In Times Like These (7 page)

"What if they arrest us or something?" Francesca asks. "Who’s going to believe us?"

"T
hey’re a group devoted to studying this stuff, so if anyone is going to believe us, they should,” Robbie says.

"I think it’s our best shot,” I add.

"What about Mr. Cameron?" Francesca asks. "I feel like we should do something for him since he’s putting us up. Maybe we can clean his house for him or something?"

"That's a good idea,” Robbie replies. "I know that lawn sure needs mowing."

"How about we see what we can do around here in the morning, and in the afternoon we can go see about finding the Time Society place," I suggest.

The other four agree to this and go back to their own thoughts. I feel like they look more at ease now that there is a plan of action. Robbie turns the volume back up on
MacGyver
and we watch to the end of the episode, before ambling to our respective rooms for the night. Robbie is the last to leave the sewing room. As I’m getting myself comfortable on the couch, he stops at the foot of the stairs.

"You know
 . . . I don't think it’s going to be that bad. I know we’re in a totally screwed up mess and all, but I can't help but feel like there’s a purpose to all of it, and that somehow things are going to work out okay."

"I'm sure they will.” I try to match Robbie's optimism.

"At least we aren't alone,” Robbie adds.

"Yeah, definitely," I say. "I can't imagine how messed up I'd be, if I was in this by myself.

Chapter 4

“Not all time travelers you meet are out to do great things. Sure, some are reminiscent of bygone eras, some are seeking adventure, but some are just looking for a way to escape the IRS.”

-Excerpt from the journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 2052

I wake to a slobbery tongue in my ear. "Argh Spartacus!" I fend off the dog's affection and roll over on the couch. There’s a clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Spartacus continues to nuzzle me in the back until I finally give up trying to ignore him. "Okay fine. You happy now?" I sit up and scratch the dog on both sides of its head.

It really wasn’t a dream.
I look at the sewing room around me. A pendulum clock ticks back and forth on the wall behind the TV.

I’m in 1985.

I guess it beats going to work.

I get up and walk through the library into the kitchen. Mr. Cameron is standing at the sink, scrubbing coffee mugs and laying them on a towel on the counter.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Benjamin,” Mr. Cameron replies. “I’m just trying to make the place a little more presentable. It seems I was trying to start a mug collection in my bedroom. Can I get you anything? I have some coffee brewing.”

“No thank you. We were talking last night and we’d really like to help out a little in return for letting us stay here. Would you mind letting us mow the lawn or something like that? We can do dishes, whatever you need.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. The lawn is in disgraceful shape
, I’ll admit. But I really don’t mind putting you up. It’s already helped get my mind off things. But I certainly won’t turn down help that is offered.” He dunks another cup in the soapsuds. “Plus I imagine you are all in a tight spot financially with your lives and homes nowhere to be found. I can probably find you some jobs around here worth paying you for, if you like.”

I grab a dishtowel and start drying the dishes on the counter. “We’re happy to just work for our keep. It’s so nice of you to put us up like
this. We are rather broke, but you don’t need to pay us. I’m sure we’ll find a way to work things out eventually.”

“Okay
, we’ll see what we can do. I may have some clothes that might fit some of you in the meantime. I don’t mind taking you shopping for some basic necessities. I know young people seem to like having holes in their getups these days, but having a change of clothes won’t hurt you.”

“That’s nice of you. Thank you.”

As I stack dishes in the rack, I spot a battered copy of H.G. Wells’
The Time Machine
sitting on the stove. “Doing some research?” I ask.

“It was the only thing on the bookshelf that seemed relevant. Not sure it’s going to be much help, unless you have an upcoming battle with some Morlocks you failed to mention.”

“Would’ve been nice if the book came with some blueprints for building your own time machine,” I say. “That we could use.”

When we finish the dishes, Mr. Cameron calls for Spartacus. The dog bounds to his side.
“I’m going to take Spartacus for his walk this morning. I have a couple of errands to attend to. Tell the others to help themselves to the fridge. There isn’t a lot in there, but maybe I can take you all to the store a little later and you can pick out a few things you like. If you want, I can show you where the lawn things are on my way out.”

I follow him out to the garden shed we’d passed on our way in yesterday. The inside of the shed smells like grass clippings. There’s a workbench along one wall and a board with tools hanging on it. In the center of the board is a dusty wooden plaque that was carved with the name Robert “Lucky” Cameron. Mr. Cameron shows me the mower and gas cans and the electric edger. I point to the sign and voice my curiosity.

“Do you mind if I ask why they call you ‘Lucky’?”

Mr. Cameron looks up at the sign and his eyes brighten. “That’s a plaque I got as sort of a gag gift from my f
riends. It’s a long story. Remind me and I’ll tell you about it when we’ve got more time.”

My curiosity is even stronger now, but I can appreciate the need to tell a good story right, so I try to be patient.

After pointing out everything we would need, Mr. Cameron lets Spartacus off his leash and then follows him slowly out the back of the yard using his cane only occasionally for support. I go back inside and climb the stairs to the rooms of my sleeping friends. Blake is already up and coming out of the bathroom when I make it to the top of the stairs.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey.”

“Will you help me wake the others? I talked to Mr. Cameron about doing some chores around here and he’s cool with it.”

“All right.” Blake rubs some gunk out of his eyes and yawns, then walks into the room where Robbie is sleeping. I knock lightly on the door to Francesca’s room, then look inside. Francesca is buried under a pile of covers and I can just make out the top of her head and her right eyelid showing past the comforter.

“Rise and shine!” I call in the most chipper voice I can manage.

