Time Enough for Love (19 page)

“You gave me what I needed today.” Maggie reached up to touch him. “Was it really that hard to talk to me?”

“No.” He closed his eyes, loving the sensation of her fingers in his hair. “Yes.”

She laughed, and feeling a burst of that now familiar warmth and heat, he lowered his head to kiss her. But she stopped him.

“You didn’t want to talk about your brother’s death, but you’ve never let yourself forget or move
forward, away from it,” Maggie pointed out. “Even now. You’re still tied to what happened when you were a child.” Her eyes were so serious as she gazed up at him. “After all this time Stevie’s life is still more important to you than your own.”

Charles didn’t speak. What could he possibly say?

The sound of the bathroom door opening made him step back, away from her. He hadn’t liked watching Chuck with Maggie in the car. The least he could do was spare his future self a similar sight.

Maggie moved toward the door. “I better finish fixing the sheets.”

“I’ll do it,” Charles said, turning off the radio. “I’d like a chance to talk to him. Privately. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.”

Chuck appeared in the hallway, holding on to the frame of the door, propelling himself forward by hopping on his good leg. He was unable to keep from watching Maggie as she quietly came down the hall and moved past him.

Charles could read so much in the darkness of the other man’s eyes. Did his own feelings and hunger for Maggie show so clearly in his own eyes?

“I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” Maggie turned back to say.

What did she see when she saw them standing there together like this? Did they look as different as Charles imagined? Did he seem like a mere shadow of his older, more experienced self? Did he pale so utterly in comparison?

Pushing his troublesome thoughts away, Charles helped Chuck into the bedroom. Chuck had already hung the strap of his assault weapon over one of the bedposts, and he checked, making sure it was within reach as Charles helped him into the bed.

“You know, for the past few years,” Chuck said, breaking the silence, “ever since the news about the Wells Project was leaked to the public, I haven’t gone anywhere without a matched pair of bodyguards. My house—your house—was turned into a fortress. I put in a security system that kept the world out.” His voice got softer. “And kept me locked in.”

Chuck leaned over, opening the drawers of a small bedside table one at a time, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg.

“I know what you’re trying to do—”

“Let me finish,” Chuck interrupted as he pulled a gleaming wooden box from one of the drawers. “I figured old Harmon Gregory might have one of these.”

“Have one of what?”

“It’s not even locked. And this man has
kids
.” Chuck flipped open the box to reveal a shining silver handgun. “It’s loaded too. Son of a bitch.” He took the gun, then put the box back in the drawer, pushing it closed.

“Over the past few years,” he told Charles as he hefted that small but dangerous-looking weapon, “I’ve had to carry a gun, and I’ve had to use it. More times than I like to remember. That’s your destiny—if you continue to pursue the Wells Project.”

He set the gun down on top of the bedside table, well within his reach.

“I just don’t see how you can expect me to let the Wells Project go.” Charles started to pace. “I don’t see how
you
could just let it go. All my life, I’ve wanted—
we’ve
wanted—to travel back through time. To fix things that went wrong. To save Stevie. Have you forgotten?”

“Look at me closely, Charlie. I’m your own personal ghost of Christmas future. Look into my eyes, really look, and see what you have to look forward to if you continue on your current path. I’ve seen a good friend killed. Boyd Rogers.”

Charles stopped pacing.

“You didn’t know about Boyd, huh, Charlie boy? Well, he died on this path that leads from you to me. And Maggie too. Do you really want to find out
what it feels like to have the woman you care more about than anything else in the world die in your arms?”

Charles was silent. He couldn’t answer.

“Look at me,” Chuck commanded him harshly. “I’m a dead man. I have no future. And it was my obsession to change my past, my refusal to reconcile myself with Stevie’s death, that’s led me right here.
Right
here.”

