Chapter 10

Our conversation lasted for nearly an hour. Dad listened to me with rapt attention, interrupting me only to ask questions when something I'd said required qualification. He didn't seem to have any problem believing my tale, leading me to believe that he'd suspected some vague version of the truth the whole time. When I got to the part about Tracy dying in the car accident and fate continually trying to reclaim her, his face paled. He picked up the roach and held out his hand for the lighter. I handed it to him and he took a mighty hit.

Dad was strangely unoffended by the fact that I'd gone on a minor rampage among the high school girls. "I can see how the temptation to do that would be overwhelming," he told me knowingly. "You're over that phase now? Except for Nina?"

"Yes," I said. "Believe me, I've learned my lesson. Being dropped off in the middle of the hood will do that for you. And Nina's different. I love her. She may be seventeen but she's got the maturity of someone much older. Like I told you, I plan to marry her someday."

He was however, like Tracy, strangely offended by my affair with Anita.

"I can't believe you would do something like that," he told me, shaking his head. "And I can't believe she would do something like that."

"Dad," I said, "at the time I started the relationship with her I was 32. Who else should I be sleeping with? And don't blame Anita for anything. I found her weakness and exploited it in order to seduce her. Remember, in my first life she never tried anything with me. Only when I pushed her buttons in the right way did she act."

"And she fell in love with you," he said. "So much in love that she didn't meet and marry her intended husband."

"Like I said, Dad," I told him, "I've learned a lot since I came back. One of the things I learned was that I was not quite as mature as I thought I was. And that I didn't know nearly as much about love as I thought. But I'm learning."

"And Anita?" he asked. "What of her?"

"Hopefully," I said, "my little commando raid on her car did the trick. If not, I'll just have to come up with something else. Like I said, fate wants Anita and Jack to be together so my little nudge probably worked."

He nodded, looking at me. "And you told Tracy all of this?"

"Yes."

"Do you think that was wise?" he asked me cautiously. "Tracy is only eighteen. Are you sure she fully understands the consequences of not keeping her mouth shut about this?"

"I think so," I told him. "Tracy is pretty smart in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh I have."

"And like she pointed out, she had a right to the information. My most important goal from the very start was Tracy's survival. That remains my most important goal. I thought that she would probably heed my warnings a little better if she knew exactly what she was dealing with. That meant telling her. I still shudder when I think of her almost getting into a car with her boyfriend that night. She almost did that because she didn't know the source of the information I was giving her. I couldn't take the chance that would happen again. She needed to be told for her own protection."

Dad nodded soberly. "I guess you're right," he said, rubbing his temples again. "This is all pretty 'mind-blowing', as you promised. It's hard to imagine that in some alternate time-line I've lost my daughter and I'm a victim's rights advocate. And what about that, Bill?" he suddenly asked. "Is anybody going to suffer because I'm not doing that? Is any good that I did in the other life going to be left undone?"

I looked at him, knowing what he was going through. It was the same thing I went through when I first got back to 1982. Your mind tried to deal with all of the possible ramifications for your actions. Sometimes you had to make unpleasant decisions or conclusions. The loss of my daughter Becky was one such thing.

"I don't really know, Dad," I answered. "After Tracy died and after the asshole that killed her was given a suspended sentence so he could play football, you and Mom turned your grief and anger into a full scale assault. The group you joined helped increase the penalty for first time drunk driving, it helped raise the drinking age to 21 nationwide, and it helped pass mandatory sentencing laws in cases of vehicular manslaughter. Will all of that still get done without you?" I shrugged. "Probably. Like I told you, fate seems to try to keep things in line based on whatever pattern has been determined."

"But what if doesn't?" he asked. "What if somewhere down the line someone dies because I haven't been a part of something that I was supposed to be part of? What if those laws don't get passed or they don't get passed at the same time and some drunk driver who otherwise would have chosen a different path or would have been in jail goes out and kills someone?"

