Here by Mistake Page 14

  “Me, three,” Sarah said. “Cheeseburger today, Spam tomorrow.”

  “Need some time, B?” Quint asked.

  “No, I’m good. You order first.”

  “A clam roll and an orange drink,” Quint said.

  “A cheeseburger and french fries, and a root beer, please,” Stephen said.

  “The same—cheeseburger, fries, and root beer, please,” Sarah said.

  Brandon teetered between his love of cheeseburgers and his sense of adventure. “A clam roll and a Coke.”

  “No Coke, young man; we have HoJo Cola,” the waitress said pleasantly.

  “Sure.”

  The waitress took back the menus and headed for the kitchen.

  Brandon leaned across the table and whispered, “What’s a clam roll, Quint?”

  “They toast a hot dog roll and stuff it with fried clams. It comes with coleslaw.”

  Brandon raised his chin confidently. “That’s for me.”

  Sarah glanced out the window at the Edsel. “That car looks rustier every day. It might dissolve before we get to New York.”

  “Not t’worry,” Quint said. “She’s solid as a rock. Right, my man?”

  “Right,” Stephen said. “And she’s a classic. They don’t make cars like that anymore.”

  “No,” Sarah said. “They passed a law.” Everyone laughed except Stephen, and Sarah took his hand. “I’m sorry, Stephen,” she said, giggling. “The Edsel’s getting us home, and I’m grateful.” She glanced out the window again and said to Quint, “You parked next to the door.”

  “Yes, indeed. I don’t get that lucky often.”

  “Isn’t that a handicapped space?”

  “A what?”

  “Isn’t it for disabled people, so they don’t have to walk far to the door?”

  Quint gave her a puzzled look. “What’re y’talkin’ about?”

  Sarah peered out the window. There was no sign with a wheelchair logo in front of the Edsel. No blue lines were painted on the asphalt. “Oh, I guess . . . Well, never mind.”

  “Hmmm.” Quint smiled. “Another difference with 2005?”

  “Um, yeah,” Brandon said. “Back home you can’t park in the really good spaces. They’re kept for handicapped people. If the police find you in them you get a ticket.” He slid the saltshaker over and rolled it between his palms. “It’s another rule we have.”

  “That a fact,” Quint said. “When did that all start?”

  “I . . . don’t know,” Brandon said. “I don’t remember when it wasn’t like that.”

  Quint watched him fidget with the saltshaker. “Y’know, I never thought about it, but that’s a good idea,” he said. “Handicapped folks should get a break.”

  Their food arrived quickly. Brandon didn’t know what to make of his clam roll. It smelled really good but didn’t look like anything he had imagined. He jabbed a clam with his fork and turned it around.

  “Y’supposed t’eat it, B,” Quint said.

  Brandon popped the clam in his mouth and chewed it. “This is great,” he exclaimed. “Why don’t we have these at home?” He pushed a third of the roll into his mouth.

  “Easy, B, don’t choke,” Quint said. He noticed Stephen’s cheeseburger was half gone and Sarah’s was well on its way. “Burgers any good?”

  It was a silly question. Soon there were four clean plates on the table. Brandon drew down the last of his HoJo Cola and looked up hopefully.

  “What is it, B?” Quint asked.

  “Is there . . . enough money for dessert?”

  “I imagine so. The hot fudge sundaes are a treat. Y’all in the mood for ice cream?”

  Another silly question. Ten minutes later the waitress dropped off four hot fudge sundaes: three vanillas and a chocolate one for Brandon. In no time they were scraping the dishes with their spoons.

  Brandon leaned back and closed his eyes. “The best of times, the worst of times,” he murmured. He stretched and kicked Quint’s leg. “Sorry,” he said. “That was great, Quint, thanks. For an hour I forgot everything.”

  Stephen and Sarah also thanked him.

  “No problem,” Quint said. “How ’bout we hit the road?”

  They got up, and Quint paid the cashier. He picked up three Howard Johnson’s chocolate fudge candy bars and gave them out. Brandon checked the wrapper on his and showed Sarah the price. “Ten cents.” He grinned. “Nineteen sixty-five isn’t all bad.”

