“Man, have you noticed how much everyone stares at us?” Lewis asked over his open menu. “I guess our clothes are kind of weird.”
“That and you’re kind of black,” Paul said. “I don’t see a lot of other black people around here.”
“And I’m better looking than you three,” Lewis said as Paul and Amanda rolled their eyes. “The ladies are the ones staring, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, rats. Forgot my money,” Amanda said, pushing her chair out. “I’ll pop back up, be down in a sec.”
“No sweat, I can handle it,” Lewis said.
“Oh no, my treat, I insist,” Amanda said. She hurried away while Paul and Lewis stared after her.
“What’s that all about?” Lewis asked Paul.
Paul shrugged. “Women. You know. She isn’t really going to treat. Just an excuse. Bad time of the month,” he muttered.
Ginter raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that, Mr. Loyally Married Man? Is there something in your personal life you’re not telling us?”
DeVere cleared his throat. “No, she told me back at the lab just before we went through the wormhole. She had to run to grab her purse.”
DeVere turned to Pamela. “Speaking of marriage, what about you? Am I the only married one in this group?”
Pamela blushed. “I guess so.”
“Never been married?” Ginter prodded.
She shook her head.
“I know I was wrong about Pomeroy but is there another boyfriend up there in Portland?” Ginter asked.
“There was,” Pamela answered slowly. “But not in Portland.”
She blushed again, and hesitated. She started to speak but stopped when the waiter arrived to refill the water glasses.
When he moved away Pamela said, “I was engaged to a resister from Phoenix I met in Portland. Some friends of mine downtown introduced us. But he was killed in a raid on the Chase Manhattan Bank in New York three years ago. Something went wrong and the local cops showed up too soon and he got shot in the ankle and couldn’t make the car. The others left him and he got killed in a shootout.”
The table grew quiet. DeVere could hear the water glasses clinking from the other side of the room.
“I’m sorry,” deVere croaked. “This can be so tough for all of us. We’ve all made sacrifices.”
His thoughts turned to Grace and he wondered if he were successful in accomplishing his goals what would happen to her. Would she ever be born? Would he still adopt her?
Pamela shrugged. “He was a lawyer who practiced environmental law. He settled a case for a huge amount in Phoenix. One of the biggest ever. He played football and was pretty rugged. Played professionally for a bit. When he was killed, my mother took it really hard.”
Maybe, just maybe, David’s theory of life forces would prove out, deVere thought. Maybe Grace was destined to be born regardless of what happened back here.
“I remember the Chase raid,” Ginter said. “It would have netted a ton of dough. I didn’t realize that you had a connection to one of the participants. How old was he?”
Pamela inserted another roll in her mouth.
“Your age?” Ginter asked helpfully.
She nodded through a full mouth.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked, reappearing at deVere’s shoulder.
“We’re still waiting for one.”
“I’m here,” Amanda said, breathlessly slipping back into her seat. She replaced her pocketbook on the floor. “Sorry about that.”
Ginter closed his menu. “I’ll start. Cheeseburger, no onions, ketchup.”
“Cheese steak. Also no onions,” Amanda said.
“No one likes onions?” Paul teased. “Well, they do have a salad, and I’ll have one. Russian dressing.” He tossed his menu down.
“You O.K.?” Paul asked Pamela kindly.
She nodded solemnly, brushing at her eye. “I guess I’ll have a salad too.”
“Born in 1908?”
Paul deVere stared at the New York State paper driver’s license that bore his name—and a birth date of October 2, 1908. He leaned back in his chair in Room 237 of the Carpenter Hotel—Lewis’ room.
“Why’d you ever make me born in 1908?”
Lewis Ginter didn’t look up from the Manchester Union Leader he had bought at Pete’s Variety Store and which now lay spread across the room’s only bed.
“Do the math,” he said simply. “We were supposed to come back in 1962, remember? You’re 53 years old. For that to work you would have had to have been born in 1908.”
DeVere leaned back and closed his eyes. “But Lewis,” he began, “we’re in much better shape than these people. Look at them. Fifty-three isn’t that old in 2026 but back here…” His voice trailed off. “Couldn’t you have made me 43?”
Ginter checked his watch. “How long have they been gone?”
“Hey, shopping, you know how it is. It must be a culture shock. You sure it was O.K. to let them go by themselves?”
“Less risky,” Ginter answered. He pointed at the open page before him.
“They have it right here on pages four and five. The place is called Leavitt’s. Women’s clothes, and just a couple of blocks away. When they get back we’ll go to that Easler’s place.”
DeVere sighed and sat up. “What do you find so interesting in that damn paper?”
Ginter flipped to another page. “Just trying to get the lay of the land.”
He reached under the paper and pulled out the sheaf of papers Amanda had brought with her. He tossed them on the nightstand.
“Other than one copy of Kennedy’s itinerary none of our records made it back,” Ginter said. “And we can’t rely on Amanda’s recollection for the day to day stuff. We’re going to live this in real time.”
“And what is the lay of the land?” deVere asked, indicating the newspaper.
“Well,” Ginter said, turning another page. “Sox lost again. Seven to five to the Washington Senators. Wilbur Wood got beat.”
“That’s it? Sox news?”
“No, that’s not it. Plenty of good movies playing. Mutiny on the Bounty, The Great Escape, and ‘Bye Bye Birdie. Hey, and speaking of Kennedy as a war hero, P.T. 109 opens Wednesday at The State Theater.”
“Great Escape?” deVere mused. “Does that have Jim Brown in it?”
Lewis Ginter shook his head. “You’re thinking of The Dirty Dozen. This one had Steve McQueen and no brothers. I’ve seen them both zillions of times.”
DeVere nodded. “Anything else?”
Ginter frowned. “Three headlines on the front page. Two on the struggle against Communism: the nuclear treaty with the Soviets and Britain and a skirmish at the DMZ in Korea. Conservatives are up in arms. Opinion pieces galore.”
DeVere waved his hand. “That paper was a right wing rag. You forget I grew up here.”
“I didn’t forget,” Gunter said quietly. “But there are wire stories about groups forming to oppose JFK. The Republicans have formed several groups to attack him. One is called the Critical Issues Council. Another is the Business Industry Policy Action Committee. Ike’s brother is heading up one of them.” He pointed down. “All in today’s paper.”
“Ike’s brother?”
“Former President Eisenhower’s brother, Milton. Two headlines out of three. Opposition groups forming. An article on the back page details the courage of some local who stood up to the Reds. Cartoons about the folly of trusting the Commies.”
“Sounds like good advice.”
Ginter folded the newspaper. “This is a divided nation. Very much so.”
The room grew quiet. DeVere turned to Ginter.
“Do you really believe someone else came back?” he asked.