"That might happen, Dad," I admitted. "And if it does, there is absolutely nothing that you can do about it. Nor should you blame yourself or me for it. If it's any comfort to you, you will probably never even know if such a thing does happen."

"But maybe I should join this group anyway," he said. "Maybe since I'm meant to do that I should go ahead and do it."

"Maybe," I agreed. "But it won't be the same. Being an advocate was a frustrating, agonizing process for you and Mom. Trying to get anything done was like trying to erode a rock by spitting on it. The only thing that kept you going year after year was your grief and anger over Tracy's death. Tracy is not dead, Dad, and hopefully she won't be dead anytime soon. I doubt you can duplicate the drive you had without that factor thrown in."

"But..."

"Dad," I said, "I've learned that you can't change the world with this gift. All you can do is try to change a few things around you and even that is difficult and sometimes impossible. Our destiny has been altered because of my interference and we have Tracy when she should be dead. Fate will hopefully accept the consequences of that and adjust itself accordingly. I'm confident that that will happen, okay? If there are some minor changes from this interference there's nothing that you or I could do about them. I couldn't very well have let Tracy die just because there was a possibility that someone else down the road would get hurt or killed.

"I told Tracy not too long ago that I was not the type of person to carelessly hurt someone in my own self-interest just because I didn't know the person getting hurt. I stand by that statement but, unfortunately, you sometimes have to take that risk anyway. It's the lesser of two evils, do you understand?"

"Yeah," he said hesitantly. "I think so."

"Look at it this way," I told him. "Remember the story I told you about the kid that was choking on the hot dog?"

He nodded. "The one that Nina wrote you up for saving."

"Right," I said. "I saved that kid's life in that timeline. He hasn't even been born yet but I'm scheduled to save his life. What is going to happen when that kid chokes on that hot dog and Bill, paramedic extraordinaire, is not there to save him because Bill never became a paramedic in the first place?"

"I suppose some other paramedic will show up at the call," he said.

"Right. Now modesty aside, I was a pretty damn good paramedic. There were others at the company who were not as good at it. There were some who were damn incompetent in fact. Suppose one of them shows up? Suppose he or she does not clue in to the fact that the kid is choking and doesn't clear his airway in time?"

"Then he'll die," Dad answered.

"Maybe," I said. "But you see, I'm inclined to believe that this kid will live. No matter how incompetent the medic who shows up is, he or she will attempt to put in a breathing tube. When someone is not breathing, that is what you do. So even if the rest of the clues don't inform him or her that they are dealing with an airway obstruction they will still put a laryngoscope into the kid's mouth at some point and try to put a tube down. At that point they will not be able to help but see that there is a large piece of hot dog in his trachea and they will remove it.

"Now it is possible that the extra minute or so that this might take will mean the difference between life and death for the kid, but I doubt it. This kid is meant to live and he probably will. Those drunk driving laws were meant to get passed and they probably will. And if either of those things don't work out this way, all I can say is that I was acting as I thought was best. And that's what you should say too."

We sat quietly for a few minutes while Dad digested all of this. Finally he looked up at me.

"You were right about my opinion of you changing," he told me. "I'll be forced to think of you as an adult now. An adult with opinions and ethics based on years of learning. I'm not sure how to feel about that. I'm going to have to stop thinking of you as a son and start thinking of you as an equal. I don't have anything else to teach you."

"Dad," I said, "I still am your son. Everything that I am, everything that I was is based on the way you raised me. My moral code, my ethics, all of that is from you and Mom. Sure, some of it took place in an alternate time-line but it was still you and Mom and the part that really counted was the part I learned long before I was even a teenager. You're still my dad and you always will be."

"I never thought I'd have a son," he told me, "who was only six years younger than me."

I laughed. "And I never thought I'd sit down and smoke a joint with my dad either. But there you have it."

"There you have it," he repeated.

"What about Mom?" I asked next.

"What about her?"

"Are you going to tell her all of this? Or would you like me to tell her?"