  As they were leaving the restaurant Stephen noticed a sporty orange coupe parked next to the Edsel. He ran to it. “I knew it, I knew it. It’s a Karmann-Ghia,” he said excitedly. “These haven’t been made for thirty years!”

  “Never heard of it,” Brandon said, walking up to the car.

  “Me neither,” Sarah said.

  “It’s a Volkswagen.” Quint yawned. “Not ugly like the Beetle, but nothin’ special in my eyes.”

  “Nothing special?” Stephen asked incredulously. “It’s a classic, like the Edsel. People now don’t know what great cars they’ve got.”

  “Maybe they just seem great when they’re gone,” Quint said with a smile. He opened the Edsel’s door and slid behind the wheel. Brandon and Sarah got in back. Quint started the engine and rolled down his window. “Let’s go, my man.”

  Stephen backed away from the Karmann-Ghia and got in front with Quint. They made a left out of the parking lot. Stephen looked out the back window until the Karmann-Ghia was out of sight.

  “Foreign cars are exotic, my man, but they’re not practical,” Quint said. “Folks can’t get parts for ’em, mechanics can’t fix ’em, and they don’t have the guts of American cars. Dante at the bakery tells me they’ll take Detroit’s business someday. I tell him he’s crazy.”

  Stephen kept a polite silence.

  “My mom drives a Nissan Maxima,” Sarah said.

  “What the hell’s that?”

  “It’s Japanese. She loves it. I’ll probably get one, too, when I start working, if I can afford it.”

  “Japanese?” Quint sneered. “All they make’s junk. They’re famous for it. Y’should buy American.”

  Brandon leaned forward and crossed his arms on the seat-back. He had a mischievous glint in his eye. “You drive an Acura in 2005, Quint. That’s Japanese. You bought it last year—well, in 2004.”

  “A Japanese car?” Quint exclaimed. “Y’got t’be kiddin’. Did I pick it up secondhand?”

  “No, you got it new. You told me you paid fifty Gs for it.”

  Quint swerved to avoid a pothole. “Y’need to get y’terms straight, B,” he said curtly. “A ‘G’ is a thousand.”

  “I know that.”

  “Well, do y’know y’just said I spent fifty thousand dollars for a car, and a Japanese car at that?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what high-end models cost back home,” Stephen said. “I saw your car the day we went through the niche. It’s a beauty, sir. Worth every penny of it.”

  The Edsel swerved into the oncoming lane. Brandon fell to the floor. Sarah screamed and covered her eyes. No car was coming, and Quint immediately swung back to the right. He pumped the brakes and brought the car to a stop on the shoulder.

  “Sorry, folks; real stupid of me,” Quint said. He broke into a sweat and slumped in his seat. “Fifty thousand dollars for a Japanese car,” he mumbled.

  Stephen grabbed a road map and started fanning him. Brandon checked his pulse. When he couldn’t find one he threw open the door to run for help. Sarah grabbed his collar and made him stay. Then Quint gripped the steering wheel and pulled himself up. “Maybe I’ll stroll a bit—get some air,” he said in a thick voice. His passengers nodded vigorously. He eased himself out of the car and started walking.

  “Nice going, you two,” Sarah cried when he was several yards ahead. She got in Brandon’s face. “And you’re the one who said don’t talk about gas prices.”

  “Okay,” Brandon said defensively. “We just won’t say anything more about prices back h
ome.”

  “Duh, right,” Sarah snapped. “Or they’ll be scraping us off the road and mailing us to New York.”

  Half an hour later Quint had his color back, and the Edsel was sailing up I-81. Virginia’s trees were showing off their reds and golds in the late afternoon sunshine. Traffic was light and they were making good time.

  “We’ll do some night drivin’ t’make Pennsylvania,” Quint said. “Makes sense since the weather’s good. Y’all okay with it?” He momentarily took his eyes off the road, and the car drifted left. He noticed and made a jolting move back to the right.

  “S-sure, Quint,” Brandon said.

  Brandon tried reading David Copperfield for a while but couldn’t get into it. He leaned his head against the window and thought about the day. About his dream and his argument with Quint, about the clam roll and the hot fudge sundae. About 1965 and 2005. He closed his eyes and knew he was smiling.

  Brandon gave a start and sat up. The foggy feeling in his head told him he had been asleep a long time. He tried peering out his window, but everything was black. He pressed his palms to the glass and felt the icy cold.

