Class of '59 (American Journey Book 4) (5 page)

"Where are the rocks?" Mary Beth asked.

"Right here," Mark said.

He reached into his pants pockets, retrieved two colorless crystals, and put them on the table next to a skeleton key. Each rock was three inches long.

Mary Beth picked up one of the stones, held it up to the overhead light, and then placed it beside its twin. She tapped her fingers on the Formica tabletop as she thought of something to say. She still was not convinced this wasn't a dream brought on by undercooked food.

"How did you know about the rocks and the tunnel?" Mary Beth asked.

Mark reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet.

"I read this. It's a letter from Percival Bell, the man who built this house, to his wife."

"May I see it?"

Mark nodded and handed Mary Beth the letter.

"He intended to travel to June 2, 2017, but I'm pretty sure he never did. I found the letter, the crystals, and the key in a locked drawer upstairs."

Mary Beth read the letter.

"I've heard of this man," she said. "He was the great-grandfather of the professor who invited my family here. Geoffrey Bell, our host, said that Percival died of a stroke only a few months after moving into this place. I'll bet he died right after writing this letter."

"That makes sense," Mark said.

Mary Beth glanced again at the letter.

"It says here that you need only one crystal to make the tunnel work."

Mark nodded.

"I haven't tested Percival Bell's claim, but I have no reason to believe it's false. I took both crystals just in case I needed them."

Mary Beth smiled sheepishly.

"Can I have one?"

Mark put a hand to his chin and studied her.

"Can I trust you?"

"No," Mary Beth said.

Both of them laughed.

"In that case, take one," Mark said.

Mary Beth grabbed one of the rocks and placed it in a pocket. She felt conspicuously underdressed in a crimson University of Alabama T-shirt, yoga pants, and flip-flops.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

Mary Beth gazed at her new friend and noticed that he was not just kind and humble. He was also strikingly handsome. He had thick brown hair, brushed up in a pompadour, and a chiseled, shaven, boyish face that would turn heads in any century.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like a young Warren Beatty?"

"Who's Warren Beatty?" Mark asked.

Mary Beth laughed.

"He's a famous actor. Or at least he
will
be a famous actor."

Mark took a breath.

"You probably know a lot of things about the next fifty-eight years."

Mary Beth nodded at Mark and then glanced at the newspaper. She noted headlines that seemed torn from a history text. Nikita Khrushchev had fired one of his advisors. China's Red Army had put down a rebellion in Tibet. California was preparing to play West Virginia in the title game of the NCAA men's basketball tournament.

"How much do
you
know about the future?" Mary Beth asked.

"I know almost nothing," Mark said. He reached under his shirt, pulled out a magazine, and placed it on the table. "That's why I bought this. I wanted to read about the future."

Mary Beth picked up the periodical, a special edition that touted its news coverage between 1942 and 2017, and quickly flipped through its pages. She noted a dog-eared page that featured photos and information on the Apollo program, the moon landings, and the space shuttle. She slid the open magazine across the table.

"I see you like rockets," Mary Beth said.

"I hope to build them someday," Mark replied. "I'll graduate with an engineering degree in a few weeks and hope to find a job at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory or another research facility. My dad worked at JPL until he died last fall."

Mary Beth looked at him thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have any other family?"

Mark nodded.

"I still have my mom and a brother. Mom is in Fresno for the next several days. My brother, Ben, is upstairs sleeping. This is our spring break."

"Do you attend the university?" Mary Beth asked.

"I do. I live there most of the time too. I come home on weekends to look after my mother and do odds and ends around the house."

"Have you lived here long?"

Mark shook his head.

"We moved in three months ago. Mom thought about selling the place after my dad died, but she decided to keep it. This was their dream home. She wanted to hold onto the dream even if she couldn't share it with my father."

"I see."

"What about you? Do you really attend the University of Alabama?"

"I used to," Mary Beth said.

"I figured as much from your shirt and your accent," Mark said. "I don't hear southern accents around here very often. It's pretty."