Charles took a deep breath. “I realize that there are difficulties to overcome,” he said, “but surely there’s a way to keep Maggie and Boyd safe, to prevent the Wizard-9 agents from using the Runabout to plant that bomb in the White House,
and
still have access to time travel. All we need to do is to think it through—”

“There’s not.” Chuck leaned his head wearily back against the pillows. “You know, I had plenty of chances to go back and save Stevie, but I didn’t. It was one thing to dream about it, but another to actually do it. I realized that I would risk totally changing history.”

“By saving the life of one five-year-old boy?”

“Absolutely.” Chuck sat up again. “Did you know that the trucker who killed him was driving drunk? Did you know that he went to jail for vehicular manslaughter? If he hadn’t been stopped, God
only knows who he might’ve killed either later that afternoon or some other day. He might’ve killed someone who grew up to play some tiny, stupid, but vitally important part in world history. He might’ve killed the boy or girl who was destined to grow up to be a mechanic, that due to his or her shoddy work made a car break down before it could get into an accident and kill someone
else
—someone destined to be a U.S. President.”

Charles shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? One unplayed game of Chinese checkers was all it took to change our life.” Chuck shifted uncomfortably on the bed, clearly in pain. “Do you know a man named Albert Ford? Works in accounting?”

Charles was caught off guard by the apparent non sequitur. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Albert Ford. Accounting.”

“At … Data Tech?”

“Yeah. Blond hair, thinning on top. Average height?”

“I don’t really know him. I mean, I think I’ve seen him around.…”

“If you’re not careful, Maggie’s going to marry him in a few years.”

“Albert
Ford
?”

“Yeah.”

“And
Maggie
?”

“Yeah.”

Charles shot a long hard look at Chuck. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope. Wait a few years and you’ll see. I was invited to the wedding. If you’re smart, you won’t make the same mistakes I did, and you won’t have to live through
that
laughfest. But even if you don’t, you
will
have residual memories. They’ll be enough to give you nightmares.”

Charles started pacing again. “Tell me about residual memories. I’ve theorized about them, but when I had one—I remembered meeting Maggie at the Data Tech holiday party—it was much clearer than I’d imagined.”

“Some are more clear than others. I don’t know why.”

Charles glanced briefly at Chuck, and the older man’s lips twisted into a half smile.

“Yes, I remember rather vividly what you and Maggie did in that closet this afternoon,” Chuck said quietly.

Charles closed his eyes. Oh, God. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what it is about her, but I couldn’t … I didn’t …” He opened his eyes and met Chuck’s level gaze. It was almost like looking into a mirror. “She loves
you
,” he said. “And as similar as we are, I’m not you.”

“Thank God.” Chuck’s voice rang with heartfelt conviction.

“You don’t understand. I have the power to make you disappear. And by making you disappear, I’ll end up taking a different path to the future, a path that virtually guarantees that I’ll
never
be you. Not even in seven years. I’m not sure I can handle knowing that I’m not quite the man Maggie loves. I don’t think I can handle knowing that she’ll always be mourning the loss of a person that I’ll never quite become.”

“You’re so wrong,” Chuck argued. “If Maggie loves me, then she loves you, too, because every single bit of you is here, inside of me. The rest of me, the part that’s
not
you, is poison. And Maggie knows that, she sees it. There’s so much I can’t give her.”

Charles was silent.

“I’ve known her for seven years,” Chuck continued, “and in only a few days you’ve given her far more than I ever have. You told her about Steve. You told her how you felt. That’s all she ever wanted. It’s what I couldn’t give her, but you’ve already gotten past that. She fell in love with me because of the danger, because of the excitement. But with you … You’ve cemented her love for us—for
you
. Don’t you see?”

Charles sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly so tired. When had he last slept? “I have the distinct disadvantage of not having known her for the past seven years,” he finally said. “I haven’t even known her for seven
days
.”

“Double memories,” Chuck said again. “You’re going to live through everything that I did through double memories. You’ll catch up in plenty of time.”

Charles smiled. “She’s incredible.”

“You should tell her you love her.”

“But I’m not sure I—You know, it’s only been a few days.… Assuming that I
love
her seems a little bit premature—”

“Don’t forget, I was there too,” Chuck reminded him. “In the closet? I remember
exactly
what you were thinking. I remember how you felt. You love her almost as much as I do. In time you’ll love her even more.”