He took a deep breath. "What do you think?" he asked.

"To be honest, Dad, I really don't know. I'm not sure Mom would care too much for the knowledge that her son is only three years younger than she is. She especially wouldn't care for the part about the teenaged girls or Anita."

"Oh she knows about the teenaged girls," Dad assured me. "You didn't really think you were putting one over on anybody, did you?"

"No," I said with a sigh. "I gradually came to the realization that my actions were not as secret as I thought they were. What I meant was that she wouldn't care for the knowledge that her 32 year old son was doing those things."

"You're probably right," he said. "And I imagine she had more than just a simple suspicion about Anita and you. She probably didn't want to face up to it, but I'm sure she knew what was going on."

I nodded, feeling shame and embarrassment at the thought that my mother knew about my sexual exploits.

"How about this?" Dad said. "Why don't we keep your secret between us for the time being? I don't see any good that could come of telling her and I can think of several bads that could come of it. If, at some point in the future, a reason to tell her develops then we'll sit down and have a talk with her."

"Sounds good, Dad," I told him and then smiled. "Did Mom used to smoke pot with you back in college?"

He chuckled. "You know your Uncle Dave, Mom's brother?"

"Of course," I said.

"The Uncle Dave who is the conservative republican lobbyist for the insurance industry?"

"Yes."

Dad smiled. "He used to sell us the pot back in college. Pretty good shit for that time too."

I did not hear from Nina over the next two days. She didn't call me, come over, send a carrier pigeon, or send up smoke signals. I had no way of knowing if she was making any headway with her parents.

The Saturday afternoon before the start of school Tracy flew back to California. We all gave her hugs and she was admonished by my mother to keep in touch. Dad and I had discussed Tracy and had seen no real reason to tell her that Dad was in on my secret. As her plane climbed into the sky she still thought she was alone in her knowledge of her brother's special difference.

First thing Monday morning, the first day of school of 1984, I took up position near the front of the school where Nina's mother dropped her off. It was snowing once again, a light flurry with little wind, and I stood unobtrusively near some parked cars, my hood pulled tightly over my head. Kids, dejected to be back at school so soon, walked to and fro providing me with camouflage. Ten minutes before class started Mrs. Blackmore pulled her car to the curb and Nina, dressed in the same down jacket she wore on the night of our first kiss, hopped out. She gave a half-hearted wave to her mother and began heading up the walkway where Richie Fairview and I had met so long ago.

When Mrs. Blackmore pulled away from the curb I broke into a run, catching up with Nina in less than ten seconds, just as she entered the quad.

"Nina," I called, feeling nervous at the reception I was going to receive. Was she mad at me? Had her parents talked her into abandoning me?

She turned at the sound of her name and I slowed to a walk, my eyes searching her face.

"Bill!" she said happily, rushing to me. She threw her arms around me and we embraced tightly, right there on the quad, right in front of hundreds of students. More than a few of them gave us some strange looks but I didn't care.

"Oh God, Bill," she told me, kissing my cheek and hugging me tighter, "I missed you so much. I'm so sorry for what happened. I'm so embarrassed that my dad came over there."

"It's okay," I told her. "I'm just glad you still like me."

"Of course I like you, Bill. I love you. Nothing is going to change that."

"I thought your parents might have, you know, soured you against me."

She snorted. "They tried, believe me. I got even more speeches and lectures about 'guys like you'. To tell you the truth, I've been fighting with both of them since that day. Things aren't cheery in the Blackmore house, let me tell you."

We finally broke our embrace and began walking towards the lockers. "So am I to assume," I asked, "that you weren't able to make much headway with them?"

"Not an inch," she told me. "I talked to them until I was blue in the face. I told them that you're different now, that you've changed, that I'm in love with you, that you're in love with me, but they are completely irrational on the subject. They think you're Lucifer Himself. " She shook her head in puzzlement and frustration. "And I have no idea why they're acting like that. It is so unlike them. They're usually the calmest, most understanding people."

