Time Between Us

  “How do you know?”

  “What?”

  “How do you know that the accident wasn’t supposed to happen?” he asks. I feel my face turn red with fury. “Look, I know no one wanted this to happen, but it did. Maybe she’s supposed to be in the hospital and wake up. Maybe she’s supposed to heal and go through physical therapy and fight for something important for the first time in her pink-bubblegum life. Maybe she’s supposed to get better and learn to drive more slowly.” I glare at him. I head for the stairs, but he grabs my arm again. “Anna, I’m not saying it’s right. Or that I agree with it. I’m just saying that it happened. And whether it was supposed to or not, it’s not my place to change it just because I can.”

  I’ve heard the words before, but there’s something new in his voice. “Wait. Is that what you saw?” I stare at him. “Did you go see her in the future, Bennett? Does she get better? Is that what happens?”

  He shakes his head, and I feel his grip on my arm loosen, and I can’t tell if I’m right or not, because he’s just staring at me, like he doesn’t know what to say next. And neither do I, because whether he saw her future or not, I still can’t let Emma lie on that sterile bed with those loud machines, just because this might be part of some grand plan to make her a safer driver or a better human being.

  I try a different tack. “Look, you don’t have to stop the accident itself. You just have to bring us back in time by”—I’m quiet as I do the math in my head—“forty-six hours.” I look at my watch. “Forty-seven if we have to stand here in the cold talking about this for another hour.”

  “That’s still playing God.”

  I cross my arms. It’s silent while we wait each other out like we’re in a Mexican standoff. Or a third grade staring contest.

  “I have homework.” I turn for the stairs and this time he lets me go. I’m almost at the bottom when I hear his voice.

  “Anna.”

  I stop in midstep and whirl around. “What?”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “What do you mean? What’s not enough?”

  “Forty-six hours. That’s not enough.” I feel a lightness in my chest, like I’m taking the first full breath after being held underwater. He’s been thinking about it. No, he’s not only been thinking about it, he’s been doing the math.

  He lets out a groan and I know what it means: he’s about to do something he doesn’t want to do. Minutes pass while I stand there and wait for him to make the next move; then he finally speaks: “Come inside. I want to show you something.”

  Bennett’s room looks cleaner than it did the last time I was here. His desk is neat, with nothing but a cup full of pens and a textbook, splayed open. Bennett grabs a tattered red notebook and undoes the rubber band that holds it closed. He flops down on the bed and gestures for me to join him as he opens it to a page near the end. Every available surface is covered with ink. I bend my head closer and take in the dates, times, and mathematical symbols, the complex equations that stretch across both pages.

  “I have to be really precise.” How long has he been working on this? All night? All day? “I have to find the perfect moment for us to arrive.”

  He points down at the calculations. “Like I said, forty-six hours isn’t enough—that would bring us to two o’clock on Saturday, and we were in Wisconsin, almost three hours away.” He points to a timeline that stretches across the page. “We have to be together, and it can’t be while we were in the car, because we can’t be moving. So we would have to go back to the morning, right about the time I picked you up.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.” I sit up and open my hands on my lap, but he doesn’t take them.

  “Slow down, Speedy, there’s more.” He turns the page. “Here’s the thing: As soon as we get within range of our other selves, they’ll disappear. So we need to go back to the exact moment we were in the car, in your driveway, but before I put the car in reverse.” I think back to the morning. How long did we sit there? It must have been just seconds. Just long enough for us to put our seat belts on and for me to ask where we were going. Then we left. He points down at the page. “I think we need to land at about seven minutes after eight.”

  “Okay.” I don’t rush him this time.

  “But I can’t screw this up.” He sits up next to me. “I want to test it first. We’re going to go back five minutes and land in the hallway just outside my bedroom. By the time I open the door, the two of us will be gone, and we’ll replace them.” He walks over to his desk and returns with a little sandwich bag of saltines. He leaves them on the bed. “Those are for you, in case you need them when we get back.”

