BUD WHITE

Okay, I think I got this figured out. I think. I mean, there ain’t no way to know for sure, but I gotta try, right? So, I got a theory. It’s too confusing to look at this through fuckin’ Thorne or even Cory White’s point of view, so I’m making my own. Here goes.

Last thing I remember was driving off with Lynn. Man I was hurting, just outta the hospital and she’s got this brilliant idea to take me to Bisbee. I musta fell asleep … we musta had an accident … bad one … I remember a loud rumble, shattering glass, flying, probably right through the windshield.

Then I woke up here, wherever here is. But here’s my thought. See, I ain’t awake. I must be still unconscious somewhere. The only good part about all this is that if I survived the crash, maybe Lynn did too, right? Maybe she’s okay. Maybe she’s unconscious too, somewhere in a hospital in real life.

Real life … something this sure ain’t. Fuckin’ A, there’s a shit load of stuff here that don’t make sense, but I gotta admit, there’s some stuff that’s kinda curious. Take the way these guys look. Biebe, he’s got Nancy hair, long. Aubrey? He looks like a linebacker playing a pirate in a damn movie. Thorne and Maximus, soldiers. I can always spot a soldier a mile away. So many coming home after the war, damaged, all kinda fucked up in the head but doin’ their best to hide it and look like they know their stuff. Some of these guys are soft, some hard as nails. All different but you know, they do all kinda look alike.

Then there’s Cory. That kid could be my kid brother if I had one. I think he even thinks like me, not so smart though, giving me that gun. I really wanted to do it, you know. Squeeze the trigger and off myself. All the shit they were telling me had gotten too fucked up in my head. I figured if I was dead, it would end. Then I thought about what the kid was telling me, what he showed me, all those pictures. I wanted all that shit with Lynn. I thought I was gonna get it, house, kids, family … grandkids. Shit. It ain’t like I believe I already did that stuff in the “alternate world”, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to be. It’s just that I wanted it. If I gotta be stuck here until I wake up, maybe I can just, I dunno, pretend I had it. Besides, Cory’s right. I ain’t old or nothing. I can still have a life like that … after I wake up … I can have whatever I fuckin’ want.

But for now, I gotta deal with this bullshit. The wires are off my jaw, but I don’t got much to say just yet. I need to see how this nightmare plays out.

JACK AUBREY

Over the past weeks, winter has taken a swift leave from Vermont. The tourists and skiers have packed themselves off to their own homes, leaving Stowe to enjoy the unique qualities of a surprising, early spring. This lovely afternoon, the weather is mild and I’ve chosen to take my children for a walk along the river.

Natalie had packed a picnic lunch and bundled the children against the chill. She stood at the door when we left, smiling and shouting “I love you all!” I do not believe her. Yes, she loves our children, but she does not love me. No any longer. I have accepted this fact. I suppose it was inevitable but I must give her credit, she has not influenced Eddie and Chelsea with words that might turn them against me. In this way, she and my Sophie are very much alike.

In truth, over any given five year period, I have spent more time with Natalie than I did with Sophie. Back then, it was my beloved wife’s responsibility to care for the children but in this life, it is different. Then I paid little attention to my growing offspring, always amazed at how, like weeds, they had sprouted taller while I was at sea. This time, I can do nothing but care about my children. Perhaps I have become a man of these times.

Perhaps I am just aware that there are concerns to attend with these two very different children.

We walked and bantered, Eddie and I, little Chelsea’s hand tight to his. Eddie is as black as night, a troubled boy in need of love and guidance. The adoption had just been cleared as Natalie and I faced our own troubles. He has become a good boy, a young man of thirteen who understands his responsibilities as part of a family and I must again credit Natalie for this. She is a remarkable mother. But at times I can see the fear and hidden anger in Eddie’s eyes. He does not wish to lose what he had found after a young life wrought with difficulties. I am determined to assure this does not happen and to that end, I have purchased a small house at the edge of town, close enough to see my children everyday, yet far enough to permit Natalie the separation and divorce she wants so badly.

