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“That could happen.” I will ask Alba for a few stock tips tonight. I leave the two of them in the crowds around the Christmas windows, Lucinda solemn with delight as she watches a tiny intergalactic Santa driving his reindeer across a green universe full of candy canes, and Celia delighting in her child’s delight.

Saturday, December 26, 2015 (Alba is 14 and 60, Clare is 44, Beck is 39)

Clare: Our Christmas was quiet, uneventful, but the next morning I feel anxious. My anxiety is unfocused until our doorbell rings and I find a shivering naked Alba at the front door; then I feel even more anxious but also pleased that my intuition was correct.

“Why didn’t you come in the back?” I ask her as we hurry into my bedroom. “When are you coming from?” She looks older than I am, and that always makes me feel weird.

“2060,” she says. “There’s a skunk in the backyard.”

“Oh, dear,” I say. Beck and my present Alba are in the dining room eating breakfast. I start flinging clothing onto the bed: underwear, shirts, jeans, sweaters. Alba gets dressed as I sit on the bed and pretend not to watch her. When I see Alba older I am always reminded of my mother, who died at fifty-four; Alba’s hands, her body and gestures, are so like Mama’s. Alba’s thinness reminds me of Henry; her hair is white and her eyebrows are black, just as Henry’s were in his last years. Alba sits next to me and pulls on socks, then looks sideways at me and smiles.

“Why so worried?” she asks.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Always,” she says, fondly. Alba kisses me on the cheek and gives my arm a little squeeze. “But tell me, what are you worrying about?”

I glance at my watch. “Celia and Lucinda will be here in fifteen minutes. They’re coming to meet Beck. And Isadora.”

“Ah,” says Alba. “That must be why I’m here. May I have some breakfast?”

“Sure.”

Alba sits down next to her fourteen-year-old self, who seems disconcerted to find her self suddenly older than her mother. It is rare (I think) for my teenage Alba to encounter a self from such a far-flung future. I place coffee and orange juice in front of older Alba and open the fridge to get out all the food I just put away. I make poached eggs and toast. My present Alba gets up and hovers at my elbow. When the food is ready she serves her older self and sits again. Meanwhile, Beck has grasped the situation. As I come in with the coffeepot, Beck says, “Tell me what I need to know before Celia and Lucinda arrive.”

“Okay,” says Alba. “Celia will ask for you to set up a college fund for Lucinda, to be held in a trust. Four years, full ride, college of Lucinda’s choice.”

“Where will Lucinda be going to college?”

“Smith, but of course she won’t know that yet.”

Beck glances at me and I nod. “That’s cool,” Beck says. “What else?”

“Yes, this is important: You need to build in an incentive for Lucinda to come back once a year and be recorded again, so that Isadora can age along with her. Isadora won’t be young forever; she will grow up faster than Lucinda, but there’s nothing you can do about that.”

“How long will Lucinda have to keep coming back?” Beck looks a little weary at the idea of all this future organizing.

“Can’t Isadora just use age progression software?” I ask.

“Age progression won’t be as perfect as Lucinda herself.” Alba smiles. “Don’t worry, I think the two of them will cooperate on this for quite a while; they will be friends, oddly enough.”

The doorbell rings and we all startle. Young Alba says, “I’ll clear up the dishes.” Beck and I go to the front door. I turn to see older Alba still sitting at the table, watching us with a guarded expression. Celia and Lucinda come into the dim hallway blinking and stomping their boots. It has started to snow, and Lucinda’s hair is heavily flecked with white, as though she’s been age-progressed into an uncanny adulthood. I make the introductions. Shy Lucinda surprises me by meeting Beck’s eyes and saying, “We saw you on YouTube last night.”

Celia clarifies, “I showed her the BBC interview.”

“Great,” Beck says. “That saves a lot of explaining.”

Beck heads downstairs, Celia and Lucinda shed their coats, and leave their boots neatly by the door. We pad toward the basement in our socks. I notice Celia noticing the array of locks, alarms and the video intercom on the basement door, which is standing open. The computers are on, and the aquatic glow of screens fills the basement. When Celia and Lucinda get to the bottom of the stairs they both stop short. Standing above them, I bend and see Beck at her desk, sitting at her monitors. Everyone is looking at Isadora in the form of Ida B, Beck’s long-deceased black cat, who saunters across the carpet and toward Lucinda and Celia. It still amazes me when I see Isadora projected outside of the Museum, walking around the studio like a real cat. She’s German shepherd–sized. Beck looks displeased; she and Isadora often have disagreements about what size things should be in the Museum, and Isadora has obviously decided that bigger is better today. She sits in the middle of the carpet and speaks in a slightly haughty accent that reminds me of Tilda Swinton: “Hello, Lucinda Flowers and Celia Attley. Welcome to the Museum of Lost Souls. I am Isadora Hardwick. I’m the curator here and I’d like to give you a tour. Would you like that?” I’m impressed because Beck has conquered the problem of getting the voice to sound as though it comes from the cat’s mouth even though we’re not inside the Museum.

“Yes,” Lucinda says before Celia can react. “Are you a real cat?”

“No, certainly not. Are you a real girl?”

Lucinda giggles. “Yeah, of course.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that if I were you,” Isadora says, almost confidentially. “I’m really a girl, too, I just look like a cat today. Beck, would you help the visitors put on their headsets and gloves?”

The Museum comes up on the big wall monitors. This morning we’re in one of my favorite places, the courtyard of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, with its soothing skylit garden. Celia and Lucinda pull on the controller gloves, and Beck shows them some of the functions. “Don’t move too fast,” Beck tells Lucinda and Celia as she adjusts their stereoscopic LCD headsets. “This basement isn’t all that large, and I’ll be moving virtual things out of your way as you go along.”