Chapter 4: Attitude Adjustments
From the side of the highway, Phyllis smoked a cigarette while I leaned against the white Aries, arms crossed. No one was around--not in the forest, in any case--so I remotely linked up with the Nova and let 'er rip. You could barely hear the explosion this far out. Fire would quickly consume the surrounding area. The crater left behind would look an awful lot like a meteor strike. The remaining debris would be so much twisted metal it would be difficult to determine it came from anything other than a flying rock.
"That wasn't very spectacular," Phyllis commented. "I barely heard it."
"That was the idea. Somebody will see the smoke soon and send firefighters, right?"
"Unless everyone's too high to notice."
"Hmm." No comment.
"Should we be heading back, then?"
"Sure. Nothing more to see here," I said.
"I didn't even get to see your ship," she said, disappointed, getting back into the car.
"Sorry. It's pretty far into the woods. It'd take hours and hours to walk there. Sorry you didn't get to see the big boom, either."
"It's fine, I guess." She started the car. "We need to get back to my son anyway. This is costing me five bucks an hour."
"Is that a lot?"
She sighed. "It's not pocket change, if that's what you mean."
"What do you do for a living, anyway?"
"I'm a secretary at a legal aid office. The pay stinks but it's a job. Clyde's life insurance paid off the house, so between Social Security and my job, we do okay. But I meant what I said, I can't support you."
"Look, I'm a grown man. Been supporting myself since I was 16. I won't be any kind of hassle. I'll be out of your hair before you know it."
"You don't have to be in a hurry. It's nice to have another adult around, believe me. Other than work, I can't say I get out of the house much."
"Why not?"
"The phrase 'damaged goods' mean anything to you?"
"Ah." Yep. "I take it you haven't been coping well since your husband's death, then."
"You might say that. I'm in a good mood today becase of... well, all this. You. That letter. I don't know. I felt like I had something to look forward to. But you don't have any answers for me, either."
"I don't know what kind of answers you think anyone's gonna have. I'm sorry I don't know who sent you that letter--I wish I knew, myself. But you do have a son who needs you." I felt like I was repeating myself, the same things I said to Arcturus not so long ago. But Peter was only six, there was time for him. Plus, I already knew he turned out okay--I was living proof! His mother just needed to hold it together in the meantime.
"You must think I'm pretty ridiculous, huh? I'm your great-grandmother, and I'm such a mess. God, I don't even know how I'll raise Peter by myself, much less be around to see your parents, or you... again." Shit, she had a real tear coming out of one eye. She wiped it away in a hurry, hoping I hadn't seen it. She wasn't bawling or anything, just an emotional basketcase. And I knew I wasn't helping matters.
"If this is all too much for you, you can just drop me off anywhere. The last thing I want is to come in and disrupt your life. You seem to have enough on your plate already."
"No, Robert, it's not that, it's just... you're here, telling me about this future of yours, and I just can't see myself in it. Me, over a hundred years old? What, the cigarettes aren't going to kill me?"
"You quit long before I was born. You were healthy as a horse when I saw you, despite your age."
"I just wish I was the person you think I am." She cracked a nervous half-smile at me.
"You'll be fine," I promised. "You're a Maxwell now, remember? We don't take life lying down."
That put her at ease, if only slightly. She remained quiet for the rest of the drive, but I didn't see any more tears.
After that, I met Peter. He didn't seem very impressed, actually. "Who's this guy, another grandpa I didn't know about?"
"Manners, Peter!" Phyllis chided. "This is Uncle Robert, you just show him the same respect you would any of your other uncles, you hear me?"
He nodded solemnly. Cute kid. Dark hair, freckles, skinny. The typical scrapes and bruises of a born tree-climber. Phyllis paid and dismissed the babysitter--some gum-chewing girl with hair all the way out to next week. I got down on the floor with Peter, who was busy playing with toys. Little guys who looked like soldiers.
"What are these?" I asked.
"GI Joes, duh."
"Ah, I see." He proceeded to have one of the little figures smash the living daylights out of two others. Not exactly someone I could hold an interesting conversation with at that point, you know?
So, I turned my attention back to Phyllis. "Feeling better?" I asked.
She nodded, then stopped abruptly. "Shit, is it six o'clock already? I forgot all about dinner!"
"Don't even worry about it. I'll make something."
She looked at me like she didn't know whether I was serious. Oh, I was. I had a little bit of a chef in me. Just a little, hidden somewhere in my ass or something. I went to the kitchen to see what she had. I'd been on my own enough times to know how to slap something together out of whatever's available. Based on the ingredients at my disposal, I came up with something workable if not gourmet: biscuits and gravy. (The secret is lime juice.)
Phyllis paced around her living room anxiously, sneaking glances into her kitchen. Guess she was a little unnerved by having some strange man cooking in her kitchen, but I took care not to make a terrible mess.
Once I'd finished cooking up some pretty thick sausage gravy and fluffy biscuits, I put together three plates and placed them on the dining table. "Food's up," I called into the living room.
Both of them joined me, albeit reluctantly. Peter took a gander at his plate and then turned to his mother. "Why are we eating breakfast for dinner?" he whispered.
"Shut the fuck up and eat," she suggested, embarrassed. "I'm sorry about that," she said to me.
"No sweat. Next time, he can cook," I smirked.
There was something weird about the three of us sitting there, eating. I couldn't put my finger on it, at first. But then it hit me: family. The three of us, having our breakfast-dinner together, like some kind of fucked-up family unit. It didn't feel entirely right, but it wasn't wrong, either. I smiled to myself.
Maybe living in the past wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.
Chapter 4
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I like this. one thing,
Not if you're a Maxwell!