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  Charlotte couldn’t return home yet. It wasn’t just the stranger there. Even though she owed Gilbert some explanation, she couldn’t face him. More than that, she needed Bill. The way he’d handled the last two bombs, the way his style infused her with calm, the way he and Monroe were together, she needed that.

  So Charlotte roamed the streets in ever-wider circles around her apartment, her gaze surveying lit bodegas, Thai and Indian restaurants growing increasingly empty as the night wore on, darkened bars that she’d never realized were so close to home.

  She turned a corner, deciding to make one last sweep of Park Avenue, and there Bill was.

  Gone was his furrowed brow, the frantic eyes not knowing where to look, the hands squeezing in and out of fists over and over. Instead, his shoulders were loose, his head held high, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Charlotte.” He gripped her arm. “You have to see it.”

  Before she could agree, he pulled her across the street, around a corner, up another couple of streets, then halfway down another until they were at a little park set between two towering apartment complexes.

  Bright lights, almost blue in the darkness, illuminated the green grass, the marble benches, the deep green bushes set all around. And in the middle, with two streetlights on either side, stood a towering statue of a man, almost seven feet tall. He had a belly to him, but his arms bulged with muscles as he carried two children. Behind him rested bronze blazes, licking at his feet as he ran away—frozen in place. It took Charlotte a moment to realize who this man was. The beard, the baldness, the belly.

  Only yesterday, this was how Bill looked.

  “My God.”

  “This is where they had my memorial,” Bill said. “You, Monroe, Felix, and even Gilbert were there. Gave speeches about me.” He held out a printed article. “Monroe talked about how I would live on through you all. How you’d honor me through your actions.” His smile ticked upward. “Never guessing that your actions could bring me back.”

  In the bronze version of Bill, Charlotte saw that fierce look she’d seen before. This was Bill before he’d softened. Bill who was convinced he was always right. Who knew what to do and did it. Who’d almost given his life in an empty subway car.

  “I wasn’t there,” Charlotte whispered.

  Bill twisted his head toward her. “To save me, you mean.”

  She watched him carefully, but he wasn’t upset. Just acknowledging the truth of that day in the subway. That without her, he would’ve gladly given his life.

  “All this time,” Bill said, “I’ve tried to live by a code. I never believed in the savior my parents talked about. I thought maybe I could be that person to others. That I could save people who were in need.”

  God, this explained his smile. She turned from the strong, smart, and calm man he’d become back to the statue. There was fierceness in his eyes, yes, but cockiness even on those bronze lips. He could revert back into this man. Waste everything he’d learned from his four years out of time.

  But the flesh-and-blood Bill didn’t have anything near cockiness on his face. Just a sad smile. A resolution. “Don’t you see, Charlotte? This is a gift. I’ve already been that man. Already been the savior I knew I could be. Now I get to be something else. Something more than I was before.”

  Relief poured over, buzzing through, but she was reverberating with jealousy. She crushed him into a hug. How could he do this? How could he return to a world where he’d died and be content to continue? How could Monroe, with every action, keep sacrificing the city that he knew and loved? At every turn, Charlotte had been so selfish.

  Thinking only of her own life. Not of wanting Leanor to be alive, but wanting Leanor back. Hating time for taking her husband away, not wondering whether maybe he was happier—whether they were happier—like this. Rejecting a husband she now had without even giving him a chance.

  Maybe she was the one who needed four years away—not Bill.

  But then, she’d had her family for the past year, and she’d kept them farther than arm’s length. Even now she was only pushing them farther away. Leaving Monroe with Gilbert. Exiting Felix’s apartment for the umpteenth time. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had?

  “Hey,” Bill said into her ear, squeezing her tightly. “You’ll be okay. You have Monroe, right? And Charlie and Felix. And now look at your luck! Someone else around, and soon we’ll have Leanor.”