“Hmph. Go away,” is the response I get from under the covers.

“There’s coffee,” I bargain.

Francesca’s eye opens slightly at this, and stares at me.

“Hmm. Give me five minutes.”

Twenty-five minutes later, we’re out in the backyard handing tools out of the shed, when Francesca finally appears at the back door with a coffee mug, and squints at us across the yard.

"What are we doing?” s
he calls out.

"Yard work!" Robbie yells.

“I think I hate you!” Francesca yells back, but she descends the steps. She shuffles across the yard and Blake hands her a pair of pruning shears. Francesca takes another swig of her coffee and walks to the hedge on the side of the yard and stares at it for a bit. Eventually she sets her coffee mug down in the dried out birdbath and sets to trimming the bushes with slow but deliberate care.

Despite the lethargic start, the five of us are able to put the yard in order in good time. By the time Mr. Cameron returns, the lawn is mowe
d and edged and the grass is neatly bagged next to the trash cans. Francesca has trimmed the shrubbery and even refilled the birdbath. Spartacus inspects our work with avid curiosity while Mr. Cameron takes it all in and smiles.

"We’ve certainly made ourselves some useful friends, haven't we, buddy?"

"We made it through the yard but we didn't make it to the garden yet,” Carson says.

"Ah, well, Rome wasn't built in a day. You all look like you could use a break."

We follow him indoors and gather in the kitchen. Mr. Cameron fishes some glasses out of the cupboard and a pitcher of water from the fridge. We happily accept them. Next, he unloads a couple of items from a bag he has brought into the kitchen, one of which is a packet of dog treats. Spartacus bounces up and down at the sight of it. Mr. Cameron selects a treat and tosses it through the doorway to the library, sending Spartacus flying after it. He then pulls a newspaper out of the bag and turns to us.

“I was sitting on a bench resting outside the post office this morning, when I found an interesting bit of news that I though
t you might want to look at.” He unfolds the paper and hands it to Carson who is standing closest. “Tell me if you have any insights on that cover story.”

We crowd around Carson to read over his shoulder. The bottom section of the front page features a photo of a van crashed into a utility pole, with police officers working around it. The headline reads, “Two Dead in Mystery Crash.”

“Seems a van crashed yesterday afternoon and they found two men in it who had been murdered. They appeared to be police officers or guards, but they didn’t die from the crash. One was shot and one was strangled. That isn’t even the interesting part. There is an odd bit in there about the van.”

Carson reads aloud from the paper, “Police are checking to see if the vehicle was stolen, due to errors noted with the vehicle registration, and a model name and VIN number that the manufacturer states does not match any vehicle currently in production.”

“Any specifics on the van?” Robbie asks.

“No. It starts talking about the numbers of stolen vehicles used in crimes being on the rise,” Carson says.

“Can you see the model name in the picture?” I ask.

“Mayb
e.” Carson holds the picture close to his face. “It says GMC on the back. I can’t really see the model name. It’s too small.”

“I may have a magnifying glass in that roll top,” Mr. Cameron suggests. Blake looks over the desk and finds a large magnifying glass sticking out of a cup of pens. He hands it to Carson.

“It definitely starts with an S. Maybe Sierra? What does GMC make?” Carson asks.

“Can I see?” Blake
takes the paper and the magnifying glass. “I think it might say Savannah. Does that sound right?”

“I think that’s a real van though
, right?” I say.

“Why are we trying to find this out?” Francesca asks. “I’m a little lost. Why does it matter what it says?”

“It could be nothing,” Mr. Cameron explains. “I just found it odd that it stated that bit about the van not being a model currently in production. In light of our conversation last night, and all of you present here today, it made me wonder if you all were the only ones who were affected during that power line incident. I could be jumping at shadows now that I’ve had a taste of the bizarre, but I thought it was interesting.”

“That is interesting,” I agree. “If someone else came back too, they may have some idea about what happened.”

“They might know how to get back,” Blake adds.

“They also could be a freaking murderer! Did you guys miss that part?” Francesca exclaims.

“Yeah. That part doesn’t make a lot of sense,” I say. “I don’t know how we go about finding out more about it, but it might be worth the effort. Maybe we can ask around a bit and see what else they’ve figured out.”

“Does anyone know where the impound lot is?” Robbie asks.

“We know where the police station is. I suppose we could find out there,” Blake suggests.

“At least we have something to check out,” I say.

“Maybe we can split up,” Carson offers. “A couple of us can check out the station and ask around about the van thing, and the others can see if we can find the time place.”

“I’m not going anywhere near the murder van,” Francesca says.

“Okay. How about you and Blake and I can go look for the Time Studies Society,” I say. “Carson and Robbie can check out the police station and see what’s up. Carson can probably charm some girl cops out of some information.”

Carson smiles. “I’m not the handcuffs type, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Can we shower first? I feel disgusting right now,” Francesca asks.

“I’ll get you all some towels and see if I can find you some clothes
that might fit,” Mr. Cameron says. “I know my son has left more than a few things here in the past, or if not, there is my closet. And I can probably find something of Abby’s for you, Francesca.”

“That would be awesome,” I reply.

Francesca looks skeptical but hides it quickly with a smile as Mr. Cameron passes her and heads up the stairs. “I’m going to need a job at a clothing store, like right now,” she says after he’s out of earshot. “Sorry Robbie. No offense, but it’s going to be a little weird wearing your deceased grandmother’s clothes.”

“I know what you mean,”
Robbie replies. “At least we’ll be in the same boat. We get my grandpa’s clothes to wear.”