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  A man stepped from the kitchen, spatula in hand. “Hello, dear,” he said. Charlotte had never seen him before. He had blond wavy hair and warm honey-colored eyes. An apron hung around his neck. “We just finished some cookies.” He swept over and pecked her on the lips, then turned away without noticing that she hadn’t moved, not even an inch.

  The apartment was cleaner than it had ever been with Monroe, filled with warm lights and smells. The man himself was, yes, attractive and warm. Plump and tall, but dressed in clothes that suited him. And on his left hand rested a thick golden band, snug on his ring finger, like it had been there for years.

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Had they saved this man from the Blast? Charlotte could practically see it. Felix had broken up with her like before, but in this timeline, this man helped her pick up the pieces. He must’ve swept her off her feet.

  That hadn’t been her. She’d never lost Felix. Well, not until recently.

  Her phone buzzed from her pocket, but Charlotte still couldn’t move.

  “Well,” the stranger asked, a wry grin on his face. “Aren’t you gonna come in?”

  Charlotte took a step forward. Felt Monroe and Bill join her. The door swung closed.

  “Here you go,” the man said, sweeping over, passing a hot cookie between his hands, then offering it to Charlotte.

  “They’re your favorite!” Charlie called without looking up from his drawing.

  “What kind are they?” she asked, taking the cookie, but keeping her eyes on her son.

  The man frowned. “Oatmeal-raisin.”

  “That’s your favorite?” Monroe whispered beside her.

  With wide eyes, Charlotte shrugged at her brother. Then she bit into her first oatmeal-raisin cookie. The oatmeal flaked against her tongue, the warm butter coated her taste buds, and the raisin exploded with sweet juice. “Holy shit.” She licked up the crumbs on her lips. “That is good.”

  Charlie giggled, then stood from his drawing to help the stranger—God, his stepfather—load another pan with cookie dough. The little boy cautiously avoided touching the metal. The man shifted the pan away from the edge, so Charlie would be safe.

  “Who’s that with you?” the man called over. “Monroe, you’re dating again?”

  Charlotte cast Monroe a frown.

  Monroe glanced over to Bill. “Yeah, I am. Bill, this is, um …”

  The man came back over and held a hand out. “Gilbert Sullivan. Yes, like the composers. My parents were awful.”

  “Bill,” Bill replied. He crossed in front of Charlotte and took the man’s hand. “Bill—”

  “Holy shit, Bill?” Now it was this man’s turn—midhandshake—to freeze. His eyes scanned Bill’s mustache, his tight NYPD shirt, the arm leading down to their clasped hands. “It is you. I can’t believe it.” Gilbert wrapped his arms around Bill and squeezed, “Jesus Christ, it’s good to see you.” He leaned out of the hug to look at Monroe. “How is this possible?” His eyes continued their tour of the time travelers and settled on Charlotte. “Something changed, didn’t it? You came from a different timeline. Right? Am I right?”

  Her heart shrank. He knew. He knew and Felix never did. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s right.”

  “Imagine that,” Gilbert said. He punched Monroe’s shoulder. “It’s like a dream come true, eh, Monroe?”

  Now Monroe returned Charlotte’s worried glance. “How do you know that something’s changed?”

  Bill followed with, “What happened to Monroe and me? Why’d we break up?”

  Gilbert lifted a hand to his mouth. “Jesus. You don’t know.”

  “What?” Monroe asked. “Know what? What happened?”

  Charlotte reached a hand out to Monroe’s. To Bill’s. And she joined them between her. All this time, she’d been fearful for Charlie, for her life to change once more. She’d never once thought of how the universe would punish them.

  Turning to Monroe, this doughy man said, “It’s why you’ve been traveling so much. Because you knew he would want you to. You knew he would be all gung ho about saving everyone. Once you met Ana, well, you had to.”

  “He would want me to?” Monroe repeated.

  “Tell us what you mean,” Bill demanded, revealing the cop he’d been in the past. Tough, no-nonsense. “Stop beating around the bush and say it.”

  Gilbert ran a hand through his wavy hair. He gave Charlotte a pathetic smile, but she couldn’t help him. “You, well, uh.” He cleared his throat. “You died, Bill. A year ago, you died.” A year ago for Gilbert, but Bill had lived five years since then.