Ah, concerns. There are many deep worries for little Chelsea. She often speaks to her dead twin, chattering away as though this is normal. She giggles and plays as though Catherine was still with us. My regrets are so deep and this is a reminder of the most painful of all. Last night I sat at Catherine’s quiet grave and spoke to her like Chelsea does. Perhaps we are both suffering the same malady of heart. I do not like to think of Natalie’s pain.

“Oh man! She made fried chicken! I thought I smelled it this morning! It was still dark, dad. I thought I was dreaming!” Eddie buried his teeth into a piece of chicken while reaching for another. Chelsea set a paper plate for her dead sister and placed a crispy leg on it before reaching for her own food. Not everything is in Stephen’s book. I had lost my appetite.

There is no way to correct what had gone wrong in these children’s lives, I could but hope to ease their discomfort and worries and be a good father to them … as much of a good father as a man could be, living apart from their mother. 

JESSIE CURRY

My heartbeat quickened as I scurried along corridor, feeling a little bit like some kind of spy or secret agent as I checked my watch and nervously glanced over my shoulder. Grasped in my hand I carried a thermal picnic pack, the kind that keeps your food cold or warm, decorated with images of Sponge Bob Square Pants. (Hey, Lachlan and I use it for our kids when we go on family outings.) I figured I had about sixteen minutes before Terry or John would show up for what had become their post lunchtime check in with the Inn’s newest and most sought after tenant. Problem was, access to his room was strictly forbidden except for the chosen few, of which I was not included. But hey, I’m a resourceful kind of gal, and I liked the notion of working my way around a challenge.

Inside the Sponge Bob carrier, I had a thermos of hearty homemade minestrone soup, a soft chocolate brownie (no nuts), and a cold bottle of Snapple. Not a huge feast by any man’s standards, but I figured after eating nothing but Jell-O and protein shakes for the past couple weeks, it might seem like a meal fit for a king. When I got to the door, I looked over my shoulder one last time before giving a cursory knock and slipping inside.

My nostrils were assaulted by the scent of bored and agitated man, which hung in the air and clung to the bedding and window dressings. The owner of the palatable irritation stared at me from the bed with eyes so piercing and full of hostility that I did the only thing I could think of to set him at ease; I smiled as sweetly as I could. Problem was, my eyes were locked on his and I couldn’t look away. Bud White in the flesh (and a well fitting white tee shirt) was, well, something to behold. Did I mention that he was sporting a disarming five O’clock shadow?

“Honey, I think you have the wrong room.”

The sound of his voice, at once so familiar and yet so different from that of Lachlan’s reminded me of my mission. I went over to get a get a better look at him.

“Actually, I’m in the right room. My name’s Jessie Curry. I … um…thought you might like something warm for lunch.”

One eyebrow shot up as he gave me what I took to be an appreciative once over. It broke the ice and I chuckled.

“Not that.  I’m talking about a real lunch. I’ve seen what they’ve been feeding you. I’ve brought something from home that I think will help you forget about the nightmare of green Jell-O and tapioca.”

The eyebrow remained raised but I could tell I’d piqued his curiosity. Unzipping the lunch bag as I sat down on the chair next to his bed, I brought out the thermos and unscrewed the cap, watching his expression soften as he caught a whiff of its contents. 

“It’s only soup, but it’s homemade and it’s hot.” I poured some into the thermos cup and handed him a spoon that I’d packed from home. “Now be a good boy and I’ll even give you a brownie for dessert.”

The eyebrow shot up again. “What would your husband think about your being in here with me all alone, Mrs. Curry?”

Ah, he realized I was Lachlan’s wife. His words had come out a little uneven and I realized that even if his jaw had been unwired, it still must be hurting.

“He’d probably be mad as hell, but he’d get over it eventually. To be honest, I’m more worried about getting caught by John or Terry. We’ve all been forbidden to even be in this part of the Inn.”

He took a taste of his soup and made a satisfied little humming sound as he swallowed. “We?” 