"So what happens now?" I asked her. "Will we be able to see each other at all? Except for school that is?"

"They've grounded me, Bill," she said. "Grounded. Me! I've never been grounded in my life. I didn't even know they knew how to ground someone! But I'm not allowed to leave the house after school at all. For anything!"

"Hmm," I said thoughtfully. "That does present a problem."

"During one of our arguments," she went on, "I told them that they could keep me in the house until I graduated if they wanted but that wouldn't matter. I told them I'd be eighteen soon and heading off to college. Then I could see anybody I wanted!"

"And they said?"

"They said you'd lose interest in me by then so it didn't matter. But if you hadn't, if I still tried to see you that they would not pay for any college outside of Spokane! And that they would only pay for that if I came home promptly each day." She shook her head. "Bill, that's absolutely nuts! I can't believe they'd say something like that. I can't go to college in Spokane! There's no medical school here!"

This last statement brought home just how strongly Mr. and Mrs. Blackmore felt about this subject. Like Nina had said, it was nuts. It was not the outpouring of minds that were working a problem through rationally. Nina was their pride and joy, all that they lived for. To threaten to take away all she hoped for just to keep her away from a certain boy, a certain boy they'd once liked immensely, was mad.

"Nina?" I asked. "You said they developed this, uh, strong attitude about me right after you told them about my, uh, transgressions, right?"

She nodded. "Right."

"And they've never acted this strongly about anything before?"

"Never," she assured me. "This is completely wacko behavior for them."

We had reached Nina's locker and I stood behind her as she opened it and stowed some of her books inside. My mind was reeling with something that was right on the tip of it. Some explanation for this problem that was simply eluding me.

"What year did your parents get married?" I asked as some vestige of it finally broke free.

"What year?"

"Yeah."

"1951," she told me. "Why do you ask?"

"Your dad told me once, back before he hated me anyway, that he and your mom were high school sweethearts."

"They were," she said. "They dated all through high school. And then Dad dropped out to go to the war. They got married when he got back."

"But the war ended in 1945," I reminded her. "What happened in the six years after?"

She shrugged. "They told me that they kind of broke apart for a while and then found each other again. They never really explained it any further than that. I never really asked. Why?"

"But your dad did come home right away after the war, right?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "I'm pretty sure he did." She searched her memory banks for a moment and then nodded more firmly. "Yes," she told me, "he did. I remember him saying that he worked construction for a while right after the war. He told me that once when we were driving by some of those ghetto houses on the south side. He told me he'd helped build them in '47 and that they were nice back then." She looked over at me. "What does all of this have to do with anything?"

"I don't think your parents really hate me, " I told her. "They hate people like me. More than hate, they detest, they're disgusted by."

"What are you saying, Bill?" she asked uncomfortably.

"There's something in their past," I said. "Something in those six years after the war. I'll bet anything that's it."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Neither am I," I said. "Neither am I. Your old man's a mailman now, right?"

"Yes," she said. "He's been doing that since just after he and mom got married. He's getting ready to retire soon."

"So he's probably got a pretty cushy route, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah. He does those nice houses out by the river."

"What time does he usually get home?"

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. "You're not thinking of talking to him are you? That would be a very bad idea, Bill."

"What time Nina?" I asked.

"Bill," she shook her head, "don't do it. Daddy will kill you if he sees your face. He won't listen to a thing you say."

"Nina," I told her, "I intend to marry you some day."

She froze in her tracks, staring at me. "Marry?"

"Yes," I said. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I think you want to spend the rest of your life with me. Am I wrong?"

She swallowed nervously. "No," she said simply.

"I'd rather do it with your dad's blessing. I need to talk to him. Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. And don't worry about your dad, I won't hit him." I chuckled. "He'd probably kick my ass anyway. But we need to talk."

"Bill," she shook her head vehemently, "you don't know..."

"No I don't," I said. "But all the same, this is something that is going to need to be addressed. I need to talk to him. What office does he work from and what time does he get off work?"

