He looked to see if she had taken offense but Amanda’s eyes revealed only the same soft sympathy.
He returned his gaze to the back of the seat in front of him and cleared his throat. “You were always so, so interested in politics. Maybe that was good, who knows. At first Valerie just loved doing stuff with me. Her focus was always on me, or rather, on us. You know how much I love sports. Valerie and I got Sox and Patriots tickets for a few years. Geez, we had fun. We used to laugh a lot.”
“That must have been nice. Those are great memories,” Amanda said simply.
He searched her face for sarcasm but found none. He thought of the year that Grace had arrived. He thought how happy he had been. That was also the last year the Sox had made the World Series. He and Valerie had a babysitter for game seven and they had been there, starting to stand up when…
“Do you two still go to games?” Amanda asked.
He shook his head. “Taking care of an infant was a lot of work,” he said quickly. “For both of us. Kids come first. One of us stayed home, and it didn’t make sense for the other to go alone. Sometimes I’d go with someone, but she never wanted to go with a girlfriend much. She kept telling me to go with Lewis. That’s how we became friends.”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“She moved out,” he said.
When Amanda didn’t react he suspected that somehow she already knew.
“Thursday,” he said, and then added with a chuckle, “whatever that means.”
He sighed deeply. “Now, sometimes Grace and I go. She’s a huge fan.”
“I’m sorry, Paul, I really am. But not going to sporting events together couldn’t be what happened to you guys.”
Paul was uncomfortable. He was nearing a point in considering his marriage that he never allowed himself. “No, not a cause. Maybe, it was just a symptom.”
Amanda turned serious. “So what is all this for you, Paul? A huge Quixotic Quest?”
He considered. “No, not Quixotic at all. The planning got all screwed up but we still have a real chance. We might get in to see Kennedy. And whatever the hell Lewis is doing, heck, maybe that will pan out.”
“You surprised me, Paul.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“When I learned about the project, it surprised me. I don’t mean that you could figure out time travel. I’m surprised anyone could do that. But you are so committed to doing this. Back in Ithaca, you weren’t political at all.”
“How can you say that?” he challenged. “I always hated the Soviet change. Sometimes it seems like only people in the trade zones gave a damn about what was happening, but I was one of them. My God Amanda, look what they did to you.”
“Yeah, but it’s one thing to feel opposed to it, to grumble while sitting around The Chestnut Tree on a Saturday night with pizza and a pitcher. It’s another thing to risk everything to try and change it. Your actions threaten everything. Your whole existence might be altered.”
“That’s not what David—”
“Oh bullshit on David,” she retorted, suddenly angry. “That’s a theory. If we change history we change everything, including ourselves. Maybe we create a past in which a full blown nuclear war happens. Now Lewis, he’s single, no children, he’s used to offering his life for his country. Anyone in the military faces that.
“But you,” she continued, softening. “You’re in a different situation. You’ve got a great kid who you’re crazy about, a beautiful home, and you’re tenured at one of the best universities in the country. Great retirement package. Are you sure you’re ready to risk all that for an abstract political change?”
“I’d hardly call it abstract,” he said dryly.
“Paul, I know why I’m here and what I’m willing to do. But what about you? You have to figure out your motivation. A few minutes ago you were antsy about committing blackmail. Before December 8, we’re all going to have to figure out just how far we’re willing to go. And to do that we’re going to have to understand what’s driving us.”
Without warning the car lurched forward and began rolling. Paul turned and made a show of looking out the window as the train gathered speed and hurtled toward Washington.
Pamela Rhodes walked past the front desk of the Dew Drop Inn on the outskirts of Dallas. She smiled at the desk clerk as she exited out the front door. He didn’t look up, intent on adjusting the rabbit ears on the portable television balanced on the counter. It was dark and drizzling outside, a bit odd for October in Texas, but she didn’t mind. The Corvette was waiting at the curb.
“How was Mexico?” she asked as she got in.
“Hot,” he answered as he pulled out from the parking space and rounded the corner, throwing her against the door.
“I didn’t mean the weather,” she said.
She reached over and turned on the radio. “Can’t get used to these knobs,” she said as she cranked the tuner clockwise. She passed a radio station playing music, and then wiggled it back to tune it in. Sam Cooke’s “Having a Party” was half finished.
“I would’ve gone,” she pouted.
“You have no ID,” Ginter said. “You could have crossed the border but couldn’t have returned. You need an ID.”
She sighed. “You could have gotten me one. You still can.”
She turned up the volume. “Lousy weather. No top down today.”
“Can’t anyway,” he said. “We can’t be seen together.”
“Jesus, Lewis!” she exploded. “I don’t know what scares you more, Collinson and Pomeroy, or the rednecks. I’ve been hanging out day after day in cheap freaking motels bored out of my mind, while you zip around working on some super secret plan. And riding with you every few days ain’t cutting it.”
Ginter eased the Corvette back into the business district. Through the rain-smeared windshield Pamela could make out shoppers hurrying along under open umbrellas.
“You should have left me behind with Amanda and Paul,” Pamela said. “It can’t be any worse there.”
Ginter gestured at the sidewalk and smiled. “They’re at the Waldorf. You’d prefer that to all this?”
“They’re still there?” she asked. She pondered. “Gee, I don’t know, Lewis, Texas or Fifth Avenue?” she asked sarcastically.
Ginter frowned. “Say the word. I can always put you on a plane for Idlewild.”
“Just tell me about Mexico. Make it up for all I care. I’ve already seen every Leave It To Beaver and I love Lucy rerun there is and they weren’t any better when they were newer.”
“Mexico City was boring,” Ginter said as he cut up a side street. “It’s a dump.”
“So tell me,” she pleaded.
He shook his head. “There’s no reason for both of us to know. It’s safer if you don’t know what I’m up to.”
“Safer for who?” she challenged. “Don’t you trust me? Lewis, it was me, not them, you left Manchester with. If it wasn’t for me you would’ve shot that guy in New Orleans, and gotten arrested or lynched. In case you haven’t noticed I don’t exactly have anywhere to go around here. Or should I say ‘back here.’ If you tell me what’s up, what could I possibly do with that information? Go back to Portland and tell everyone at State Farm what your plan is? They haven’t even been born yet.”
She slouched back in her seat. “Where are we going?” she asked, staring out the side window.
Ginter pulled in to a parking lot adjacent to a five-story motel. Pamela sat up and peered at the sign over the front door.
“Gee, Lewis, you certainly know how to show a girl a good time. Is this your new digs or does this place rent by the hour?”
“Both,” he said, and shut off the engine. “I’ll stay here for a few days before moving on again. This place is O.K. for both whites and blacks. Not too many places around here I can say that about.”