Part 42 (1/2)

”Yeah. I'm fine. Money's not a problem.”

The pizza came, and he thought about inviting her to join him for an evening with Voltaire.

”There's something else on your mind.”

Maybe there was. ”Helen, I miss you when we're not together.”

She was dividing the slices. ”Ah, Shel, that's a bit over the top. But the truth is, I miss you, too.”

”Really?”

”Well, up to a point.”

He leaned across the table. ”Helen, this doesn't feel like the right time to ask, but-” The world squeezed down to the tabletop, the c.o.kes, the candles, and the pizza. And those large, l.u.s.trous eyes. ”I'm in love with you.” He lowered his voice. ”I'd like you to share my pizza forever.”

She laid a piece on his plate. ”Is that a proposal?”

”Yeah. I'm sorry. I know this isn't exactly a romantic spot.”

She laughed.

”And I don't have a ring with me. I didn't expect to do this tonight-”

”When did did you expect to do it?” you expect to do it?”

”I don't know. But anyhow-”

”Yes,” she said.

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HE dropped her at home. ”I'd invite you in, Shel,” she said, ”but tomorrow's my day at the hospital. Starts at dawn.” dropped her at home. ”I'd invite you in, Shel,” she said, ”but tomorrow's my day at the hospital. Starts at dawn.”

”I know.”

”It's not exactly the way to launch our engagement, but I have to be awake.”

”I know. Call you tomorrow night.”

”I hope so.”

He walked her to the door. She delivered a deep kiss, and held on to him for a long minute. Then she laughed and pushed him away. ”I better go.”

She put her key in the lock, looked back briefly, with glowing eyes and a happy smile. Then the door opened, and she let herself in just as a bolt of lightning brightened the street. Seconds later, thunder boomed, and rain began to fall. ”Appropriate staging,” he said.

She laughed. ”Good night, Shel.”

He drove home through a downpour. Life with Helen was actually going to happen. And yes, this weekend he'd take her to meet Voltaire.

HE didn't like his living room anymore. The twenty-second-century penthouse was better. It was, in fact, spectacularly better. He could sit up there and look down at the city lights. Helen would love the place. And he'd take her there, too. Maybe take her there first, so she could get used to the jumps. Come to think of it, Voltaire might not be a good idea. He had no clue whether she could speak French. didn't like his living room anymore. The twenty-second-century penthouse was better. It was, in fact, spectacularly better. He could sit up there and look down at the city lights. Helen would love the place. And he'd take her there, too. Maybe take her there first, so she could get used to the jumps. Come to think of it, Voltaire might not be a good idea. He had no clue whether she could speak French.

He'd call Dave in the morning and tell him.

But now there would be three travelers. It was getting crowded. He could imagine his father's reaction.

He made a drink and listened to the rain pounding on the roof. The storm had become torrential. Lightning lit up the curtains, and thunder shook the place.

He was wide awake, so there was no point going to bed. Couldn't put on the TV or the computer during the storm. But, of course, he had options.

He got a converter out of the bottom drawer in his desk, set it for the penthouse, and traveled out.

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HE arrived on a clear, cool summer evening. There was a concert getting ready to start down on the Parkway, and lights were just coming on at the Art Museum. He'd brought his drink along, and he went outside onto the balcony to finish it. arrived on a clear, cool summer evening. There was a concert getting ready to start down on the Parkway, and lights were just coming on at the Art Museum. He'd brought his drink along, and he went outside onto the balcony to finish it.

He was still excited, too ramped up over Helen to sleep. He thought about going down and joining the crowd. But he'd need her along. In the end, he simply made himself another drink.

He listened for a while. The band was mostly strings, and they were playing pop music. Some of it was familiar, tunes that had been around in his own time.

Eventually, he went back inside, sat down in front of his computer, and turned it on. He checked the news on Wide World Wide World. A price-fixing scandal had erupted among food distributors. Somebody had filmed a celebrity orgy, and it was playing all over the Internet. Congressmen had been caught taking money from China to influence U.S. policy. Crime rates were dropping again. The National Football League had gone back to salary caps. And a prominent physicist was saying that antigravity was close.

Then, without giving himself time to think about it, he did what he'd been wanting to do ever since the converters became available. He ran a search.

On himself.

CHAPTER 33.

Time is like a river. As soon as a thing is seen, it is carried away and another takes its place, and then that other is carried away also.

-MARCUS AURELIUS, MEDITATIONS MEDITATIONS

DAVE was out with Katie when the storm arrived. She'd just unloaded a guy who, a few weeks earlier, had looked like the one she'd spend her life with. But he'd proven to be too wrapped up in himself. Good-looking, kind to animals, bright future. Still, his conversation was limited to his own interests, to was out with Katie when the storm arrived. She'd just unloaded a guy who, a few weeks earlier, had looked like the one she'd spend her life with. But he'd proven to be too wrapped up in himself. Good-looking, kind to animals, bright future. Still, his conversation was limited to his own interests, to himself himself, and she'd given up. So they'd sat in Lenny Pound's, and Dave had listened, a.s.suring her everything would be okay, and she was lucky to have found out before she'd become emotionally involved (which, of course, was not at all the reality). The thunder had rumbled through the night, and eventually he'd taken her to her apartment. He saw that she didn't want him to stay, so he'd suggested dinner the following evening, gone home, and turned on the late news. But a few minutes later, a lightning bolt knocked out the power.

He switched on a battery-powered lamp, picked up the Inquirer Inquirer, and was still on the front page when the lights came back on.

Life was good, and getting better. The stacks of essays that lined the walls of his room would, by January, be gone. He would no longer have to worry about getting up in the morning. He would have no boss. And he saw no reason why he wouldn't become wealthy. Overnight. He'd begun looking around for a new home. Something a bit more plush. He'd lost interest in the cabin-on-a-mountaintop plan. Maybe because his options were opening up. Maybe because he no longer felt an inclination to hide from the world. However that might be, he sat with the paper folded in his lap, thinking about Katie, wondering how he'd explain his new financial status to his family, and feeling fortunate. Everything-almost everything-was breaking his way.

The storm dwindled to a light sprinkle and an occasional rumble. He went out to the kitchen, got a piece of chocolate cake, and switched on the computer. A news roundup was reporting a six-car pileup on I-95. In Connecticut, a young man officially designated as r.e.t.a.r.ded would be competing for the state chess champions.h.i.+p, and another bank robbery had happened in South Philadelphia.

Then it was on to sports and weather. The Eagles' new all-pro tight end had fallen down a flight of stairs and broken an ankle. A front was moving in from somewhere. Another storm.

Last time he'd had chocolate cake, he'd been sitting across the table from Sandy.