"Thank you."

Mary Beth blushed. She didn't know whether he was sincere or simply trying to weasel something out of her, but she accepted his compliment at face value. She liked compliments. She hadn't received many from handsome young men since that awful night in Tuscaloosa.

"So you
used
to attend Alabama," Mark said. "Does that mean you graduated?"

Mary Beth nodded.

"I graduated a few weeks ago – or fifty-eight years from now," she said with a laugh. "I'm still trying to get a handle on this time-travel thing."

"That makes two of us."

Mary Beth smiled.

"That's good to know. If I'm going to lose my mind, I would at least like some company."

Mark laughed and shook his head. Then he took a closer look at his new acquaintance. It was clear from his puzzled eyes that
he
still had a lot of questions.

"Did you say you were a guest in this house in 2017?" Mark asked.

"I did."

"So are you on vacation?"

"I am," Mary Beth said. "We are. My parents brought my sister and me to Los Angeles as sort of a graduation present. My sister, Piper, graduated from high school about a week ago."

"Do you live in Alabama?" Mark asked.

Mary Beth nodded.

"We live in Huntsville. That's in the northern—"

"I know where it is," Mark said. "The Army develops missiles there."

Mary Beth beamed.

"What a coincidence. So does my father."

"Your dad develops missiles?" Mark asked.

"He does. He's done a lot of things."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he's worked on everything from ground-based interceptor missiles to a new space launch system," Mary Beth said. "He retired from the Army as a colonel five years ago and now works full-time for NASA."

"What's NASA?"

"It's the National Aeronautics and Space Administration."

"I've never heard of it," Mark said. "Maybe it's new."

Mary Beth smiled.

"It isn't where I come from."

"I feel really stupid," Mark said.

"You shouldn't. You just don't have the benefit of hindsight," Mary Beth said. She looked at him closely. "I'm sure you're very smart – smart enough, in fact, to answer a question that's been on my mind since you brought me here."

"What's that?"

"Will these rocks enable me to go back to June 2, 2017, as if I had never left?"

Mark nodded.

"I think so. I've only traveled to the future twice, but on both occasions I exited the tunnel around eight in the morning. I think the time machine is set to a particular date and time."

"That reminds me of a movie I once saw," Mary Beth said.

"Oh?"

Mary Beth nodded.

"The main character, a TV weatherman, checked into a motel on Groundhog Day and kept repeating the day over and over. Every day was February 2 and began at six o'clock."

Mark laughed.

"That sounds like a nightmare."

Mary Beth smiled.

"He thought it was."

"I'm pretty sure you're safe from a similar fate," Mark said. "Even if you go back to June 2, 2017, you won't have to repeat the day over and over."

"That's a relief," Mary Beth said. She paused for a moment. "Does the time machine work the same way on return trips? Did you return to a fixed time?"

"No. I didn't," Mark said. "I came back to the time I left. I left the house – and March 21, 1959 – about seven fifteen the first time and eight o'clock the second."

Mary Beth laughed.

"I think this is where my head explodes."

Mark smiled.

"I don't understand it either. I just know I need at least one of the crystals in my possession to travel to the future and the key to access the outside door."

Mary Beth started to say something but stopped when she heard footsteps in the hallway. She glanced at the entry just as a younger version of Mark walked into the kitchen.

The new arrival yawned, rubbed his eyes, and tightened the belt of his bathrobe. Then he turned his attention to the people at the table and stared at Mary Beth.

"Who are you?" Ben Ryan asked. He looked at his brother. "Who is
this
?"

Mark chuckled.

"This is Mary Beth McIntire. She's a visitor."

Ben gave his brother a look of annoyance.

"I can see that," Ben said. He looked at Mary Beth again and then at Mark. "Why is she here on a Saturday morning? Is she your newest girlfriend or something?"

Mary Beth noted the word "newest," smiled at Mark, and then looked at Ben. She couldn't help but notice that the brothers had sharply differing temperaments.