  Charlotte didn’t respond. She couldn’t figure out what to do next. Yes, they had to keep going; there was no question there. But then? How could she keep these people if she kept alternately pushing them away and clinging too hard?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  LADY LIBERTY

  JUNE 26, 2023

  When Charlotte and Bill returned, the apartment was dark. The silence felt as sticky as a precariously placed cake; any wrong move would ruin it. Charlotte had had all sorts of plans. To confess to Gilbert. To apologize. To talk with him about this timeline. To ask whether he wanted to join them.

  But the only open door led to a room that contained toy bins, a small bunk bed, and shelves of multicolored books. Charlotte couldn’t tell Gil anything now. How could she possibly enter the room they shared? What if she found him asleep—would she wake him? Worse: what if he were awake, waiting?

  “Can I take the couch?” she asked Bill in a whisper. The night had exhausted her.

  He nodded. “’Roe and I’ll take Charlie’s beds.”

  While she settled in, making her bed on the couch and lying down, Monroe arrived. He didn’t ask after Gilbert, or interrogate Bill. He just gave Charlotte an apologetic half smile, Bill a kiss, and together the two men went into Charlie’s bedroom.

  Morning came faster than Charlotte anticipated—she must have fallen asleep. But throughout the night she’d made a decision. She was going to let Gilbert sleep. They’d be back before he even woke up. Maybe, if time played ball for once, he wouldn’t be here. Cowardly, sure, but she needed to act. Needed all of this to be over.

  So when sunlight drifted into the kitchen window, Charlotte threw the blanket aside and grabbed Bill and Monroe from Charlie’s room. They dressed as she tapped her fingers, and then they were out on the street.

  At last she could breathe.

  “C’mon,” Charlotte said, “let’s grab Charlie and Felix.”

  Every minute in this time felt like one of Ana’s bombs primed to explode.

  The men followed as she power-walked down Lexington Avenue to reach Felix’s apartment. The streets were empty so early in the morning. Only Bill’s coffee shop was open. Charlotte and Monroe walked beside Bill, blocking him from the store’s view—though it was unlikely anyone would recognize him since his change.

  The door to Starbucks opened, but Charlotte kept walking like nothing was the matter. Then a voice from across the street called, “Charlotte! Monroe!”

  Gilbert’s voice.

  He half-walked, half-ran across the street without glancing left or right, balancing a tray of four white cups.

  Charlotte froze. Monroe and Bill gripped her arms. “What do we do?” Monroe asked, but she couldn’t respond. How had she missed his departure?

  “I thought you three’d want coffee before you go after the final bomb.” With a slight smile that didn’t match his forehead, Gilbert offered the cups, turning the tray so the appropriate corner was to each person. “Bill, it was just black coffee, right? Monroe, a caramel macchiato. And Char, I got you a London Fog.”

  They pulled the cups out, but no one said a word.

  “I didn’t want to miss you,” he explained as he dropped the tray into a nearby trash can. “I figured you’d be heading out early.” He adjusted a lock of his blond hair, surveying Charlotte. “I guess you wanted to avoid me?”

  “I …” Charlotte began, but Gilbert held up a hand.

  “I know, Charlotte.” He shook his head, but didn’t break eye contact. He wiped some liquid from his honey-colored eyes. “You don’t remember
me. And, well, I get it. Things are hard enough for you, racing around the city, trying to stop Ana from destroying everything. Me here, I’m making it harder, aren’t I?” He blinked and let his head fall. He sniffed, then looked up at her. “But, well, I wanted to say good luck. That I’ll be here, waiting for you when you return.”

  “Okay,” Charlotte said without emotion.

  “No.” He took her hand. “We’ll start over. We’ll do the whole thing. It’ll be weird, but, hey, that’s time travel, right?” He gestured to Bill, the man who’d been resurrected. Time could do anything; maybe it could heal this, fix this problem. Though what “fix” she wanted, Charlotte couldn’t decide. “It’ll be fun, I think. Dating you again. Getting to know who you are now. It’ll be okay.” His smile still didn’t match his eyes. Did he dread what Charlotte hoped? “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

  What should she say? What could she say? The only good thing about his presence was that it propelled her forward. She wanted to get away, didn’t want to talk about this at all. But he’d gotten them coffee; he’d run to meet them; he wasn’t furious with her lies.