She saw the determination in my eyes. To this day I don't know if she gave in because she had faith in me or simply because of blind hope. But finally she said, "The office on North Grant Avenue in River View. He's usually done around two o'clock and home by 2:30."

"Thank you, Nina," I said. "I'd better get to class before I'm late."

"Bill?" she said as I turned from her.

I paused. "Yeah?"

"Good luck."

"I'll need it," I assured her. "And I love you."

"I love you too."

My hand was now completely healed up and I was cleared to return to full work duties. That included ROP. On the way to the trauma center I made a brief stop at home. I pulled something from my closet and took it downstairs, depositing it in a closed, cool place. I then drove to the hospital.

"Hi, Mindy," I told my supervisor when I walked through the door.

"Bill!" she greeted me happily, even going so far as to give me a brief hug. "I'm glad you're back." She lowered her voice and whispered, "Now maybe we can get some damn work done around here."

"Thanks, Mindy," I told her.

"How's the hand? All better?"

I held it up for her perusal. It bore a clean, sharp scar that is still with me to this day.

"Poor baby," she cooed. "I've reassigned you with Kelly. Hope you don't mind. I had a little talk with your instructor about the incident with Brett, as well as some others, and she agreed that maybe he would be happier in shipping."

"I see," I said, feeling a minor pang of sorrow for Brett. He'd really wanted to get hired. "Listen, Mindy," I started.

"Oh," she said, smiling, "by the way."

"Yeah?"

"I've put your name at the top of the list for students I recommend for hiring at semester break," she told me. "And my recommendations are always followed. Congratulations."

"Thanks, Mindy," I told her happily. "I don't know what to say."

"You already said it," she said. "And it's not in your interest, it's in mine. You're a damn good worker."

"That's nice to hear. But..."

"But?" she asked, glaring at me. "I don't like to hear buts."

"Well," I said, "I do need to ask a brief favor."

"And what might that be?"

"I need to cut out at 1:30 today. Today only. I hate to ask on my first day back but..."

She scoffed. "Is that all? You've got it, Bill. Cut out whenever you want."

"Thanks again," I told her.

"Welcome aboard, Bill," she said as I headed off to the sterilization area.

I decided to take my hiring as a good omen for my later task.

The River View area of Spokane was and is one of the more exclusive parts of town. The streets here were lined with trees and had center dividers with grass growing on them; grass that was lovingly maintained by an army of city-paid gardeners. Streets that did not have any liquor stores, pawn shops, K-Marts, or, God forbid, apartment complexes. It was where the elite of Spokane lived; the lawyers, the real estate developers, the movers and shakers. It was a part of town where I had to be genuinely worried that I would be pulled over by a Spokane police officer, a high seniority officer of course, on general principals when my Datsun was spotted cruising the streets. It was a part of town I'd rarely responded into as a paramedic. Rich people simply didn't call for ambulances very often.

Even the post office was a miracle of modern architecture. It was a single story building with Spanish tile on the roof, tucked unobtrusively away behind a commercial complex. The snow was still drifting down as I pulled in at twenty minutes to two that afternoon and found a parking spot in view of Mr. Blackmore's car.

I waited, chewing on my fingernails in anticipation.

At five minutes to two I spotted Mr. Blackmore heading from the main building out into the parking lot. He was walking hunched over against the wind, his postal uniform upon his body. I opened my car door and stepped out, taking a final deep breath to gather my courage. I headed towards him on an intercept course.

"Mr. Blackmore," I hailed when he was less than ten feet from me.

He looked up, his face showing his age, his gray hair tucked beneath his cap. I was struck by the strong resemblance between him and Nina. It took him a moment to recognize me. When he did his eyes burned.

"You," he spat, glaring.

"Me," I agreed.

"Get away from me, you slime," he told me. "How dare you come here..."

"We need to talk, sir," I told him firmly.

"I have nothing to talk to you about," he said. "Get away from me right now or I'll call the cops."