"She's just a visitor," Mark said. He turned back to his new acquaintance. "Mary Beth, this is Ben, my brother. He's not always this way around people. He just needs some coffee."

"Hi, Ben," Mary Beth said.

Ben looked at her shirt.

"Are you from Alabama?"

Mary Beth nodded.

"Then how did you meet my brother?" Ben asked.

Mary Beth giggled.

"He tried to break into my house."

Ben glared at his sibling.

"What's going on, Mark? Don't mess with me."

"I won't," Mark said. "I'll tell it to you straight."

"Huh?"

Mark smiled.

"Take a seat, Ben. We have a lot to talk about."

CHAPTER 7: MARK

Thirty minutes and a dozen questions later, Mark walked out of the kitchen, pulled a light jacket from a nearby closet, and returned to the others. He put on the jacket, pushed in his chair, and looked at Mary Beth.

"Are you ready to go?" Mark asked.

"I'm ready," Mary Beth said.

"Can I come too?" Ben asked.

Mark shook his head.

"I want you to stay."

"Why?"

"I want to test a theory, that's why," Mark said. "Take a shower. Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Make coffee. Or, better yet, stay put. Just don't follow us."

"That's not fair," Ben said.

"It may not be fair, but it's what I want you to do. If my theory is correct, we'll be back in less than a minute. Then you can do whatever you want. OK?"

Ben huffed.

"OK."

Mark glanced at the kitchen clock and then at his watch, which had never stopped running. He set the watch to the time on the clock.

"Is anything wrong?" Mary Beth asked.

"No," Mark said. "I'm just getting my bearings. I'm pretty sure it's nine o'clock."

Mary Beth smiled.

"It's eight where I come from, mister."

Mark laughed.

"I suppose it is. Shall I set my watch again?"

"No," Mary Beth said. She giggled. "We're confused enough."

"I agree. Let's go."

Mark waited for Mary Beth to pass and then followed her into a hallway, through a door, and down the stone stairs to the basement. A minute later, the two passed through the tunnel, opened the outer door, and walked up the brick steps to the backyard and the morning of June 2, 2017.

Mark followed Mary Beth to a spot in the middle of the lawn, stopped, and then took a moment to assess his new friend. She was kind, he thought, and incredibly open-minded for someone who had been asked to believe the impossible on short notice. With long brown hair, blue eyes, a button nose, and a dash of freckles, she was also very pretty. Mark pondered his good fortune until a soft voice pierced the moist air and brought him back to the present.

"What do we do now?" Mary Beth asked. She looked at the mansion and then at Mark. "We can't go back through the tunnel. We'll just end up where we started."

"I know," Mark said. "We have to go through the front."

"What if the door is locked? I'm pretty sure it's locked."

"Isn't your family in the house?"

"My sister is," Mary Beth said. "She's sleeping upstairs."

Mark smiled.

"Then it's time to wake her up."

"I was afraid you would say that."

The two walked in a light rain to the front gate, the one Mark had accessed on his second trip to 2017, and passed through unnoticed. No women talked or laughed on the sidewalk directly in front of the Painted Lady. No neighbors peeked out their doors or windows.

Mark followed Mary Beth around a sleek Ford in the driveway and up a dozen brick steps to an imposing front door that hadn't changed much in nearly six decades. He smiled at Mary Beth when they stopped on the small porch and looked at each other.

"I'll let you do the honors since I haven't met your sister."

Mary Beth stared at him.

"Thanks."

She rang the doorbell and waited for someone to stir. No one did.

"Is she a heavy sleeper?" Mark asked.

Mary Beth nodded.

"She once slept through a war movie at a theater."

Mark laughed.

"Are you kidding?"

Mary Beth shook her head.

"She values sleep as much as food."

Mary Beth rang the bell again. Silence followed.

Mark smiled.

"Maybe she went for a walk."

Mary Beth glared at the joker.

"I don't think so."

She rang the bell a third time.

Mark listened for noises within the house and this time heard some. He heard a door slam and someone walk through the hallway toward the front door. He grinned.