  She should’ve told him. Should’ve burst through his—their—bedroom door last night and apologized. Told him everything, asked for advice. Why couldn’t she ever make the right choices with people? Tech was easier. Tech waited. Tech didn’t judge.

  With Gilbert waiting, she had to say something. What had he said, even? What did she think of it all? Did she want to date him again? “Thanks,” was all she could come up with.

  He squeezed her hand. “We’ll get through this, Char. Don’t you worry. I love you.” This time he didn’t kiss her. He stepped back, letting her hand fall from his. “I really do,” he whispered, and walked away.

  “Christ,” Monroe said. She’d forgotten they were there, too. “That was tense.”

  Bill exhaled in agreement, but Charlotte remained silent. She didn’t need Monroe’s attempted humor. “Come on,” she said. She couldn’t process what Gilbert had said. She was clearly the worse half of their pair. Of every pair, it seemed. “Let’s go pick up Felix and Charlie.”

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  The first thing out of Charlie’s mouth when he and Felix came down to meet them was, “Gil’s not coming?” It nearly broke Charlotte.

  “No, honey,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Daddy is coming to take care of you, but Gil …”

  He reached a hand up. “It’s okay, Mom. Dad explained it.”

  She looked to Felix, who gave her a sympathetic smile. But it didn’t last; he looked away. Would he ever forget that she’d done more than divorce him? That she’d married someone else? When she’d taken him and Charlie to see Dad, Felix must have seen it as a possible reconciliation. But now he’d learned that time travel gave only what it could take away.

  Charlotte didn’t say anything else. There was no way to help Felix with something she was just as furious about. And Charlie was giving her a pass. In time, perhaps, he’d forget this moment.

  She never would.

  They remained quiet as they walked the somewhat empty streets, down to where the Mid River met the Plaza. Behind the building they’d saved, Monroe hailed a gondola. Charlotte helped everyone else board; then she found the seat farthest from Felix. Charlie cuddled in his lap, but Charlotte pretended not to watch.

  In her periphery, Felix was all she focused on. His interest passed between Charlie—ruffling his hair or rubbing the boy’s arm—and the passing buildings. When they crossed into the Upper Bay, he kept his focus outward. His brow crinkled upward, down, his bottom lip bitten almost the entire time.

  She felt a gulf growing, wider even than the water that separated Liberty Island from Manhattan. Charlie might forget Gilbert, but Felix wouldn’t. Neither would Charlotte. How could she ever profess her love for Felix when a small piece of her mind would always wonder how life with Gilbert had been? Why she loved him enough to tell him the full truth she’d delayed telling Felix?

  She would doubt her love for Felix. And she wasn’t a good enough liar to prevent Felix from doubting her, too. Could she blame him?

  At last the gondolier paddled far enough into the Upper Bay for Lady Liberty’s bright halogen flame to appear. A large ferry sped by, its waves jostling their gondola. They were so close now.

  Monroe nudged Charlie awake. “You want to see her, bud?”

  Charlie yawned, rubbing his eyes until they lit up. “We’re here?”

  “Almost,” Monroe said. He pointed across the water to the rebuilt Statue of Liberty. The gloom was fading and now she was visible, her arm reaching toward the sky.

  Charlie spun, following Monroe’s finger, and then his face fell. Charlotte tutted at the unfinished statue. In her timeline, in the wake of the Blast, New York’s mayor had promised that a new Lady Liberty would be built and installed within five years. But the committee had taken three of those designing and redesigning, putting various components to a public vote.

  Seven years since the Blast, Lady Liberty still stood waist-deep in scaffolding, shrouded in white tarps. Above the scaffolds, her chest, the tablet, and her face, all seemed somehow wider than before. Her skin was a mottled green and bronze. The torch was almost too bright to look at.

  “I thought we were gonna see the old one,” Charlie said.

