Chapter 8: Earth

Henry argues with Ramon about his decision, but between meeting someone I saw on Terra, and the heavy guy asking Paul to share my info, I can’t handle any more stress.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll go.”

Henry pivots on his heel, turning to face me. “What?”

I shake my head. “I’ll find something else. It’s okay.” I sling my bag over my shoulder, lighter without a takeout box inside. I find it ironic that only this morning, I argued with Ramon for Henry’s job, and now he’s trying to save mine.

“Don’t have them call here for a reference.” Ramon glares at me and crosses his arms.

As if I would dare to list a job where I’d been fired. Luckily, I’m young enough that experience usually isn’t necessary. I duck out the staff exit, no wine crates blocking my way this time, and jog through the sweltering, muggy air toward the bus station.

Most of the city buses run erratically, but Frank's OCD keeps him on time, and his bus should arrive in two minutes. I don’t slow down in the parking lot—after the horrible day I’ve had, I just want to get away from here. I reach the curb and keep moving, desperate to reach the right street corner in time.

But someone grabs my hand and yanks me backward.

At first I’m incensed. Who grabbed me? Was it the man from the restaurant? Before I can spin around to see who it was, a red Mazda careens through the red light and crashes into an older navy Suburban a few feet ahead of me. The driver and passenger of the Mazda are flung toward the windshield until their seatbelts pull them short. I watch their heads jerk forward and then fly back.

I’ve seen this exact encounter play out before, but instead of a pedestrian, I was in one of the vehicles. As if the accident in front of me dislodged a memory, it plays out in my mind all over again. Except in the accident I just witnessed, unlike when my parents died, the back seat is empty of two young children. And this time, the driver and front seat passenger don't fly through the windshield headfirst like Mom and Dad did.

Why did the car’s seatbelts save these people and not my parents? Has technology improved that much in eleven years?

“Hey, are you okay? I'm sorry if I scared you, but if I hadn't grabbed you, you'd have. . .” Henry still hasn’t let go of my hand. I glance at the cars again, their front ends crumpled down so much that the people in the Mazda could almost reach out and touch the windshield of the other car.

Henry didn't finish saying it, but I know what he means. He’s right. If he hadn't stopped me, I'd have been squished into human jelly between a few tons of metal.

“Thanks.”

Frank’s bus is rounding the corner up ahead, and I'm still on the wrong side of the road. If I don't get over there right now, before this accident blocks the entire road, it’ll be a half an hour or more before the next bus. I yank my hand away. “Today has been awful all around. I really appreciate your support in there and your save out here, and I’ll miss working with you, Henry, but I’ve got to go.”

Henry frowns and drops his hands to his sides. “You never would give me your phone number, and after you left, Ramon mentioned he doesn’t have an updated address on file for you. He said you usually get paid in cash, so he’s not sure how to get you your last paycheck.” Henry’s voice drops to a whisper. “Look, I know you would never steal. I don’t think taking leftovers people were tossing is a big deal. They shouldn’t have fired you.” Henry shakes his head. “I don't know what's going on with you, obviously, but I’d like to help if you’ll let me.” He hands me a piece of paper.

I unfold it.

Henry. 832-535-0363.

He ran after me to give me his phone number. Another dishwasher, and a chronically late one at that, wants to help me. Knowing what he makes, I have no idea how he can afford to repair whatever junker car he surely drives and gasoline to and from his soccer games, but it’s still a kind offer.

The bus pulls up and the doors open, so I turn and dart across the street. When I glance back at Henry, his kicked puppy eyes stare back at me. I exhale heavily, and holler, “I'll be okay. I promise.”

He shrugs and I can barely hear him when he responds. “Payday’s tomorrow.”

I do need that money. “I’ll text you.”

Henry smiles.

The bus driver grunts impatiently, and I climb into the bus. I take my seat and look down at the slip of paper with Henry's phone number. I should toss it out the window, but it would save me an awkward trip back to Perry’s if he’s willing to bring me what I’m due. I whip out my phone and save his number, and then I stuff the paper back in my pocket anyway.