  Bill’s cop mode failed him. “I what?”

  “But no,” Monroe said. “See, without Bill, we wouldn’t have seen Ana. Wouldn’t have known about time travelers. Wouldn’t have, well, see? You’re wrong. You have to be wrong. That’s … It’s … It’s crazy, what you’re saying.”

  Gilbert spread his hands. “It is crazy, ’Roe. But it’s true. When Bill died”—he shook his head, remembering—“he lived on through you. Made you start thinking of people, not buildings. Disregarding history in favor of a better future.”

  “How?” Charlotte asked him, this sudden husband. Their marriage wasn’t a deep mystery, really. He sounded genuinely sorry to tell them this news. And the way his eyes crinkled … But for Bill to grapple with this, he needed details. “What happened?”

  “There was a fire,” Gilbert replied, a thick hand scratching the back of his head. “Traffic was bad. When news traveled to Bill’s coffee shop, he didn’t hesitate.”

  Gilbert continued, but he didn’t need to. It was so familiar.

  This was the same exact man Bill had been in the subway. The man he’d almost been inside the Plaza. Time didn’t matter, and timelines wouldn’t either. Bill would always be that person, the man who’d run headlong into disaster if someone were in danger.

  “We still see the family you saved,” Gilbert said. “Every month. Julie and Jason don’t really remember, but their parents … They don’t even understand why you did it, Bill. Every time, we just tell them that’s who you were.” He paused, pressed his fingers against his eyelids. “God, sorry. Are.”

  Bill’s eyes shone with tears, eyebrows twitching in shock, confusion, anger. He shook all the emotions away, but the tears remained. “I’m a paradox.”

  He straightened his shoulders. “I should …” He looked behind Gilbert, to a wall, to the door they’d just come through. “I think I need a walk. I’ll, um, see you guys later.”

  The door slammed after him, leaving Charlotte to stare. Leaving her to contend not with Bill’s death, but the less awful, stranger change of a new husband.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  REELING

  JUNE 25, 2023

  Monroe spun to the door. “I should go after him.”

  Charlotte couldn’t allow that. She couldn’t be alone with Gilbert, no matter how kind and tender he seemed. She shook her head no, and Monroe dropped his hand from the doorknob, scowling.

  Charlotte mouthed, Thank you. She needed Monroe now more than ever.

  After all, how could she tell her husband that they’d never met?

  They shared an awkward dinner together. Monroe talked too much to compensate for Charlotte’s relative silence. She’d texted Felix at the beginning, telling him Charlie was fine, to wait, that she'd call him soon. Much as she tried to interact with Gilbert, she couldn’t. It was too strange.

  Bill never returned.

  Dinner ended, and Gilbert dabbed at the edges of his mouth with a napkin. As the conversation had died out, he’d grown quiet too. The lines on his brow seemed etched in stone. “Well, bud,” he said to Charlie, “should we get you ready?”

  Her boy jumped from his chair and raced away. “I’ll get my backpack!”

  Tonight must’ve been the start of Felix’s week. Rather than confirming, Charlotte took a risk and asked, “Gilbert, would you mind if I took Charlie by myself?”

>   Gilbert sighed, but she didn’t have the heart to look his way. “Sure, Char. I’ll bet Charlie wants to hear about your adventure.”

  “Yeah.” Now Charlotte tried to give him a smile. Tried to be the woman he’d known. “Exactly.”

  “You need a historian along?” Monroe asked.

  She doubted she could get away with that. “Um, I thought it’d be just Charlie and me.” He’d stayed behind for her, and now she was abandoning him. What was wrong with her?

  “Oh. Great.”

  “No problem, ’Roe.” Gilbert squeezed his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “We can pick up a movie while they’re out.”

  “Uh, that’s okay.” Monroe stared at Charlotte, his dark eyes flicking back and forth. But then Charlie burst back into the room, saving her.

  “Ready!” he said. His same blue-and-red backpack was slung on his back, and he wore a light gray jacket underneath. His shoes, Converse painted with puffy paints, were well tied.

  “You tied the laces.” Her Charlie had always needed help. Her Charlie had struggled. Well, now her Charlie was good at tying his shoes.