  “Well, back with us, B?” Quint asked.

  Brandon leaned forward and crossed his arms on the seatback. “Yeah,” he said dully. “Where are we?”

  “Maryland. We did a bit of West Virginia. Now we do a bit of Maryland. We should make Pennsylvania in about fifteen minutes.”

  Silence.

  “B?”

  Brandon jerked his head up. “Sorry. You said we’re in Pennsylvania?”

  “Almost. We’ll find a motel in the first town.”

  Brandon looked behind him at Sarah. Then he checked Stephen. Both were asleep.

  “Everyone’s been out for a while,” Quint said. “Stephen was readin’ by flashlight for a time. I think he finished his book.”

  Brandon yawned and turned his head on its side. “It got cold.”

  “That’s a fact. From now on y’all will need the Salvation Army coats.”

  Brandon moaned and changed the subject. “Before long we’ll be in Rollings. I wonder if I’ll know it.”

  “Some parts, I imagine. On the way t’Faye’s y’all can show me some of it.”

  “I’ll show you your house, if it’s there.”

  “Y’do that.” Quint eased up on the gas as the Edsel began a long descent. “Y’know, I haven’t asked y’much about what I’m doin’ in 2005. Besides buyin’ fifty-thousand-dollar cars, what am I up to?”

  Brandon couldn’t stop yawning. “You’re doing great,” he said sleepily. “Your place is always a mess, like Sarah says, but you like it that way. You do your business work at home on your computer. You stay up late and you sleep late.”

  “Wife, kids?”

  “You got divorced two times. No kids.”

  The Edsel swerved but stayed in its lane. Brandon gasped.

  “Twice? How come?”

  Brandon was now awake. “I . . . don’t know,” he said warily. “That’s before I knew you. But if it bothers you, you don’t show it. You’re always joking and laughing about stuff. And if we—me and Sarah, and now Stephen—come over you give us sodas and talk with us.” He propped his chin on his arm. “I hope after all this it’ll still be like that.”

  “It will,” Quint said. He braked gently as a deer crossed the highway fifty yards ahead. “Maybe it’s not good t’know too much about what’s comin’. Maybe that just causes problems. Funny, but Quinton Coster in 2005 doesn’t sound much like me now.”

  “You’re wrong,” Brandon said. “You’re a lot like you now. We went looking for you in New Orleans because we knew you’d help us. We knew because of how you are back home.” He thought about it and laughed softly.

  “What?”

  “The only difference is, in 2005 you don’t go off about things. Things like prices. You just roll with everything. In 2005 you’ll laugh about freaking out today.”

  “Maybe I’d freak out in 2005 if y’hit me with 2045 prices.” He caught up with a car doing half the speed limit and smoothly passed it. “It’s been educational for both of us—all of us. There’s no book I could read t’learn what y’all know. And no book in 2005 could show y’all what this time’s like—not the way y’all are gettin’ it now, by livin’ it.”

  “Oh, yeah. If I read all this in a book it’d be boring, but doing it’s wild. I’ll never forget it. And if I knew for sure I’d get home . . . I’d do it again.”

  They rode in silence for a while. Brandon was beginning to drift off when the Edsel’s headlights blazed a sign that said: “Welcome to Pennsylvania—The Keystone State.” Another sign right after it said: Greencastle 5.

  “Five miles t’go after a long day,” Quint said wearily. “We’ll take the first motel we see.” He tapped Stephen on the elbow. “My man.”

  Stephen sat up, his glasses askew. Sarah was also stirring. They covered the five miles and took the exit for Greencastle. Quint spotted the Lincoln Motor Lodge and turned into the lot. He parked at the door to Room 4.

  “What d’y’all think, can we get Number 4 here too?” Quint asked. He pushed open his door and freezing air flooded the car. Sarah gasped and drew her blanket close around her. Quint crossed the parking lot to the office. It was more than ten minutes before he returned.

  “Whew. The guy at the desk was tilted back in his chair, snorin’ like a lion.” He laughed. “I had t’shake him like hell, but he finally came to and gave us Room 4.” He tossed the key to Brandon.