“Those of us who are not men. Well, I mean, besides Claudia.” I gave him a wink and set the bottle of Snapple and the brownie on the corner of the nightstand beside me. “Listen, I know this is all very strange to you, and I won’t try to fill your head with assurances, because it only sounds contrived. But you’re safe, no one’s going to try to mess with you, and even though I’m taking a huge chance of getting my butt fired just by being here, I just wanted to finally meet you.”

The spoon proved a little too cumbersome with his jaw still sore and recovering, so he sipped his soup straight from the cup. “Fired from where?”

“The Pub.” I handed him a napkin, one that had picture of Spiderman and was left over from Danny’s first birthday party. “I work the evening shift. It’s not my ideal job and I miss my babies, but Lachlan and I work it out. Finances are a little tight right now.”

He picked up the bottle of Snapple and sniffed the contents before taking a sip. He seemed to think it over before taking another sip, but I had the feeling he liked the taste, even if he’d probably much rather be taking a swig of Scotch instead. Then I remembered about the other thing I’d smuggled in for him.

Reaching into my bra, I pulled out a fresh pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes and a disposable lighter. His eyes lit up as I sat them on his lap.

“I won’t smuggle in any booze, but I can handle a pack of cigarettes. Just be careful about smoking in bed.”

He picked up the disposable lighter and looked at it curiously, giving it a couple of flicks. I looked around for something that would work as an ashtray, but Bud was a quick thinker and reached for the Snapple cap. Then I remembered the fire alarm – the entire Inn is smoking free.

I jumped up from my chair. “Hang on a sec …” Looking overhead I found the smoke detector on the ceiling right in front of the bathroom door. Using the chair as a boost, I took off the face place and removed the battery. “Don’t need to set off any fire alarms.”

Bud fumbled with the plastic wrapping for only a second, and a moment later, the scent of freshly lit cigarette wafted across the room. I went over to the window and cracked it a couple of inches. Looking back at him, I saw a man who was enjoying his first cigarette in weeks as if it were a near religious experience.

His eye caught mine and he gave me a small, but what must have been painful smile. “Thanks, I needed this.”

I glanced at my watch. Shit; I had five minutes left before Terry or John came barreling through the door. Pushing the chair back into place, I packed up the now empty thermos and handed Bud the chocolate brownie.

“Would you like me to bring you some lunch tomorrow?”

He handed me the crumpled napkin and spoon. “I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

I shrugged. “I don’t think I’d really get fired, but I’m sure I’d get a good ass chewing. Wouldn’t be the first time.” I grabbed up my bag. “See you tomorrow then?”

He winked and as I gave a quick wave of my fingers and darted from the room. 

NATALIE AUBREY

The house still smells of grease and seasoning but as I washed the pots and pans, I was glad I got up early and made fried chicken for Jack’s picnic. Eddie loves it. Chelsea loves it. Jack loves it and for some reason, I couldn’t help but try to please him a little too. It would have been a lot easier to slap together a few ham sandwiches, but I just couldn’t. I actually felt really good packing the basket and even looking up into Jack’s face when he arrived to pick up the kids.

Then he did it. What did I expect? He handed me the envelope and even though I knew what it was and set it on the coffee table like it was nothing more than a piece of junk mail. I pretended I was still happy. It felt too good to end the moment, so I did what I could to send them off cheerily before facing the music.

In the envelope … the divorce papers … already signed by my husband.

I tucked the envelope into my bedside drawer, showered and left to help John with his kids, packing some of the chicken for Nathan. Little Michael turned his nose up to my chicken, knowing that no matter how hard I lied, that it didn’t come from McDonald’s. It was Saturday and usually John was able to spend time with his boys but with the arrival of a really confused Bud White, I knew he’d be too preoccupied to handle things. John is still fragile after Riley’s death. I wanted to help as much as I could. He’d mentioned something about trying to get some time in with Bud today, so off to the Inn went me and my chicken.