  “Thanks.” I stand up and hold my hands out to him. This time he takes them.

  “Just because we’re testing this doesn’t mean we’re going to do it for real,” he says. “I’m still not sure I can go through with this.”

  “Okay.”

  “You ready?”

  I nod.

  “Close your eyes,” he says.

  I do. And when I open them, I’m in the hall, staring at his mother’s high school graduation photo. I look to my left and find him there, nervously watching for Maggie. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” My stomach’s churning, but before I think too much about it, Bennett grabs my hand with one of his and twists the knob of his bedroom door with the other. He peeks in, then opens the door wide and pulls me inside. It’s empty.

  I grab my stomach and head straight for the bed, but the saltine-filled Baggie isn’t there. “Where are the crackers?”

  “Shoot. I forgot.” Bennett crosses the room, reaches into his backpack, and returns, holding the bag. “Well, at least we know it worked.”

  I don’t get it. “You do? How?”

  “The crackers aren’t on the bed because I hadn’t put them there yet.”

  “Okay, wow.” I grab the crackers and start nibbling slowly, again hoping I don’t throw up in his bedroom.

  Bennett recrosses the room and grabs the two red backpacks off the floor—the same ones that just yesterday were decorated with ropes and carabiners, and held shoes and sandwiches and plastic bottles of Gatorade. Today, they look much lighter.

  “Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room and returns a few minutes later with heavier-looking packs.

  Another full bag of saltines.

  Two Starbucks Frappuccinos.

  Two bottled waters.

  He goes to his desk, takes something from the top drawer, and walks over to the armoire. Removing everything inside, he makes a tall pile of photo albums, scrapbooks, old Westlake yearbooks, and several boxes of loose photographs. When it’s empty, he reaches inside and pulls out a wad of bills.

  “How much cash is that?” I ask.

  He’s all business. “A thousand dollars each, in case we get separated. Here.” The bundle lands in my backpack with a thud.

  While he puts everything back in the armoire, I think about Brooke and her backpack of cash. “Have you and Brooke ever done a do-over?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Not that Brooke hasn’t tried.” He talks while he puts the books and photos back where they belong. “There was the time she failed her History final and almost didn’t graduate. The time my dad caught her smoking. A really bad prom date named Steve.” He closes the door and walks back to his desk. “Man, now that I think about it, you two have far too much in common. I’m terrified for the day you finally meet.”

  I feel my face brighten at the thought. “I’ll get to meet her?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. Once she’s home I’ll bring her back here to meet you. We always come back to see Maggie anyway.”

  “Really? You come back here to see Maggie?”

  “Yeah. All the time.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “I don’t mean to be rude, but any chance I can tell you about it later? After I’m done changing the course of history and all?” He gives me a teasing smile.

  “Yeah. Of course.”

 
“Thanks.” Then he’s back to business. “We’re going to land at 8:07, just next to the shrubs on the side of your house. Wait for my signal; then run to the car.”

  “Got it.”

  He offers me my backpack and I throw it over my shoulders while he does the same with his.

  “Oh, and don’t let go of my hands—even though it will be hard to move quickly that way. No matter what happens, we need to be sure we stay together.” His command reminds me of our rock climbing date, when he introduced the belay device and told me it kept me connected to him.

  He grabs my hands. I look right into his eyes. I’ve never seen him look scared before.

  “Bennett?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will I…remember everything from Saturday?” I don’t want to forget the anticipation of our drive, the exhilaration of climbing, or the view from the top. I want to remember the moment when we pulled into the driveway back home and I felt like I finally knew him.

  “You’ll remember both days—”

  I interrupt him. “But how? I don’t remember anything at the bookstore before you left and came back.”

  “That’s because you weren’t with me. This time you’ll remember both versions, just like I do. Now, close your eyes.”

