Chapter Ten #2
She shook her head. “That’s what my parents said, too. But I remember being five or so and lying in bed, and thinking about how I hardly took up any room. And I was thinking, How did I get so little when I used to be big?” She laughed.
A childish fancy, Henry thought, though he could not deny that it was an extraordinary one. “So you do not believe in Heaven?” He did not, though sometimes he’d hoped.
“Oh, I believe in a happy afterlife, too. I think that’s what happens with most people.”
“But they cannot both be true,” Henry pointed out.
“Why not? Maybe we have a choice. Do you want to stay here, or would you like another round on Earth?” She smiled at him. “I think that would be lovely.”
He scoffed. “You cannot believe in things simply because they are lovely.”
“Oh, I definitely can,” she assured him.
Henry supposed there was no arguing with that. “What else is at your science museum?”
“Oh, let’s see…” She glanced upward, thinking. “They have a spaceship they flew to the moon.”
He stopped walking. “Men flew to the moon?”
Perhaps he should not have been stunned. He had seen the improbable airplane in the sky, and he’d tried to unlock the secret to traveling through time. But flying all the way to the moon seemed nearly as astounding.
She laughed. “Oh yeah, a bunch of times. They’ll have something about that at the Adler, too.” She pointed ahead of them at the building with a domed roof at the tip of a peninsula that jutted out into the lake.
Her city had built great temples to learning. He needed to explore all of them. If he did not return to his own time first…which, of course, he wanted to do as soon as possible. They walked on, Henry still reeling from the idea of a lunar excursion.
As they approached the planetarium, Henry remarked, “There are children everywhere.”
“It’s for adults, too,” she assured him, though he had not expected it to be for children at all. She paid for tickets at the entrance.
“The solar system show is in fifteen minutes,” she said, taking his hand. He liked that she did that so naturally, even if it was only because she wanted to drag him through a crowd.
He paused at the poster outside the auditorium, next to a boy and his mother, that read, Take a quick flight around the eight planets of the solar system. He looked to Rose, astounded. “But which is the eighth one? What comes after Uranus?”
The boy erupted into a fit of giggles for no reason Henry could tell.
“They really need to rename that planet,” Rose murmured.
“The next one is Neptune,” the boy told Henry. “And then there’s Pluto, but it doesn’t count.”
“I think it does,” Rose said, but Henry’s attention was caught by the boy’s mother staring at him. She quickly turned away when she met his eyes.
The woman thought he was thick-witted. Hot shame crept up the back of his neck.
“Let’s go sit down,” Rose suggested.
Once they had found seats in a back row, Henry looked up. The room seemed to have no ceiling—only a starry sky.
“But it’s daytime,” Henry muttered to Rose, trying to make sense of it.
“It’s called a movie,” she whispered back. “It’s an illusion.”
It was a wonderful one, Henry had to admit to himself, but as he searched for familiar constellations, he could not shake a feeling of gloom. A few more people drifted into the amphitheater, and he felt vaguely pleased that no one was sitting in front of them, or directly on the left or the right.
Rose leaned close to him and whispered, “What’s wrong?” He caught a whiff of her rose-and-incense perfume.
Nothing, he almost said. But something about her presence—her caring voice, the lovely scent on her skin—compelled him to vent his spleen.
“I was a well-respected amateur astronomer in my time,” he murmured to her. “I published papers in two respectable journals.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said sincerely. “You’re very intelligent.”
“Am I?” he demanded. “My whole life, the stars and the heavens have been my passion…” He waved an arm at the giant false sky above them. “And now, I am schooled by a child.”
“But that’s not your fault,” Rose said. “So why should it bother you?”
A good question. He spoke slowly, trying to make sure he got it right. “I have always prided myself on knowing how the world works, and of being capable no matter the circumstances. But now I discover that I know nothing about how the world works, so how can I be competent in it?”
Rose slipped her hand in his, but didn’t have the chance to answer. The semidarkness faded to black and a loud, disembodied female voice welcomed them to their excursion around the solar system.
When Henry stared at the dome ceiling above him, they seemed to be floating through the night sky.
He could easily imagine leaving the Earth, as he’d left his own time, and losing himself in the celestial realm that he had studied for so long.