I cleaned John’s breakfast mess, took Nathan to his first dentist checkup then let the boys play at the community park for a while. After that, I started cooking so they’d all have a nice dinner that night and the next. It was good to keep working. All day I ignored that aching niggle in my chest. I could ignore those papers if I want to, right? I could sign them another time, maybe when I can think more clearly. Right now, all I can think about is losing Jack. It was what I wanted but it wasn’t what I wanted. I wonder if I can get him back?

Probably not. He signed the papers. He doesn’t want me anymore.

But.

I still want him.

I know I started all this but the best part about it is that I’m the only one who can end it too. If I don’t sign those damn papers, he’s still my husband. If I don’t sign those papers I have time to fix this.

Right?

JOHN BIEBE

It was time to check in on Bud. Getting him out of his room was my goal, and it seemed like a nice enough evening to do it. I wasn’t sure what I intended to do with him but hopefully it could include a decent conversation. So far, all I’ve heard out of the man’s mouth was a grunt or ten. Granted, he may still have some jaw pain, so I suppose I shouldn’t be taking this personally. It’s hard, you know. Bud was a good friend. A real brother. And I have missed him a lot.

I tapped on the door. I could hear the television was pretty loud so I knocked louder. Oh, shit. No answer. Fuck. Was he okay? Did he try to escape or worse yet, try to kill himself again? Panic made my hands shake so hard I could hardly get my master key to work.

I opened the door slowly and peeked inside. I caught him examining the back of the flat screen TV. When he saw me, he pushed it back into position and stood straight, glaring right down his nose at me.

“Uh … hey, Bud. Watching TV?”

Now he scowled.

“I … uh … knocked. You didn’t answer.”

“There’s a reason for that, ya know.”

I sniffed. “Did someone smoke in here?”

“No.”

It was the first verbal exchange we had since he was catapulted back into our lives. His voice gave me a jolt. Fuck, I know that growl too well. Time to shift gears.

“All right. Cool. Hey, how about … maybe … you want to go outside?”

Another glare, but this one I had to ignore. Claudia was pretty clear, the man has to move and walk around, even though the crutches were a challenge. Shuffling to take a piss and then back to the bed or sofa wasn’t exactly exercise.

“S’go.” I held out the jacket I brought and he simply reached out and ripped it from my hands. No point in trying to help him into it, he was doing it himself and pretty damn good too, even with crutches and that sling on his right arm.  I led him outside of his suite, the first time he’d actually been out since he got here. We went through the entry and out onto the porch. As I led him down the few steps to the walkway, he finally spoke again.

“Where the fuck we going?”

“For a drink. We’ll walk around to the back and go in through the deliveries door. It’ll save you getting down more steps. Come on.” I walked ahead, the thud of the crutches and his soft grunts confirmed that he was following. At the door next to the smelly dumpster, he shot me a look that could kill.

“Where the fuck are we going?”

“Come on, man. It’s my pub. You want a drink or what?”

I could tell, he still didn’t trust me. He gripped one of the crutches like a weapon and all I could hope was that there was no one in the dry storage room. If so, they were going to be dead meat. He followed slowly. It was clear.

“See.” I opened a hand and waved it elegantly. The pub is a beautiful place. It’s dark and comfortable. All the furnishings are antique and the bar is really something - hand carved mahogany with a marble top. Daisy and Jessie eyed us from behind it while they tapped a beer and poured drinks for patrons. Not a busy night, thank God. Crowds and Bud might be a bad cocktail.

I led him back to a booth and we sat.

“This your place?” he asked, visually appraising everything around him.

“The whole fucking Inn’s my place. Beer? Scotch?”

“Scotch. Straight.”

Of course. I went to the bar and poured it myself. Jessie had arrived for her night and Daisy was just finishing out her shift. Jessie shot a big grin to Bud like they were old friends or something, but Daisy had a whole different look about her.

“Easy, Daisy. Let’s see how this goes before we introduce you two.”

“Fine by me.” She plunged a glass into the sink and washed it. “Fine and dandy.” I think pregnancy has made Daisy a bit more grizzly than usual.