  But I can’t. I’m getting nervous now, and I’m sure he can feel my hands shaking in his. “Are you sure we should do this?” I ask.

  “You’re kidding, right?” He humphs and looks at me with a puzzled expression. “No, I’m not sure. I’m testing fate. I’m messing around with time.”

  I bite my lip, picture Emma, and feel my conviction return. “Thank you,” I say. It’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got.

  His grip is tighter than usual. “Close your eyes.”

  I open them to the somewhat familiar sight of our side yard. It’s not like I’m over here much, but the chipping yellow paint verifies that we’ve landed at Bennett’s intended location. On the other side of the window above us, Dad has probably just sat down to finish his coffee and read the Sun-Times.

  “Ready?” Bennett asks.

  I nod.

  “Go!”

  We race from the shrubs into the driveway, pulling each other along like we’re in some strange Fourth of July event wedged in between the three-legged race and the egg toss.

  The car is empty. We’ve done it. I start to let out a relieved laugh until I realize the car is moving backward down the driveway, picking up speed. Bennett pulls me toward his side of the car; we work together to lift the door handle, and it rises, but nothing else happens.

  He swears under his breath. “It’s locked!”

  I look up at the kitchen window, my heart racing at the thought of Dad’s seeing this, but thankfully, no one’s there.

  Bennett and I run alongside the car until it reaches the end of the driveway, then watch as it rolls across the street, slows when it reaches a snowbank, and comes to rest against a tree. The wheels spin on the ice.

  This time when I look up at the window, I see Dad standing there, watching us. He disappears from sight and reappears when the front door flies open.

  “What the hell—?” He runs across the lawn and stops when he reaches us. Bennett and I drop our hands. “What the hell?” he repeats.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Annie?” He’s looking back and forth from me to Bennett and I have to remind myself that this moment is completely different from the one in his mind. As far as Dad’s concerned, the three of us were just standing in our foyer, and he has just shaken Bennett’s hand and told me to invite him over for dinner. And now we’re standing in the middle of the street.

  “Dad, Bennett’s coming over for dinner on Tuesday, okay?” I say, and then I just start laughing, loud and hard, and I can’t seem to stop. Dad’s looking at me like I’ve lost it completely.

  Bennett’s trying not to look at me at all. “Any chance you have a slim jim, Mr. Greene?”

  This gets me laughing even harder, and I can tell Bennett’s trying to keep a straight face.

  Dad cups his hands against the glass and looks into the driver’s window. “How on earth did you lock your keys in a car that’s in reverse?”

  I have no idea how Bennett’s going to answer this, but at least the mystery is keeping Dad from noticing that we’re wearing backpacks and completely different clothes. I start laughing again.

  “I was starting the car and…I thought I felt a flat tire, so I—we went to check it out, and I guess the car was in reverse, and when the doors shut I guess they…locked automatically.” He leans over to Dad. “I think I’m a little nervous today, sir.”

  Dad stares at Bennett, and then shoots me a questioning look.

  Now I’m laughing so hard I have to walk around to the back of the car so I don’t make Bennett lose it too. He’s doing so much better than I am. I lean against the back of the SUV, trying to breathe, but when I peek in through the back window, I let out a gasp.

  When Bennett opened the hatch in the parking lot at Devil’s Lake, I saw two red backpacks overstuffed with climbing gear. Now those same packs are on our backs, and when I peer through the window, I see piles of ropes and colorful metal climbing equipment. Two harnesses. The new shoes Bennett bought me, lying on top of the heap next to the plastic bags of food and four bottles of Gatorade. We went back, but all the gear has stayed right where it was fifty-two hours ago.

  Some things may remain the same, but this whole day is clearly about to change.

  I’m glad we’re not in a hurry, because it takes forty-five minutes for the tow truck to get here, two minutes to get the car door open, and twenty minutes for Bennett to sign the paperwork and get the guy to stop making fun of him. But once we’re in the car driving toward Emma’s, I think we both feel a little giddy.