"I don't think we need to involve the police in this," I said. "I don't think they'd be very interested. I just want to talk to you about your daughter."

"My daughter has been forbidden to see you."

"I know," I answered. "She told me that when I talked to her this morning."

"You stay away from her!" he yelled. "Do I need to call the school and talk to the principal about keeping you apart?"

"You could do that," I allowed. "And he might go so far as to separate our classes. But that won't help. Your daughter and I are in love, Mr. Blackmore. No matter what you do, no matter what precautions you take, we will find some way to see each other."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," he proclaimed, heading for his car once more. "Stay away from her!"

"I can't, Mr. Blackmore," I told him simply.

He turned back towards me, his face red, his hands balled into fists. I was forced to wonder if the flippant comment I'd made to Nina about him kicking my ass hadn't been so flippant after all. "You will!" he ordered.

"Come over to my house," I said, holding my ground, using my adult voice.

"What?"

"Talk with me," I offered. "Sit down with me and tell me why you think I should stay away from your daughter. Why you think you know better than she does what's good for her. There has to be a reason. You can tell me what it is."

"I can tell you the reason right now," he said. "It's because you are a lowlife scumbag who is only after one thing."

I held his gaze. "No," I said, "I'm not."

"You are," he insisted. "She told us how you were. About the girls at school. Well you are not going to add her to your list. You are not going to destroy her life."

"So you thought you would do it for her?" I asked.

"How dare you..."

"Did you tell her that you would only pay for college if she stays in Spokane?" I asked him.

"If that's what it takes to keep her away from you," he said.

"Think about that, Mr. Blackmore," I said. "Step outside yourself and think about what you're saying. Nina wants to be a doctor. She's geared her entire high school curriculum towards getting into college and med school. There is no med school in Spokane. You are talking about taking away her dream just to keep her away from me. Does that sound like a person who is acting in his daughter's best interests? Does that sound like the workings of a rational mind?"

"You will lose interest in her by then," he said. "Once you don't get what you want from her..."

"I already have what I want from her," I said. "I have her love. And I will not lose interest in her."

"You don't have the slightest idea what love is," he spat. "And neither does she. You're just trying to make her think you love her so she'll give in to you."

"Believe me, Mr. Blackmore," I assured him, "I know what love is. Your daughter has shown me. We're not ordinary teenagers and I am not the way you think I am. Look at me. Do I seem like a typical teenager to you?"

He stared for a moment, his face showing the first signs of confusion, his mouth open to make a reply. Finally he said, "No. You don't."

"Come over to my house," I offered again. "Talk to me like one adult talks to another. You're not afraid to do that, are you? You're not afraid that you might be wrong?"

"Afraid?" he asked. "Boy, there is absolutely nothing about you that can scare me."

"Then prove it," I challenged. "Come over to my house. We'll have ourselves a little talk, like men, and if you can convince me that I'm hurting Nina in any way, then I'll leave her alone."

"And why should I believe you about that?" he wanted to know.

I shrugged. "What have you got to lose?"

He continued to look at me for a long time as his mind worked over what I'd said. Finally he nodded. "Okay son," he said. "I'll meet you at your house and we'll talk. And when we're done talking I expect you to keep your slimy self away from my family."

I smiled. "Well that's a start, Mr. Blackmore. I trust you know where my house is?"

When we arrived at my house it was of course empty. I sat Mr. Blackmore down on the couch and excused myself for a moment, going into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and took out two of the beers from the twelve-pack Tracy had bought for me. They had been in just long enough to be of the proper drinking temperature.

I carried them into the living room and handed one to Nina's dad. He looked at me strangely.

"As I recall from the days when you liked me," I told him, "you're partial to a cold brew when you get home from work."

"You think I'm going to be impressed by your possession of beer?" he asked.

"I'm not trying to impress you," I replied. "Just talk to you, one adult to another. I've found that adults talk better, looser, over a few beers. Don't you agree?"