Authors: Esther M. Soto
“What's the matter, Lil, those chickens giving you hell? Come here. Come on,”
he’d tease, strong arms open wide, beckoning me like a soothing caress.
And I would run to him, straight into his arms without a second thought. There's nothing I need more right this moment than Tommy's comforting embrace, holding me close, giving me little squeezes, urging me to hug him back. And I would hug him back, with everything I have.
I'd complain to him about how the fucking chickens won’t obey orders, and he'd say, “
That's because you're a control freak, Lil.”
“And you’re an asshole,” I’d mutter.
His laughter would fill my soul, ease my pain. Remind me that I'm not in this alone. Tell me it will all work out, that whatever comes, we will face it together.
But he’s not here and I’m all alone. I am very much alone.
Today I woke up with a pit in my stomach. It’s June 6th. The invasion of Normandy Beach. D-Day. Carol heard the first broadcast early this morning. German radio stations reported the invasion, but the U.S. hasn’t confirmed yet.
Will has been watching me like a ticking time bomb since then. I tried to carry on the same as every other day, diving into my assigned chores, until the afternoon. As I’m helping pick vegetables in the garden for dinner, Carol rushes out of the house screaming for Will.
She’s running toward the barn waving urgently. All I can do is stand there, in the middle of the garden, silently watching the scene unfold in front of me. I don’t need to hear what is being said; it’s happening. Carol yanks at Will, urging him toward the house. When they reach the door, Will glances my way with a critical eye. Lowering my gaze, I grab a rag and dust the dirt off my hands, feeling a tinge of dismay.
Why do I feel like this is my fault?
I head toward the house. The least I can do is try to help Carol with dinner, something. Entering the kitchen, I find Carol sitting at the table, handkerchief in hand. She’s engrossed with the dry, scratchy radio broadcast transmitting the news of the Normandy invasion. I catch something about a prayer written by President Roosevelt that he will be reading around ten o’clock tonight. Her eyes drip with worry, her hands shaking. Something tells me Danny might be there. Jesus, I sure as hell hope he’s not.
As I approach Carol, the phone rings.
“Hello,” Will answers.
“Slow down, Doc.” Will pauses as he listens. “Yes.”
I’m tense. Doc probably heard the news as well. If Will’s body language is any indication, Doc is listening to the radio also. Will’s spooked look lands on me like I’m some kind of witch who predicts the future.
“Very well, Doc, we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“What’s the matter, Will?” Carol asks.
“Nothing, Mom. It was just Doc. He called about Lily. He wants her to stop by his office tomorrow morning.”
That seems to worry Carol even more, and she glances my way. I try to mask my reaction with a neutral expression.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I tell her. “Doc wanted to do a checkup, so it’s probably something related to that.” I smile at her reassuringly.
“I’ll drive you tomorrow, Lily.” Will approaches his mother, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Mom?” Leaning over, he kisses the top of her head and whispers, “Please try not to worry so much. I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll pick Mary up right away and bring her home.”
She wraps her arms around Will’s waist, hugging him tight. Laying her head against his chest, she chuckles. “I’m a mom. It is my job to worry.”
I watch them with a tinge of jealousy. That is something I have never heard my mother say to me.
“Lily, can you walk with me outside for a minute?” Will’s soft request catches me by surprise. We’ve barely said five words to each other in the last week.
I look at Carol and she nods my way as she tries to maintain a stiff upper lip. I squeeze her shoulder and she pats my hand. We excuse ourselves, and head out.
When we reach the truck, I think it is safe to ask. “What did Doc say?”
“Same thing we heard on the radio. Our troops landed on Normandy beach. It’s been confirmed.” He turns to me, a serious expression as if my life depended on the answer. “Am I to guess what you said would happen, has happened?”
I take a deep breath and hate myself for answering. “Yes it has.”
His lips press together and his gaze leaves mine as he contemplates the landscape of his family farm. Finally, his dim blue eyes come back to me. He gives me a short nod, touching the brim of his fedora with his thumb and forefinger. He turns around, climbs in his truck, and drives away without another word.
