Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel (34 page)

She sat up. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

He rocked slowly. “Lettie Ruth said you had a panic attack.”

“That’s the damn truth.” She fingered the ribbed edges of the chenille bedspread. “When I saw their truck again I lost it. I really lost it.”

“Lots of unpleasant memories must have surfaced all at once,” Mitch said.

“Will I react like that every time I see a white stake-bed?” The question had been rattling around in her head for hours. “A police officer can’t afford to have a panic attack every time a white truck drives past.”

“There are methods of dealing with your fears, once we’re home, we’ll find someone to help you.”

Kat shook her head. “I can’t go to the department shrink. If Chief Smith gets wind of this, he’ll pull me off the street.”

“Then go see a private doctor. What Arlin Smith doesn’t know, can’t hurt you.”

“I’ve discovered the opposite. What you don’t know,
can
hurt you.” She leaned back against the headboard. “I’m tired, Mitch. Tired of everything in this time period. It’s ugly and it’s dangerous.”

“You’re strong, Kat. I know you can make it until Sunday.”

“Then what? Am I supposed to go on home and forget all this happened? Forget about Lettie Ruth?”

“Didn’t we decide this afternoon to let things run their natural course? I thought we agreed that you and I shouldn’t be tinkering with events.”

“Knowin’ what’s coming around the corner makes it hard to stick my hands in my pocket and stay clear of it. I want to jump in and do something.”

“I do too, but look at the changes we’ve already instigated. And the only thing we’ve done so far is to have come here.”

“You ever get the feeling something greater than both of us is calling the shots?”

Mitch nodded. “It’s weird. Every time I look in a mirror I half expect to have disappeared.”

A foreboding sense of inevitability grabbed her heart and squeezed. “
Can
we go home?” Kat asked.

“Sure we can, in fact we’re going home on Sunday.”

His words didn’t soothe her tumultuous feelings. And the flicker of doubt in his blue eyes confirmed her suspicions. They both knew this trip through time would end badly for one member of the Red and Black Team.

=TWENTY-SIX=

APRIL 04—THURSDAY

Last night events
had left a gritty residue of tiny particles that had worked their way into Mitch’s head, slipping between the folds of his defensive barriers. Confused and uncertain as to where he fit in this new world, James Mitchell decided to go in search of his roots. Childhood memories of his early life in Alabama were yellowed with age and colored by the stories his mother shared. He wanted to dig down, get to the rock bottom truth of his past.

He parked Timothy Biggers’ gold and white Ford Fairlane on Blodgett, across from Billy Lee and Pamela Mitchell’s house. Counter to his memories, the small clapboard wore a fresh coat of paint and the flower beds were bursting with spring color. A twenty-foot high magnolia tree spread its green arms over the roof, protecting the little house from summer heat and winter rains. In the future, Mitch’s tire swing would hang from one of its strong branches.

A pretty red haired woman, wearing a sleeveless lime green blouse and flowered skirt, came out a side door. She balanced a laundry basket on her hip as she navigated the four steps to the yard.

Mitch slid lower in the seat, in case she happened to look his direction. A lump formed in his throat as he watched the familiar movements. The way his mother’s hands moved as she shook out the damp clothes, the toss of her head when a strand of hair fell out of place.

She seemed happy, or at least his interpretation of what her happiness should look like. He’d never seen his mother really happy. Even after they’d moved to Pennsylvania, a deep sadness remained in her eyes. As Mitch got older, he frequently wondered what Billy Lee could have done to destroy all the joy in her life.

She bent over and removed a tiny pink shirt from the basket and hung it on the line. Pamela Mitchell continued to hang baby clothes until three rows fluttered in the spring breeze.

Baby clothes?

Mitch searched his memory banks for any mention of his mother having cared for another child before he’d been born. He was the oldest of his cousins, on both his mother and father’s side of the family, and an only child. He concluded she must be helping someone else with their laundry. Then he heard a baby cry.

Pamela hurried toward the house and in a few minutes returned carrying a chubby red-haired infant in her arms. She spread a colorful patchwork quilt under the magnolia and sat with the child in the shade. The little girl—Mitch had decided the child must be female because of the pink hair ribbons—smiled and made happy baby sounds.

He heard the growl of the Impala’s engine long before it turned the corner. Billy Lee swung it into the graveled driveway and hopped out. He frowned and walked toward his wife and child.

Mitch lowered the window another three inches so he could hear what was being said.

“What’s she doing out front?” Billy Lee asked.

“I was hanging out the laundry and Carolyn started to cry,” Pamela answered.

“Won’t hurt her none to cry. That’s what they do.”

“There’s no reason to let her cry when I’m right here.” Pamela lifted the baby onto her lap, wrapping her arms protectively around the small body.