  “I used the bunny trick,” Charlie said over her shoulder, toward Gilbert.

  “Well, let’s be off. I’m sure Daddy’ll be waiting.” She tugged her son toward the door, but Gilbert intercepted them. He leaned down to hug Charlie. “Love you, guy.” He straightened. “And you, gal.” He paused, biting his lip before giving Charlotte a kiss.

  She took it with pursed lips, and then pulled Charlie out the door, down the stairwell, and onto the streets of Manhattan. She didn’t want to read into Gilbert’s pause, into the bitten lip, into his growing unease.

  But she’d ignored him. If she wasn’t careful, he’d learn what she’d hidden. The man who’d taught Charlie how to tie his shoes didn’t deserve that. “Charlie, can I ask you a question?”

  Paused before a crosswalk, her son regarded her with his deep brown eyes. His forehead nearly as lined as Gilbert’s had been. “It’s about Gil, isn’t it?” Before Charlotte could say no or put any thought together, Charlie continued. “You don’t remember him, huh?”

  Charlotte squeaked. “How did you know?”

  “Because of my laces. Because of your kisses.”

  She rubbed his soft black hair. “Such a smart boy.” Had he always been this intuitive? “I don’t; you’re right.”

  With lips squished to one side, he asked, “Something changed, didn’t it? Did you guys save the Plaza?”

  Charlotte nodded, unable to speak. Charlie had always been brilliant, but he was wise now. Even if he had the same longish curls, the same backpack, something deep within him had changed. The transformation took her breath away.

  “I thought so.” He reached a hand up and held her arm tightly. “You love him, Mom. And he’s great. He’s a great dad. Just like Dad.” Mom. Dad. Before, Charlie always called them Mommy and Daddy. “He likes traveling back in time with us, to see cool things. He likes all sorts of silly movies, just like Uncle ’Roe. We have fun,” he finished. That was enough for him.

  “Good,” Charlotte said. What else could she say?

  “Mom?” he asked. They were drawing close to Felix’s apartment now, only a block away. He tugged her to a stop, and she turned to him. His tiny eyebrows lifted, his eyes filled with worry. “Promise to give him a chance? I really like him. You do, too.”

  “Of course,” Charlotte replied, crouching beside him. “But how do I tell Gilbert—Gil—that I don’t know him?”

  Charlie shrugged. “You tell him.”

  God, he was such a smart boy.

  He pulled her away, once more walking toward Felix’s apartment. “I used to want you and Dad to get back together,” Charlie told her. “But now I like Gil.”

  “He seems like a great guy,” she said. This world was so different. Too different. Whether it was better or worse, she didn’t want it.

  Paris had stolen Charlie, but why hadn’t he waited to give her son back? Why couldn’t he have brought the boy directly to her? It wouldn’t matter if Charlie remembered his time with Paris. He’d be her Charlie. Was that what Paris meant, about liking the previous version better?

  She shuddered. No. She wouldn’t think like that. She squeezed Charlie’s hand. This was her Charlie.

  Felix waited for her at the doorway of his apartment, as he had a few days before. Tonight his face was drawn, his watchful eyes dimmed. He squeezed her into a hug when she arrived. “How are you? Aside from, uh, remarried. That must’ve been awful.”

  “Not awful,” Charlotte admitted. Stuck in her own head through dinner, she’d almost forgotten Bill, revived and now a paradox. He had it worse than she did.

  “Hi, Dad!” Charlie said, hugging Felix’s knees. He pulled back, his mouth twisted up to one side, just like Monroe did when he was about to say a hurtful truth. “Mom doesn’t remember Gil.”

  “Yeah,” Felix said. “She texted me.” But Charlie was off before either of them had to elaborate.

  “Come on in,” Felix said, opening the door wide.

  But Charlotte hesitated, her lips trembling. Her eyes watering. Should she? “I don’t know,” she finally replied. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” The sobs came. Racking, heaving sobs that took her breath away. Tears streamed down her face. Her legs wouldn’t support her any longer, and she crumpled against the doorframe.

  All along, she’d been focused. Save Leanor. Stop Ana. Even when Paris came along, her focus was on getting Charlie back. Now that she had him, could she keep going? How could she continue when every action made everything worse?

