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Time is laughing at me. We’re all in this tangle of events, enmeshed, regardless of how it spools out.
“Drive by shooter. I’m a cop.”
“A shooting? Out here, in Minnetonka?” Sheila is wearing a lavender dress, and I am wondering if it’s the one she died in, in the previous version of her timeline.
“Retaliation shooting for something that went down last night.”
“Oh my. This is why we moved to Stillwater,” Sheila says. “We used to live in this cute house on Webster Avenue, just a few miles up the road. But Art found the perfect Tudor in Stillwater, and I thought…what if we changed our lives? Found something safer, and simpler. Brought our daughter up in a small town?” She touches Art’s shoulder. “We started late. Our daughter is only seven. But we have no complaints.”
I must be shaken up more than I realize because my throat is thickening, my eyes burning.
I want my life back. But in my gut, I know it’s gone. All of it.
My sick feeling is that Ashley is not coming back and I have to figure out how to live with what remains.
Our mistakes, our tragedies, our suffering makes us better, stronger, more compassionate people. And those are lessons we learn by going through the pain, not around it.
I swallow, a fist in my chest because I know what awaits me, if I ever get back there. But at least maybe now I can prepare for it.
Be a better Rembrandt the second time around.
They let me off at the emergency entrance. “Thanks,” I say, and then Art looks at me, frowns. “Wait. Did we meet before? Maybe a month ago? You came to visit me?”
Sheila looks at me. “You’re the guy with the watch.”
“Not anymore,” I say. Because as soon as I find Booker, I’m giving it back.
He can keep his time travel.
I thank them and walk to the reception area. My appearance raises the eyebrows of a few nurses and I again explain the blood isn’t mine. I show my badge and ask about Elizabeth Mulligan.
She’s in surgery, her family is gathered in the second floor CCU waiting room.
I know the way, having been this route so many years ago.
The first time, Asher was in surgery—Danny already pronounced—and I found Eve standing at the window, staring out into the night as fireworks shot over the river.
Our relationship found its footing that night as worry turned into grief. As she sat in the chairs and dissolved, my arms around her.
Her mother had Samson and Lucas.
Eve had me. And sure, we had our drama after that night, mostly because of Eve’s obsession to find her father and brother’s killers. But this time around, that’s not happening.
This time around it’s not her father. Not her brother.
Oh, Bets, I’m so sorry.
I get off the elevator and head down the hall, bracing myself for what I already know.
Please—and maybe God and I haven’t been exactly talking over the past decade, but I don’t know anyone else to ask. So, please, God, let Bets be alive.
The Mulligan family is standing in a huddle, talking to a doctor when I arrive. Danny is covered in blood, although his hands are washed, and Asher appears drawn, yet very much alive. Samson stands wide-legged, his arms folded over his chest and Lucas’s lawyer’s mouth is pinched, listening as the doctor gives them the news.
I am not close enough to hear, but I clench my jaw and look at Eve.
She’s standing just behind Sams. And behind her stands Burke, his hands on her shoulders.
Then she covers her face with her hands, her body shuddering and I know. I need to be there, to hold her—