After Will returns with Mary, things are quiet in the Shaw household. The whole family remains glued to the radio the rest of the night. I excuse myself shortly after dinner. It’s one thing to read about history, another to live it. Watching the Shaw family so consumed with what is happening to our soldiers halfway around the world makes me wonder how they would react if they knew about Nine Eleven. That in the future, the war will be brought right home to us, killing thousands of civilians, innocent men, women, and children right here on the mainland.
Deep down, I’m glad Will hasn’t prodded any further about my time in the military. I don’t have the heart or the energy to explain to him we’re fighting an enemy that wants all of us dead for the mere fact we’re Americans. A war we are still fighting, after more than twelve years. They probably don’t know the meaning of domestic terrorism or homeland security. Suddenly, I’m devoid of feelings, energy, or thought. I just want to close my eyes and make it all go away—at least for tonight.
قلب
Next morning, I get ready to see Doc. Since Carol provided me with a small wardrobe, I’ve gotten quite comfortable dressing myself. I opt for denim overalls, Mary’s old work boots, a short-sleeve plaid blouse, and a red scarf for my hair. Gathering my brown curls up, I wrap the scarf into a turban as Carol taught me. After breakfast, we head out to Doc’s office.
Our ride is quiet. Keeping Will at arm’s length is the best course of action. The farther away I keep from him, the better for everyone.
Sure, for everyone, just not you,
a voice inside my head murmurs.
I glance at Will from the corner of my eye. He seems pensive, looking straight ahead. His broad shoulders are slightly slumped, as if he's mulling over everything that’s happened. His scruffy, dimpled jaw is showing some strain. Even his clothes seem worn out, his shirt untucked with several buttons undone.
“So, you must know other things.” Will suddenly speaks, still looking straight ahead, snapping me out of my staring.
Oh God, was I checking him out?
“I'm sorry?”
“You know, about the future.”
It’s not a question. I was afraid of this. His intense gaze is focused on the road while his strong hands grip the steering wheel. I don't know what to say.
“Some things, I guess.” It's a lame response, I know, but I won't offer more information. I took a big risk trusting him, but I'll only go so far.
“Danny, do you know if he's safe? If he'll come home?” He briefly glances my way. His bright blues seem dull and tired under his hat, as if they have seen too much.
My heart squeezes at the look in his eyes. Compassion. Worry. Emotion. I know what he's asking. His pain is for his younger sister, and her husband off fighting in the war.
“I don't know. I'm sorry.” My heart aches for them. It brings about those memories I try not to dwell on, the looks on the faces of the victims’ family members during interviews. He must have noticed my expression.
“What's wrong, Ileana?” His tone emanates tenderness, his gravelly voice making my head fuzzy, and I realize why.
This is the first time he has called me by my real name.
Only one man has ever done that, made me feel this way before. That was a very long time ago.
“I’m fine,” I finally manage to answer.
Will is absolutely incredible. I can’t pull my eyes away from his profile; I’m honestly in awe of William Shaw. He’s taking this entire thing quite well.
Catching myself blatantly staring, I flush with embarrassment. Just then, he turns to me. Really looks at me, right through me, like he knows my secrets. The side of his mouth curves up and his laugh lines come to life, making his dimples show.
“Why would you say that?” he asks in amusement.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“That you’re in ‘awe’ of
me
?”
Holy shit. Did I just say that out loud? What the hell is wrong with me? I’m completely mortified. I survived time traveling, and I can’t believe I may die of shame. Death by shame. Will grins and shakes his head as he continues to look at the road, stealing a glance my way.
“How could you say that?” he asks. “To have traveled through time, somehow breaking all laws of logic and reality to turn up almost seventy years in the past, and
you
are in awe of
me
? Now
this
I have to hear.” His enjoyment over this irks me a bit.
I take a deep breath. “Well, as you said, I’m from the future, and of all the things you can ask me, the first question you ask is if your brother-in-law is all right. That says a lot about a person...about you.”