Billy Lee looked around at the neighboring houses, then squatted beside the quilt. “You know my feelings on this.”

“And you know mine.”

Billy Lee’s hand shot out like a rattlesnake and he slapped Pamela’s cheek. “My own wife won’t be giving me sass.” In one smooth motion he jerked the baby from the protection of her mother’s arms and stood. Carolyn dangled by one arm. “This is the last time I’m telling you, Pam. I won’t have the neighbors gossiping about us. Keep her out of sight.” He tucked the screaming infant under his arm and marched into the house.

Like a deflated balloon, Pamela Mitchell collapsed on the quilt. Mitch couldn’t hear anything, but her body shook and he knew his mother was crying.

A sister. I had a big sister no one ever told me about
. What had happened to her?

What did Billy Lee do?

* * *

Mitch waited until the clinic’s temporary patients and guests had settled down for the night before he tapped on Kat’s door. Humiliated and angered by his father’s behavior, he rode an emotional roller coaster and needed to talk it out.

Kat opened the door and he slipped inside. “Rough day?” she asked.

“In many different ways and for many different reasons.” Like two lovers in a secret rendezvous, they conversed in whispers.

“Timothy told me what happened last night. He said one of your relatives was there. Is that the reason you’re all worked up? Because Billy Lee was at the pastor’s house?”

“He’s part of it.” Mitch sat on the bed and leaned over. Arms resting on knees, he stared at the floor. “Every hour that passes I feel more and more detached from reality. I’m not sure who I am any more.”

“You haven’t changed, Mitch,” she assured him. “It’s the world around us that’s different.”

“That’s the problem. Because things
are
so different, I’m not acting right.”

Kat sat on the floor in front of him. Forcing him to look her in the eyes. “I don’t understand what you mean by, ‘not acting right’?”

“If a mob pulled a stunt like last night’s in the year 2000, what would you do?”

“Step in.”

“Exactly,” he said. “But I didn’t. I stuck to the shadows and let my own father assault an innocent man.”

“Mitch, you had to let things play out the way Pastor Gordon wanted.”

“Why? Why did I have to let it play out?”

“It’s the way things—”

He interrupted. “So help me God, if I hear ‘it’s the way things are’ one more time I’m going to put my fist through the damn wall.”

“Can’t change the truth by molesting a wall, Mitch.”

Her attempt at humor failed, he didn’t even crack a smile.

“I’m sick and tired of things I can’t change,” he said, ignoring her comment. He wanted to be angry. Wanted to take his anger out in the most physical way possible.

She smiled at him. “You’re having difficulty with this concept because you’re white.”

“Odds are that I will remain white for a long time,” he grumbled.

“Hush up, I’m tryin’ to teach you something. Because you
are
white, you’ve never run up against racist attitudes. All this bull shit you’re witnessing, I wade through it seven days a week.”

He raised his eyebrows. “This is still going on? Even in our time?”

“You poor white child, the things you don’t see.” She held her hands out, “Help me off the floor.” He pulled her to her feet and she curled up in the corner rocking chair. “Maybe we should’ve talked about it a long time ago.”

“About what?”

“About me being black. And you being white.”

“This is ridiculous,” Mitch said.

“No it’s not. We are friends and partners on the job, but what do you know about my private life?”

Mitch thought about her question. It was true, they’d worked together for five years and occasionally gone out to see a movie or for dinner, but beyond that, she was right. He didn’t know how she spent her free time. And Kat didn’t know any more about his activities.

Why didn’t they know?

“Have you ever wondered why our off-duty relationship is so different from our on-duty relationship?” she asked. “Why our friendship hasn’t moved to the next level?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “It’s because I’d be uncomfortable in your white world, and you’d be uncomfortable in my black world.”

“That’s not true.”

“Honey, it’s so true that if it was a rattlesnake, you’d be bit and layin’ dead in the floor by now.”

“We’ve gone places together. We see each other outside of work.”

“Do we?” Kat asked. “When’s the last time you called me and said, ‘Let’s go get some barbeque down at Little Joe’s’? Or asked if I wanted to go to a University of Alabama football game with you?”

“I didn’t know you liked football.”

“Stop it, Mitch. You can’t make the facts disappear by ignoring the reasons behind them. Have you ever dated an African-American woman? Other than myself, do you have any black friends?”

“No, to the first question. And yes, to the second.”

“What do you and these black friends do together?”

“We make music at The Blue.”

“So you call these fellas and say ‘Hey, let’s go down to The Blue, I’ll drive?”

Mitch shifted uncomfortably. “I doesn’t work that way. We kind of drop in. It’s not real organized.”