Charles was silent.

“You have to tell her.”

He looked at Chuck sharply, suddenly understanding. “You haven’t told her, have you? I can’t believe it. After seven years you didn’t tell her you love her?”

“Even now, I can’t bring myself to say it,” Chuck admitted quietly.

“I think you could say it,” Charles countered. “I
just think you
won’t
. I think you figure I’ll come off looking like the better man if I say it, but you don’t.”

Chuck made a sorry attempt at a smile. “We always were too smart for our own good, weren’t we, kid?” They sat for a moment in silence. Then Chuck shifted again, in pain. “I know you’re going to do the right thing. I just wish you’d do it soon. My leg hurts like a bitch.”

“What about Stevie?” Even as Charles said the words he could hear an echo of Maggie’s voice.
After all this time Stevie’s life is still more important to you than your own.
And he knew what he had to do about Stevie. He had to let him go. Because he
didn’t
want to end up like Chuck, burned out and battle-worn, hard and cynical. He didn’t want to watch Boyd and Maggie die.

Yet his very attempt to save Maggie would guarantee that he didn’t become the man she loved.

“Let him rest in peace,” Chuck said quietly. “Spend the rest of your life trying to save the kids who
haven’t
died.”

Charles stood up. “Do you … want me to send her in? To say … good-bye?”

Chuck shook his head. “No,” he said. “Do it right, Charlie, and you and I will never have to say good-bye to Maggie ever again.”

M
AGGIE SAT ON
the living-room sofa, watching the sky turn pink and orange through the narrow slit in the picture-window draperies.

She heard the soft rumble of voices fade, heard the bedroom door open and close, heard Charles pause as he came into the room.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” she said, without even turning to face him. “I just realized. It’s Thanksgiving morning.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.” He sounded anything but happy.

“Charlie, I’ve been wondering. Chuck said he learned survival skills from his Navy friend. What’s his name …”

“Boyd Rogers?”

“Yeah. He said Boyd taught him all kinds of tricks
after
he developed time travel. After his life was first threatened. So how come you know all that stuff too? Like doubling back on our six?”

Charles sat down across from her in one of Harmon Gregory’s easy chairs. He looked totally wiped out.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You need to sleep and—”

He cut her off. “No. I want to talk. I’d
like
to talk … if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I’m right here—dying to listen.”

Charles actually managed a smile. “When I was a kid, after I moved to my great-uncle’s in New York City—he was a physicist, did I tell you that?”

Maggie shook her head. “No.”

“He worked as a professor at NYU. Brilliant man. But strange. He was certainly not prepared to open his home to a seven-year-old. I think he was intending to send me to boarding school. But then he realized that I understood him when he spoke about his work, so he kept me around. In some ways it was an opportunity—I was auditing courses at NYU by the time I was twelve. But in other ways, living in that mausoleum of a house was …”

“Lonely?” Maggie supplied.

Charles nodded. “Very much so.” He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

He was talking to her. He was actually volunteering information about himself without her having done more than ask a few simple questions. Maggie found herself holding her breath, hoping he would keep talking, wishing there were some way she could make this easier for him.

But only time would ease his discomfort. Only time would make him see that the trust he placed in her was well justified.

She knew the man he’d become if he didn’t risk everything and trust her completely. Chuck hadn’t taken that risk seven years ago, and this beautiful, precious, newly formed, and so fragile thing that was the seed of their love had been crushed before it could grow. And Chuck had grown colder, harder. Lonelier. And Maggie had ended up married to some fool.

She looked into Charles’s eyes, willing him to take the chance and tell her more.

He looked back, and he began to talk. “The house was so silent—I could think for hours on end without interruption. I read all of the books in my uncle’s library, and went to the public library for more. My entire life revolved around my research. I knew there was so much I needed to learn if I was
going to develop my theories of time travel. I read, I ate, I slept, and—when Jen, my uncle’s housekeeper, remembered to send me—I went to school.