I don't even have to change buses to reach Jesse. He works near Rice University, and after I reach that stop, I stroll toward our favorite bench in the Village. An ancient live oak tree shades it pretty much all year, and it's far enough from the shopping traffic that you can still hear yourself think. I sit down, breathe a sigh of relief and glance at the time on my phone. Four-forty p.m. Jesse should have a break soon. I text him. AT OUR BENCH.

He replies immediately.

-EVERYTHING OKAY?

-LONG STORY.

-BE THERE IN FIVE.

I lean back against the bench, reviewing the last day in my mind. I need Jesse—I’m starting to spiral a bit. Four minutes later, my big brother barrels around a shrub. His jeans are torn and filthy and his shirt is mud-streaked, but my heart lifts when I see his warm eyes, his unkempt hair, and his prominent nose. He's here and he's safe, so my world is okay. His eyes scan me for injuries as he jogs over. “You look alright. Well, as good as you ever do.” His eyes squint up when he smiles. Which means they squint up a lot.

“Funny, very funny.”

He sits down next to me. “I’ve got about ten or fifteen minutes, and then we’ve got a bunch of flower bed perimeter stone to finish.”

“So last night on Terra, we all had to run.”

“I know.”

I swallow. “Because I was worried I might have killed someone.”

Jesse frowns. “You didn’t mention that tidbit.”

I explain about how I tossed the guy who attacked Martin into the side wall of the stable. “And today, for the first time ever, I saw someone. At the restaurant.”

“You’ve never seen anyone at the restaurant?” Jesse lifts both eyebrows.

I roll my eyes. “No, I mean I saw someone from Terra. . .on Earth. The guy I almost killed, or I might have killed. I’m not sure. His name was Robert,” I say.

Jesse’s always making jokes, about everything. They never stop. But his face blanks alarmingly, and his mouth gapes open. “And?”

“And I barged into the dining area and talked to him.” I look at my hands. Now that I mention it, it sounds stupid. “He and the guy he was with were talking about the Followers of Isis.” My voice has dropped to a whisper.

“Are you sure this guy was the same person?” Jesse asks. “I mean, presumably he wasn’t dressed quite the same at Perry’s. He didn’t arrive on a horse, did he?” The corner of his mouth quirks. As his brain processes my news, he’s already turning it into a joke.

“I asked him about Amun-Ra.”

“Wait, what?” Jesse asks. “What did he say?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, but his buddy offered to talk to me and gave me a card.” I pull it out of my pocket. “And then a few minutes later. . .Robert died.”

“He died?”

“I mean, I don’t know that for sure, but the paramedics couldn’t revive him. One minute he was eating a steak, and the next, unconscious on the floor, unresponsive.”

“You knocked him out back on Terra,” Jesse says. “And then today, he died on Earth. Are you positive it’s the same guy?”

My gaze drops to my hands.

“Alora, what’s wrong?”

I shudder. “I think so.” I look at my fingernails—so normal, so regular. It’s hard to believe any of what I’m saying may be true while I’m sitting on a bench, looking at my perfectly regular hands. “I’ve never seen the same person on Earth and Terra. Never.”

“That you recall.” His stomach growls. “Hey, where’s my food?”

I always give my pilfered leftovers to Jesse when I finish with my shift.

I open my mouth to explain, but before I can, some guy stops on the path in front of us, yelling loudly into his phone. “I don’t know how to do that! And I need to get this thing submitted by five, or I get a zero. If I get a zero, I fail.” He’s wearing a blue Astros shirt and an Astros hat turned backwards. He walks past us and sits on another bench ten feet away.

Jesse meets my eye, and I know just what he’s asking without him saying a word. Computer problems are kind of his forte. I shake my head. If today reinforced anything for me, it’s that you should never get involved.