  Monroe’s apartment was now occupied by a stranger. Bill’s life had been taken away. Even if he was alive—a living paradox—he couldn’t be in this city. Couldn’t use his credit cards, his identity. At least Felix was closer than he’d been.

  “Why didn’t I ever tell you?” she asked. “In my time, I justified it. It was Leanor’s secret; I wanted to show you the final product; I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Felix drew her inside, sat beside her on his ratty couch. “Your time.” Her tears ebbed, and he couldn’t meet her eyes. “I keep forgetting. That night at the Octagon. The ring?”

  Charlotte coughed. She hadn’t even told him that they were married a few days ago. She’d thought she was saving him from a hurtful truth. She should’ve just gotten it over with, like Charlie had. Like Monroe would’ve. “We were married, Felix. Not in the best shape, but together. And then I came back then, I come back now and …” The tears started flowing once more.

  Felix stood. “I’ll make tea.”

  Why the hell had Leanor ever started her on this path? It would’ve been better if Leanor had found someone else. Someone without any ties. Then when the world changed, that person wouldn’t care.

  But then, the Blast would’ve been undone and Charlotte would never have known Charlie.

  The scent of peppermint announced her tea’s arrival, and Charlotte took a steadying breath. She sipped at the hot tea, then opened her eyes. Felix’s forehead crinkled in concern. “I don’t know why you never told me. But we weren’t really happy. On different schedules. You up all night, me forced to work during the day. We kept missing each other.”

  Well. That hadn’t changed.

  “But we can fix it,” Felix said, laying a hand on hers. “Get back what we’ve lost. That’s what all this is about, right? Stopping the Blast?”

  Charlotte snatched her hand away. “We can’t, Felix. Not now.” What would Charlie say if she did this to Gilbert? Would he forgive her and forget? Or would he always remember that she’d rejected a man who—according to Charlie—she loved? “I have to, I mean I think I have to get to know this Gilbert guy. Gil. Charlie asked me to, and I have to give him a chance. I have to.”

  But that was wrong. Why care about a life she didn’t want? Why return to a husband she never knew? Charlie, the brilliant, wise boy in the other room, would understand. He probably expected this.

 
Felix took her hand again. “What if, at the end, it changes back? What if you—we—get everything you hoped for?”

  She shook her head. That wouldn’t happen. Had she ever have been as naive as Felix? “We met in the days after the Blast, remember? If there was no memorial to attend …”

  Felix paused. Admitted, “We wouldn’t meet.”

  Together, they twisted their heads toward Charlie’s room down the hall where he was telling some tale, cackling with his toys. At their silence, he shouted, “Love you, Mom!”

  “Love you, baby!” she called back, trying to make her voice strong for him. Why was this so hard? “I know we won’t be rewarded for our hard work,” Charlotte said to Felix. If time was a mountain, as Ana said, it was malleable, sure. But it was also impassive, uncaring. “But this? I can’t take this, Felix.” Wiping her eyes, she looked up to see that her ex-husband’s focus was on his lap.

  “Then take us with you,” he whispered. “Let us remember all this, Charlie and me. We’ll be safe. All of us.”

  “And Gilbert?”

  At the name, Felix looked away, a frown on his face like he’d tasted something bitter. “I had so much time,” he said. “While you had dinner, I looked up my history. Past messages, e-mails, even looked at Charlie’s drawings.” He gulped, shaking his head. At last, his dark eyes met hers. Sorrow tugged his lips downward. “You love him, Char. You love him so much.”

  She’d felt that, even for a fleeting moment. It wasn’t Charlie’s shoelaces, or his soft kisses. It was that she’d told him about the astrolabe.

  “I should go,” she said. “He’s home; Monroe probably walked out on him. And Bill …” Her heart thumped. Gilbert was alone, Monroe was alone, but Bill was the one without a home, without a life to call his own. “I need to find Bill.”

  She stood, finishing her tea for strength, and looked at Felix. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll be back for you, for Charlie.”

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  The coffee shop where Bill worked—where he had worked—was dark, too late to entertain anyone in need of coffee. The cheese shop where Charlotte had found Monroe and Bill—only an hour or two ago—was filled, but nowhere in sight was Bill’s familiar bald head. Monroe’s school was shut up, no one lingering around but a homeless man in rags.