  He just did something he’d never done before, and I got to be there for it. I know Bennett’s still waiting for the dark hands of time to snatch us up and throw us back where we belong, but I can’t help being caught up in the moment. If my stomach hurt, I didn’t even notice.

  “Hey, how’s your head?” I ask.

  Bennett rubs it with his fingertips. “Fine, actually. I didn’t even think about that.”

  “Maybe it is the adrenaline, like you thought.”

  We pull up to Emma’s house and find the Saab sitting in the driveway. No broken glass. No broken taillights. No dents. No blood. “She’s here! She’s okay!” I bound out of the car and run to the door. When Emma opens it, I throw my arms around her.

  She’s wearing a bathrobe and slippers, her hair’s up high in a ponytail, and she doesn’t have a stitch of makeup on—which is perfect, because this way I can see her skin, smooth and unblemished, free of road rash and deep purple bruises. She shrieks when she notices Bennett standing behind me on the porch.

  “Bloody hell!” She pulls away from me and tightens her robe. “What are you doing here?”

  I don’t know how to answer her. I was so caught up in the do-over, I hadn’t planned what to do when we got here. “Well…” I begin. I point back to Bennett, who is looking down and playing with a button on his coat. “We have a date today. And I know you and Justin have a date today, so we thought we could, you know, combine our dates.”

  “Combine our dates?”

  “Yeah. We thought it would be fun!”

  “Fun?”

  I look at Bennett. “Would you give us a minute alone?” He nods and returns to his car, which buys me a few seconds to improvise. I turn back to her. “I’m a little nervous, Em. I don’t know, I just feel like everything would be better if you were there. You and Justin.”

  “You don’t need me to—”

  “I do! Please. Let’s just go together. It’ll be fun,” I repeat.

  “Fine. Justin’s coming here first; we’ll be at the coffeehouse by eleven. Meet us there.” She starts to close the door.

  I look back at the Saab in the driveway, and know that no matter what happens today, it has to stay parked ri
ght where it is.

  I stick my foot in the door so it can’t shut. “Let’s let Bennett drive. His car’s nice and roomy.” Nice and roomy? When did my mom get here? I take my foot back out of the door and start down the front steps. “We’ll pick you up in an hour and a half,” I call behind me. “Justin can meet us there.”

  I practically skip down the driveway, thinking about how healthy she looks. When I catch Bennett watching me through the windshield, I think he looks a bit proud of himself.

  Emma walks into the coffeehouse to meet Justin while Bennett and I wait in the car, and when she points at us through the window, we both give a little wave. Justin looks confused by our presence, but, like Emma, perfectly healthy and unblemished otherwise. No neck brace. No cuts. And as he walks to the car, he looks strong, not at all like someone who was in a T-bone collision.

  “Keep cool,” Bennett reminds me. And that’s enough to keep me from jumping out and running to hug Justin.

  “So,” Bennett says when everyone’s buckled in, “we don’t want to change your plans. What were you going to do today?”

  Justin replies, “We were going to check out this record store in the city.”

  Emma adds, “I thought we’d go to the Art Institute.”

  “Perfect,” Bennett says. “Music and art it is.” I turn toward the backseat to shoot the two of them an enthusiastic grin, and I catch them exchanging awkward glances.

  By the time I’ve turned to face the front again, Bennett’s pulling up near the elevated train station. “Okay if we take the El?’”

  “The El?” Emma asks.

  “Yeah. It’s better for the environment.”

  “The environment?” Emma asks skeptically as she scrunches up her nose at the train tracks and the grimy-looking staircase that leads to them. “No, really, let’s drive. It’s so much easier. I know all the great parking places.”

  “This will be more fun,” Bennett says, and he gets out of the car and shuts the door behind him before she has a chance to say anything else. The rest of us get out, and I grab his hand and laugh under my breath. I’ve never seen Emma get “Emma’d” before.