His grin fades into a sad smile. “Yes, I’m kind of selfish that way. My family means everything to me. I would do anything for those I love.” After a pause, he adds, “Wouldn’t you?” He pins me with his intense blue eyes, and I forget to breathe.
“So, does that mean you believe me?”
“I know what I feel,” he says, determination in his husky voice, “and I do.”
The truck veers off the road and we both snap back, breaking eye contact, and he quickly gains control. “I’m sorry. Here I go, almost getting you killed after you travel back in time.”
The mood lightens and we both chuckle. His gaze is familiar, reminds me of someone, but I can’t place who.
“Well, that would be like me, fighting in the war, traveling back through time then slipping on a banana peel and breaking my neck.” Now I’m babbling. Great.
“You’ve
fought
in a war?” Will is flabbergasted. I forget what I say might have repercussions. I need to be more careful with what I disclose to him, especially if it relates to history. I’m walking a fine line here, but I can’t lie to him. I hate lying.
“Yes, I have. In my time, women fight alongside the men during a war.”
He mulls over my revelation. “So, is that why you are some kind of a G-Man for the—”
I interrupt to explain. “Not G-Man. Special Agent and yes, I joined after I got out of the Army.”
“And you have a pistol. You know how to handle other weapons?” I detect a tinge of worry.
“Yes, I do.” A small smirk escapes me. I can’t hide my amusement at his worried expression. If he only knew how experienced I am at handling weapons. “By the way, thanks again for allowing me to retrieve my belongings, especially my Glock. I really appreciate it.”
“Glock?”
“My firearm,” I respond casually. “My gun.”
“Doc trusts me and I assured him there was nothing to worry about.” He looks at me, searching for affirmation on my part. A realization hits me. I can’t let Will down. I don’t want to let him down, and I can’t explain why. “In all honesty, it looked like a toy gun."
“Oh, I can assure you it’s real. They now use plastic for the body instead of metal in certain models, like mine. I’ll want my magazine once we reach Doc’s, you know that right?”
His shoulders tense and a hint of worry leaks from his posture.
“There isn’t anything to worry about. I gave you my word,” I assure him.
After a moment, he shoots me a crooked smile, rewarding me with a peek at one of his dimples. Heat crawls up my face and ears, and I have to look away from him in an attempt to regain my composure.
“About what my mom said, do you think your husband will be looking for you?”
I grin. He’s asking if I’m single?
“No, no husband or boyfriend.” He visibly relaxes. “No kids either,” I feel obliged to add, to make sure he knows. Why does it matter if he knows? Shit, I like him. This isn’t good. I try to veer the focus back to him. “What about you?” I smile but continue to look out my window, watching the landscape of farms, small houses, and animals pass by. Everything is so clean and pure, like nothing has been diluted, processed, or marred by time. The world seems brand new.
“After my fiancée, no one worth carrying a torch for, besides, with having to take care of the girls and Mom since Dad died...” he trails off.
“I’m sorry Will, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories—”
“It’s fine,” he says, trying to appease me, but sadness radiates from him; his shoulders slump forward, and he grows quiet.
“I’m really sorry about your dad.”
He glances at me, briefly taking his eyes off the road.
“MJ told me about your father,” I try to explain, “and why you’re taking care of the farm. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s fine. My father and I didn’t agree on some things.” His knuckles are white as he grips hard onto the steering wheel, his arms tensing. “But what father is perfect, right?” he says with a forced upbeat tone.
There’s more to their relationship, I can sense it. “Right.”
I’m not about to tell him I don’t even know who my father is. When I look over at him, he’s studying me, and then he quickly averts his gaze back to the road. The roar of the pickup truck is the only sound between us. I veer my eyes away from him, again concentrating needlessly on the landscape.
قلب
“Hello there.” Doc is outside to greet us, having been expecting us.
“Morning, Doc.” Will greets him as he walks around to the passenger side, intending to open the door for me. I was out of the truck and closing the door by then.
“Hey, Doc.” As I walk past Will, he exhales in exasperation noticing, once more, that I refuse to sit inside the vehicle for him to open the door. Looking down at me, he shakes his head with resignation.