  They opened the room and turned up the thermostat. Quint, Brandon, and Stephen then returned to the Edsel and popped the trunk. Sarah’s bundle was spread out atop the others, and Brandon could have sworn it had grown since morning. The three hoisted it on their shoulders and maneuvered it into the room. When they dropped it on the bed it barely dented the mattress. They looked at each other.

  “Sarah can have the bed again,” Brandon said.

  They brought in the other bundles and took turns in the bathroom. Brandon’s was last. While he was brushing his teeth he thought over his talk with Quint and decided he had to talk some more. He spit out a foaming gob of toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. He quickly dried his face and hands, wiped the sink with his hand towel, and opened the bathroom door. Light spilled across his friends, fast asleep.

  Brandon was tempted to shake Quint awake but decided he could wait until morning. He stepped carefully over Stephen and stretched out on his blanket at the foot of the bed. Light from the window had cut a streak across the ceiling, and he watched it as he thought about the day. He had surprised himself when he said he would do it all again if he could be sure of getting home. Things had changed—he had changed, at least a little. He was still scared, but not as much. And he had a feeling he could now handle things coming his way.

  Brandon smiled at the light above him. He would do everything he could to get himself and his friends back home. And once they were home, he might not be finished with the niche.

  ELEVEN

  Encounter in Pennsylvania

  Morning came fast, and Quint decided not to start early. It was eight before Stephen and Sarah were up, nine before everyone had been to the bathroom. Brandon was staring at the bathroom door, wondering what Sarah could possibly be doing that took so long, when he heard kicks on the outside door. He opened it, and Quint hurried past him with four cardboard cups.

  “Two coffees and two milks from the deli next door,” Quint said. “It’s still coffee, right, B?”

  “Why certainly, Quinton.”

  Quint set the cups on the dresser and turned around. Brandon burst out laughing.

  “Something tells me this is goin’ t’be a hell of a day,” Quint said.

  Sarah came out of the bathroom and everyone sat down on the rug. Even though breakfast was cornbread from New Orleans, spirits were high. Sarah said the bed’s mattress was the worst she’d ever slept on, but she joked with Brandon and sipped his coffee as she munched her cornbread. Stephe
n thanked Sarah for loaning him David Copperfield and started reading it with his breakfast. Quint finished first and stepped outside for a cigarette. Brandon looked up at the window and said to no one in particular, “It’ll be a great day.”

  By nine forty-five the bundles were loaded in the Edsel. Quint brought the car to a roaring start, and they were off. They drove to the Gulf station near the I-81 ramp and filled up at thirty-three cents a gallon. Quint collected his change—and another Mary Poppins plate—and sped up the ramp to the highway.

  Fall’s brilliant reds and golds were now behind them. The Edsel sailed past bare branches as it crossed the bleak Pennsylvania countryside. Brandon was picking out the names of towns on the road signs. “Shippensburg, Walnut Bottom, Carlisle,” he murmured. They sounded really strange. But then, he guessed, so must Rollings to someone who lived in Walnut Bottom.

  The day was clear and the traffic light. By noon they had crossed the Susquehanna River and passed Harrisburg. At one o’clock Sarah brought out the Spam and bread and made sandwiches. They stopped to get four Dr. Peppers from the trunk and were stunned by the freezing air. Brandon wasn’t about to admit it, but he was now grateful for his Salvation Army jacket.

  After lunch they followed the steep ups and downs of the Schuylkill Ridge for the better part of an hour. The hills were hard on the Edsel, which started bucking under the strain. Quint decided to stop in the next town and have a look at the engine. He took the exit for McAdoo.

  The bucking became intense two miles from town. Thumps came from the trunk as heavy things knocked against each other. Stephen’s Dr. Pepper bottle flew off the back seat and landed on Brandon’s lap in front. Quint pulled to the shoulder just as steam started shooting out of the grille. He got out and used his handkerchief to raise the hood. After a quick inspection he got back in the car. “Overheated, needless t’say. There’s a split in the hose, and I need t’give some other things a goin’ over. It’ll take some time.”

  “Are we stuck here?” Sarah asked nervously.

  “No,” Quint said. “I’ve got rubber tape and antifreeze in the trunk, and any tools I’m likely t’need. We’ll lose time, but we’ll make do.” Sarah squeezed her hands together, and he patted her arm. “Not t’worry. I’ve brought her back from worse than this.”