  “We will. Don’t you worry.” Leaning in, Monroe described the news they’d all followed in their timeline. Even though their lives had changed, this certainly hadn’t. Lady Liberty 2.0 was just as ugly.

  “Can’t we see how she’s supposed to be?” Charlie asked.

  “Sure,” Monroe said, glancing to Charlotte.

  She was ready, the orb in her hand. She needed action, not just words, if she was going to forget Gilbert’s impact on her life. The gondolier noticed their restlessness and got them to the island faster. Bill paid, and once they’d stepped to the side of a building, out of sight, Charlotte spun them back.

  The scaffolding built itself up, then down to reveal empty air. Bulldozers pulled dirt from the island onto huge barges. For the briefest second, only a blur of rippling water was below their floating feet until a flash of light brought the old Statue of Liberty back. When time slowed, Lady Liberty stood tall, beautiful, and pale green. Below her was a pedestal, inscribed with the details of her installation, and the pedestal rested on a wide structure with points reaching out all around into the grass. The entirety of Lady Liberty—all the way up, up to the tip of her torch—took Charlotte’s breath away.

  One green toe poked out from beneath the folds of her gown—which almost looked like they were rippling in the ocean breeze. The metal fabric led up, past where she held a metallic slab, to her austere face. This woman had a job, and she was going to resolutely stand there until it was done. Until the beacon she held aloft flickered out and at last her watch was over.

  “Wow,” Charlie said.

  “She’s beautiful,” Felix agreed. But when Charlotte felt his hesitant hand on her waist, she pulled away. She couldn’t. This moment was for Charlie.

  “France paid for the statue,” Monroe explained, kneeling next to the boy. “But the United States had to pay for the pedestal. Congress tried to pass a bunch of bills to pay for it, but they were defeated. No one wanted taxpayer dollars to go for a stone structure.”

  “So how … ?” Charlie asked. The pedestal was clearly there.

  Monroe explained that Joseph Pulitzer ran a fund-raising drive. That it was more successful than anyone imagined. That millions of dimes paid for the structure before them.

  Charlotte listened, but was more interested in Charlie’s face than the statue above. The awe on his slightly parted lips. That gleam in his eye. His hands clasped firmly together in front of him. Exactly as Charlie had always done.

  He was safe now. Returned by Paris. Unable to be touched by time’s cruel fingers. And now her even-more-brilliant boy was along for the ride, peppering Monroe with all th
e questions he could.

  Once Monroe satisfied all of Charlie’s questions, the boy twisted to Charlotte. “Can we see her unveiling?”

  “Of course.” He could’ve asked her anything, and she would’ve done it. Never mind that they had places to be. Never mind that they shouldn’t be sightseeing. None of that mattered.

  “October 28, 1886,” Monroe said.

  They went back in time a hundred years more.

  As ghostly people sped by, Lady Liberty waited for them to reach her opening day. Her torch blinked out of existence for a second, replaced by a metal-and-glass one that shone dully in the milliseconds of night. Her greenness faded to a rich copper and, when time slowed down, her head was covered by a sheet.

  A band played “America, the Beautiful” nearby. Dignitaries milled up to the top of the old star-shaped fort to wait for Grover Cleveland. Again Monroe knelt and explained how this wasn’t called Liberty Island yet, wasn’t thought of as a beacon for immigrants.

  As Monroe spoke, he focused not on Charlie, but on Bill. His eyes twitched to the muscled bald man, trying to reel him in with history. He switched tracks, talking about the immigrants who came through, the questions they were asked, and how their names changed. He even talked a little on his favorite subject: the tribes who came here before. How the Lenape used to eat oysters from this very island. Monroe always loved to say that he and Charlotte were descendants of the Lenape tribe.

  Why was he so focused on Bill? This moment alone should’ve been enough. Seeing the old Lady Liberty. Watching Grover Cleveland ascend to a podium. But despite Monroe’s history lesson, he wasn’t paying attention to the history around him. Only Bill seemed to matter.

  Why?