Bud drank the scotch in sips, his eyes constantly moving around the room and I wondered … what was going on in his head?

“So, how are you doing? You have everything you need?” Apparently he didn’t like that question so he answered one I never asked instead.

“You gonna try and tell me we were such great buddies once? ‘Cause I kinda doubt it. Don’t buddy up with Nancy boys all that much.”

I pushed a hand through my hair. Since I’d shaved my head after the funeral, it seems to have grown back thicker, wilder … and a little greyer. I decided to treat his comment the way I’d do it with the Bud I used to know.

“Hockey Puck.”

His head tilted. “What?”

“You called me Hockey Puck. I used to play hockey, remember?”

“All those fuckin’ movies, who can remember shit.” He sipped again, shrugged. “I didn’t call you Nancy Boy?”

“Only when you were really fucking with me.”

He shifted in the chair and looked right at me. Maybe through me. “What’s your story?”

“My story?” I had to think hard on that, and the answer sorta chocked me up a little. I shrugged, stared at my beer and gave him an answer. “Same as yours, Bud. I came here, accepted the help I got, lived a new life.”

“I want the old one,” he hissed and downed the last of his scotch.

“There’s nothing there. Trust me, I was there. Pulled back. Man, it’s nothing but an endless loop, over and over, the same fucking thing. You can’t change anything, keep making the same mistakes, again and again. There are no answers there.”

“Fuck if I care. I want to go back.”

“Why, because you lost someone? Poor fucking you.” Yeah, I was pissed. “I had a fucking family, wife, three boys, a great job, a great life! Poof, just like you, all gone. I did what I had to do, Bud. I started over, lived, found a life.”

“What kinda life? Running a fuckin’ hotel? Some life,” he snorted, but I could see I got to him, there was a level tone to his voice, not the barely controlled kind that led to me bleeding and the bar getting smashed up. The other kind. The kind that meant Bud White was thinking. Hard.

“My wife loved this place. She found it and we rebuilt it together.” I swallowed back the pain. “I just lost her eight months ago. Drunk driver. Now I’m raising my two kids alone.” Cleared my throat and gave Daisy a wave to stop by the table before she left. “Like I said, life goes on, no matter what you lost. This is your life now, man. Sooner or later, you’ll get it.”

Daisy carried over a cold beer and set it in front of me. In her other hand, scotch, straight. I wasn’t sure if she’d place it in front of Bud or throw it in his face. I should write a book on pregnancy unpredictability from a man’s point of view. You just never know what the woman’s going to do.

“Bud, I’d like you to meet Daisy White … Cory’s wife … you’re granddaughter-in-law.”

Bud glared right at her belly then slowly slid those eyes up to her face. There was a glint of approval for a second there, then his brows lowered. “What the fuck you doin’ working in a bar in your condition?”

Oh-oh.

“Well, I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Just like Cory. Listen, old man. I do whatever the fuck I want.” And she slammed the glass in front of him and stomped out.

“Uh … women are a little different these days,” I said, trying to sidetrack the inevitable rage, but as he lifted the scotch to his lips, I could see he him grin.

“I like her. Her too.” He nudged his chin toward Jessie.

“That’s Lachlan’s wife.”

“Ain’t there any broads around here who aren’t married?”

Okay. “Truth? Haven’t really noticed.”

“You ain’t getting any?”

“Last thing on my mind.” Time to change the subject. “Listen, my whole point is it’s time for you to start living. Think about what you want to do, where you want to live, how to move on because trust me, there’s no going back.”

He gulped scotch, stood, settled the crutches under his arms and looked down at me. “That’s what you think.” And out of the pub he went. When I caught up, I knew better than to get close enough for a crutch attack.

“It’s what I know, Bud. The Portals, they don’t fuck around. It’s nothing to screw with!”

“Take me up there.” He stopped and swung around like an acrobat on wooden legs.

I gulped. “Where?”

“I heard you and Terry talking. You really think I sleep that much? Take me to that room, the one in the tower. I wanna see these Portals myself.”

