The house looked cozy. A prairie style home with enormous windows tucked between sprawling oaks. I’d climbed those limbs a thousand times as a child, chasing after my sister or as a means of spying on the neighbors. The yard was tidy, and the grass green though the gutters needed cleaning. There was a swing on the porch.
It didn’t look like the home of a family of time travelers. It looked normal. That was the idea, Mom said. To give us a simple childhood.
It wasn’t raining here, though the sky held a few clouds that threatened.
Lights were on in the house. A yellow glow emanated from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Figures moved across the light. I caught Dad carrying a drink out to someone in the family room.
Parked on the street I had a clear view. Only twilight. No one had thought to close the blinds just yet.
I recognized the car in the driveway. An old Ford Galaxie. No way it was street legal here, but its owner had his way of getting around rules like that. It was no more a standard car than the Boss was. And Grandpa Harry wasn’t just some old man having a drink with his family.
But you could believe it from where I sat. A pretty picture. Simple. Was it a holiday? I hadn’t thought so, but who could tell. They could be celebrating any number of things inside. Dates were just numbers in boxes, but they could choose which to occupy.
Smoke wafted from the chimney. I could smell something else too. Something cooking. That was Mom’s language now. Feed people. Keep them safe. She’d done it our whole lives. Was there a person in the world better suited for it? She’d been born adrift in time, no place to call home and also a thousand places. Walked the Great Wall as it was built. Watched the colonists land at Jamestown. Visited with kings and queens of old. Became a legend in her own right. She found a place. Made a home. Expressed her love with old wine and fresh bread.
Then there she was, next to my father. The sun he orbited. Her blonde hair had darkened some over the years. A few streaks of gray. But still the center of our little universe.
She’d kept it all together, defined a future. This was it.
There was a lesson there somewhere. A woman who had the world at her fingertips, able to press pause.
Someone else passed the window. Piper. My sister, three years my elder. She was in conversation with someone in the family room.
She looked out.
The Boss was a shadow inside a shadow but she had eyes like an eagle.
A moment later my phone buzzed.
<<< You coming in?
I stared at the message. A simple enough question.
An invitation.
It seemed easy. Climb out of the car, walk the worn brick path through the yard. No need to knock. Walk right in. Hugs all around. How’ve you been? Great to see you.
Sit. Eat. Pretend this was all normal.
My fingers hovered over the door handle. I had just decided to climb out when another figure passed in front of the window. Tall, sandy brown hair. His face as familiar as my reflection.
It was me.
Another me.
A me that had made different choices.
The one who hadn’t fucked it all up.
My hand slipped down the door frame, settled back to the steering wheel.
Just like that, the spell was broken.
Because life as a time traveler is never simple. Never clean. It’s a mess of alternate timelines and paths not taken. Pandora’s box. Once the lid is sprung, the contents never go back inside.
That face in the window was the proof. This wasn’t my life anymore.
My sister’s message still glowed on my phone. I licked my dry lips and typed a reply.
>>> Don’t mention I was here.
I could see her typing as I restarted the car.
<<< Take care of yourself Grey.
I kept the headlights off until I reached the corner, the house fading in the rear-view. I tightened my grip on the wheel and shifted gears.
I needed a drink.
Waldo spoke from the audio system. “I don’t think I understand your behavior, Greyson Travers.”
“Don’t try,” I muttered.
“As you wish. Where would you like to go next?”
“Back to work. We’ve got a case to solve.”
Waldo displayed a 3D map of time on the dash screen. “In my estimation, there are several destinations that might prove informative. Shall I list the available options?”
“No. I’m done beating around the bush. Let’s go talk to Foster Phillips.”