Page 11 of Telling Time
“How can she not have family?”
“Sometimes bad things happen,” John said, levelly.And if they didn’t, it was always possible to nudge them that way, as she well knew.
Chapter3
Roswell, New Mexico, July 1947
Rita Graven loved the past.Yes, it was messy, uncomfortable—shoes and under garments in particular—and even smelly at times, with a lot of rough edges.It was also alive, and richly hued in a way different from where she’d come from.
Of course, this heat was no joke.But it’s a dry heat, she reminded herself, with a wry, internal grin.
Since she’d arrived a few days ago, she wished she’d got paid for every time someone asked her if it was hot enough yet.She could have retired.
Yes, people still needed money in the future, though there weren’t as many interesting ways to spend it.
She liked the music of the past, too, well, most of it.There were a few decades that made her blink.But that was the other thing she liked about the past: people could like what they liked.
She’d enjoyed her time here in Roswell, though of course, she’d needed to be careful.Hello, butterfly effect.
She wouldn’t want to live permanently in the heat, but there was something to be said for being warmed right through to her bones.It was odd how perfectly controlled temperatures didn’t warm or cool.
She paused in what passed for shade outside her motel room.She needed a minute to make the transition from the stuffy warm of her room with its desultory countertop fan, and the full blast of mid-day heat coming off the street in waves.
She might be a bit done with the heat, she thought with a wry grin.In an hour or two she could discreetly jump out, she reminded herself, with her mission accomplished.
Her time senses needed the minute to adjust, too.She watched an ant cross the sidewalk for several seconds, then glanced left followed by looking right, noting hints of instability around the edges of her vision.
It could be disconcerting, like her peripheral vision was fritzing.But she’d lived with it for most of her life and knew to just ride the almost-vertigo until it smoothed out.
Today, it wasn’t settling quite as well as it usually did.There was always a little weirdness when she first arrived in the past, but it tended to settle down within an hour or two.
It was as if time needed to get used to her presence where she wasn’t supposed to be.At least that was her theory of why it happened.
Despite a lot of careful research, she’d not found anything that explained, or even addressed what she could see or felt in relation to time.
Even after she entered the agency, she hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.She’d been pretty young when her parents died, but she did remember being told to keep it to herself.
The instability had been so bad the day they died, their last words had been burned into her consciousness.Was it why she’d been drawn to the idea of traveling through time?
So far she hadn’t found any answers, but she’d found places where she felt more at home.She was careful about her interactions with people, but she liked watching them, and learning from them.She liked seeing them living their ordinary, yet somehow extraordinary lives.
Take this place.This town, the whole nation and really, the whole world was recovering from the war.They didn’t know about the next war coming and were focused on trying to get on with their lives.And doing a pretty good job of it, too.
There wasn’t a manual on how to pick up the pieces or in what order.You just did it.In some strange way, the past had helped her to heal.
Her aunt and uncle had been kind, though as different from her parents as was possible.There were times when she’d thought they couldn’t be related, but of course they were.
When they’d died, too, her sense of loss wasn’t as deep, though she’d lived with them longer.She hadn’t like feeling that what she really missed with the stability they’d given her.It felt unkind, but at the same time, she didn’t think the thought would have hurt them.They’d been like the controlled temperature, neither warm nor cool.
She set off down the street, keeping to the same side she’d used every day since she arrived.
Time liked patterns and consistency, so she’d leave her room at the same time each day.She’d pause in almost the same places and watch the people passing—both in cars, and walking or riding.
The patterns of these were less consistent, of course.Variables existed in nature.
She avoided the times of day when people were going to or from work.She wanted to blend in, but not enough to be truly noticed.
They were getting used to her.She was blending in.
