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
Marty looks around at the three of them. "You've got to be kidding me," he says. "We're just going to sit back and let history happen? If we do that we're no better than the bastard who shot the President."
"I think that's a bit different—" Ira says, but Marty is already storming away. Molly looks up at the sound of his footsteps, her tear-stained face hopeful. Marty doesn't look in her direction, just grabs Ainsley's arm and yanks. The strawberry milkshake tips over and covers the counter.
"Hey!" Ainsley yells.
Marty picks her up, as Ira and Eddy rush forward.
"Don't come any closer," Marty says. "I'm taking this kid to the base. There will be lots of people there who will want to talk with her."
"Marty!" Molly cries.
"Molly, get the door. We're leaving," Marty says. Molly doesn't move.
"Molly!" he yells at her. Molly jumps in her seat but stays where she is. Susan ducks down and grabs the Smith and Wesson stashed under the cash register. When she stands up, she trains it on Marty's head.
Ira follows Marty's frozen gaze to see the revolver in Susan's hands. "Oh, no, Susan," he says. "Please, put that down. There's been enough gun-related violence today."
"You wouldn't," Marty says. He starts inching towards the door. Ainsley whimpers in his grasp.
"I once shot a rattlesnake dead ten feet away," Susan says, the gun steady in her hands. "I'm pretty sure I can hit you."
"Susan..." Ira says. He looks pleadingly at Eddy.
Eddy shrugs. "If she says that she can do it, she can do it."
Ira looks back and forth between Marty and Susan. "Susan, you might hit the girl. Don't take that chance. Put the gun down," he says, inching slowly towards her.
Marty takes another step back. Susan cocks the gun. Ira takes another step forward.
The bell above the door jingles.
Several things all happen at once, or at least quick enough in succession to appear simultaneous: Ira grabs Susan's hands and jerks her aim upward; Susan squeezes the trigger and sends a bullet into the ceiling; Marty spins around; Ainsley squirms free.
"Mother!" the girl yells, jumping into the arms of the lady who has just walked through the door. The woman falls to her knees and grabs her tightly. She holds her so close that the two of them seem to be just one shaking mass.
Matheson and Sterling stand on either side of the pair, looking more bemused than usual. "What the devil is going on around here?" Matheson asks, his gaze sweeping over the diner.
Ira lets go of Susan's hands.
She lowers the still smoking gun. "President Kennedy's been shot," she says. "He's dead."
Matheson and Sterling exchange horrified looks, though in Matheson's case, it's horror coloured by confusion.
"Good lord," he says. "That...that's awful. But what happened here?"
"When Marty heard the news, he went crazy," Susan says. "He grabbed the little girl and was trying to kidnap her."
"No, Reg! Bobby! You've got to listen to me!" Marty says. He takes a jerky step towards them.
Margret stands, still holding Ainsley close to her. Ainsley's mother is indeed tall and pretty, as well as fashionable. Her entire outfit looks neat and crisp, as though it's never been worn before.
"That girl and her mother are from the future!" Marty says, pointing at the pair. "They knew Kennedy was going to get popped. They know all kinds of stuff about what's going to happen!"
Matheson and Sterling look at Marty then at Susan.
"Like I said," Susan says. "His mind's done blown away like a tumbleweed."
"Molly?" Sterling says quietly. "Are you all right?"
Marty swivels towards her. "That's right! Molly, tell them I'm right! Tell them what's going on!"
Molly looks at Marty with tired, red-ringed eyes. "Oh, Marty," she says.
"Right." Matheson steps forward and suddenly seems half a sight more keen and sharp. He grabs Marty's wrists and cuffs them.
"Let me go, Reg! I'm telling you the truth!"
"Today hasn't been a good day for anyone," Matheson says. "How about you rest up at the station until you calm down? Sterling, put him in the car."
Sterling grabs Marty and leads him out of the diner. Matheson turns to Margret. "Mrs. Spire, I can't say how sorry I am. Marty is a good man, the President's death just hit him hard. He's not in his right mind right now."
Margret nods. "I understand, Officer Matheson. My daughter and I were just passing through Windswept. I don't plan on pressing charges."
Matheson nods. "Well, then, if you'll excuse me, I better get Marty down to the station," he says and leaves.
Margret shyly looks at the other people in the diner. They stare back. From their expression you would think they were looking at a three-eyed alien instead of a mother and child. "Thank you," Margret says. "Thank you for looking after my daughter."
No one says anything in response. For a second Margret looks as though she is going to say more, but then she stops and smiles softly instead. Ainsley doesn't say anything, just keeps her face buried in her mother's neck.
Still carrying the young girl, Margret turns and leaves, the bell jingling as the door swings shut.
Susan lets out a deep breath. Ira goes to sit on a stool and nearly misses it, almost landing up on the floor, before his hand shoots out and grabs the counter. Eddy shakes his head and goes back to the kitchen. Molly rests her head on her hands.
On the radio a stream of news continues.
Vice President Johnson has just left the Parkland hospital now. There is no word yet regarding-
Susan reaches over and turns it off. Digging in her pocket, she finds a Buffalo nickel. She takes the coin over to the jukebox and scans the lists until she finds a song she likes. When it starts, she goes back to the counter and pours herself a cup of coffee. It tastes as bitter as always, and despite everything, Susan's mouth twitches into a smile.