The moon with its austere chalky light. In the distance, amber and purple clouds… gasses? Nebulae, close up?
Above them, the sun advanced, pulsing, and the voice spoke of solar flares.
Henry listened attentively. The show included dozens of facts he’d never known, and he wished he’d brought a notebook.
When the voice asserted that Jupiter had ninety-five moons, he shook his head in wonder.
No one ever would’ve imagined that in his time.
Then a realization struck him.
He murmured to Rose, “When I go back to my time, I will know more than anyone.”
She whispered back, “You don’t worry that you’ll somehow change history in a bad way?”
“Your friend Jason suggests it may not be a concern.”
The lively show of stars and planets above them cast gold and purple light across her face, making her appear…well, otherworldly.
She leaned even closer to him. “It’s good to know things.” His gaze fell on her plump lips, so close to his own. “But it’s not why you’re valuable. I hardly know anything about science, and I’m still valuable.”
She was correct about herself, but wrong about him. Fundamentally wrong. “Of course you are,” he grumbled. “You have different gifts.”
“Like magic,” she said lightly.
“Well, I suppose.” The idea of her magic was still difficult to accept, and he could be forgiven if he didn’t think it was a benefit…
even though, in moments like this one, when he was close to her and they were speaking to each other like people who had known each other for years, he wasn’t sure what to think.
He went on to say, “But you are warm and generous, forgiving, hopeful in the face of misfortune, and you are always your genuine self.” He knew he sounded cross, even though now they were making renewed effort to keep their voices down.
It always irritated him to discuss the obvious.
He added in a grumble, “You obviously need no other qualities to recommend you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.”
He felt deeply uncomfortable. If she cried, he could take her into his arms, but he hadn’t held a woman like that since Charlotte. He wanted to hold Rose. And he had no idea what to make of that.
She asked, “You don’t think you have any of those qualities?”
“I cannot flatter myself,” he said. “I have never had that amiable nature that pleases people so much. Having knowledge, being capable—these things made up for that.”
She leaned so close he could see down her blouse. He tried not to look and failed.
“You’re dependable and loyal,” she said.
He let out a huff of derision. “That can be expected of any gentleman.” She shook her head, about to say something, and he added, “What makes you say that, anyway?”
She gave him a disbelieving look. “You spent two years trying to get back to your wife.”
And it finally worked.
The thought startled him. What in the world did that mean?
He wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss Rose. It would not be a betrayal of Charlotte. Not at all.
Rose leaned closer again. Christ, she was exquisite, in the shifting light of the illusory cosmos. “And you’re intense,” she murmured.
“It is hardly desirable to be intense.”
“Oh, it’s desirable,” she purred. The words seemed to escape her mouth before she’d considered them, her voice like honey and smoke.
“Rose,” he whispered.
He thought fleetingly that she wouldn’t hear him over the disembodied voice. It spoke of a cold, remote sphere that had been rejected from the confederacy of the planets. Rose lifted her face to him, her soft lips parted, a tentative invitation in her eyes.
The unreal stars above them slowed, or so it seemed. The moment hung suspended: the grains in an hourglass would’ve hovered in the air. Carefully, not wanting to jostle it, he raised one hand to cup her cheek. His heart knocked in his rib cage. And then he brushed her lips with his own.
He felt a delicate tremble in her body, and she put his hand on her shoulder as she kissed back. Her scent filled his senses.
His hand cupped Rose’s jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek, as he deepened the kiss, delving into her mouth, reveling in its silky, willing warmth. The music around them swelled. The tiny, needy sound in the back of her throat heated his blood.
Applause. The show was over. With regret, Henry brought the kiss to an end. Rose gave him a conspiratorial smile, then bent down to find her large bag. Reality dawned on Henry along with the bright lights in the auditorium.
He’d been passionately kissing an unmarried lady.
He and Charlotte had not kissed like that before they had been engaged.
Rose had seemed to welcome it…but by her own admission, she possessed a carefree spirit, and did not always consider the consequences.
He’d noticed that she often put what pleased others above what was good for her.
He’d made her no promises of affection; there was no arrangement between them. Had he just taken flagrant advantage of her blithe and generous nature? He hoped to return to his past, after all.