Shit! Shit, shit, shit. “No.”

“I’ll find it myself.” Again he was moving away.

“You can’t get up there Bud.” I caught up and gripped his arm. “It’s four fucking flights of steps. You can’t get up there.”

In his eyes there was fire, but behind that a whole lot more. He was in so much anguish I wanted to cry for him. God sakes, we must be doing everything wrong. No new arrival has ever been this fucked up. Rules be damned. I’ll explain it all to Terry Later.

I sighed. “Fine, but when you’re walking without those fucking crutches. I’ll take you up there, but you can’t see anything, really. Nobody can. Shit just happens up there. Our film Portals, other Portals, Time Portals. It’s like a storm of cosmic havoc that room and it’s real dangerous. But I swear, when you can walk again, I will take you up there.”

I could see the suspicion and the relief slide across his face in waves.

“I swear.”

He pushed past me and I almost had to run to keep up with him all the way to his suite. When he entered, he turned, looked at me with so much hate I could almost feel it in the air between us, then he simply slammed the door in my face and I heard the dead bold slam tight.

“Well,” I groaned. “That went real well.”

TERRY THORNE

Every now and again I find myself facing a situation that forces me to take inventory of my life. Like everyone else, when one part goes well, everything else is bloody fucked to hell. Eva is sound asleep beside me and I can’t sleep if my life depended on it. Seemed an opportune time to take inventory.

My life with Eva? Check, runnin’ like a top.

My life choices for work? Not so great but good. Speaking and selling K&R insurance is going to have to be it. Field work is out of the question, especially if I want to keep my life with Eva in check. Besides, just can’t do it anymore.

My physical health? No two ways about it, my right hand will never fully recover and my left hand will never be accurate enough. Like I said, I just can’t do the field work anymore.

My emotional health? Okay, I’ll put that in the middle. Not good and not bad. At least I’ve come to grips with what I can’t do and can do, what I want and don’t want, and facing my decisions head on. That’s a little progress, right?

My family? Now this is where I worry. I think I overstepped my bounds with John after Riles died, but I just couldn’t bear to watch him dealing with everything alone. I did get a chance to be closer to my godsons and that’s great, but generally, I’m leaving him alone these days. Mourning is a private affair and I need to keep my nose out of his. He knows where to find me if he needs me.

Then there’s Bud White. Man, I swear I’m doing everything wrong where he’s concerned. Is this another thing I just can’t do anymore?

No. I think there are two really big reason why acclimating Bud is tougher than any other new brother. First, none of us look at him as a new brother. We still see what we remember, what he liked, didn’t like and did our damn best to avoid … usually confrontation when his blood was up. We have a complete fiction in our minds. What we remember is the product of his years in this world, the women he loved, the life he lead and the choices he made. This poor bloke’s had absolutely none of that.

Second, and this one is real important, the last time Bud White came to this world (bloody hell, when most of us came to this world) there were women, beautiful women, all waiting with open arms to care for us and protect us and share us. It was like being a kid in the candy store but it was more then that.

It has to do with the intrinsic differences between men and women. Women are nurturing, motherly, gentle, caring. Men … well, we’re just blokes. My way of dealing with his arrival was to control everything he learned. To protect him the way a man protects a mate … to ease him into this life with logic and force if necessary. Women just deal with these kinds of situations differently … all right … better. I’ve been treating Bud like a lost alien, mistrusting him and creating mistrust from him.

I am failing. How can I correct this? I have been keeping the women away to protect them as much as control things. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt, or scared or saying the wrong thing. Seems men can do that shit too ‘cause Cory sure did. I need to change up the strategy.
I think maybe I shouldn’t keep the women away. Not that White will get everything he got last time he was a newbie in this world, but at least he might benefit from some of the good qualities only the female can offer. Is that where I went wrong?

Nah?

Maybe?

“Eva?” I nudged her gently with an elbow.

“Hnnnnaaa?”

“Should I be letting the women help with Bud?”