8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Landslide by Fleetwood Mac
My alarm goes off at 6 a.m. and I roll over to find Ben already awake. He’s on his side and resting his head on his arm.
“Morning,” he says with a playful wink.
I stretch out in bed, extending my fingers and toes out like a cat. I slept surprisingly well, though I probably couldn’t say the same if I had been alone with my thoughts all night. Ben and I take turns in the shower and wordlessly get ready. Neither of us really knows what to say, and I think the nerves are finally hitting him too. There’s not much left to say. We’ve been discussing the mission as eventually happening, but now here it is right in front of us.
I stand in my closet, looking at the racks surrounding me, pondering my choices. What does one wear before time travel? What is the appropriate outfit for the possible end of the world? It’s just another day, Ali. I pull on a pair of high-waisted straight-cut jeans that are cropped at the ankle. I pick a white square neck cap sleeve top from the drawer and sit down to pull on a pair of low white sneakers.
“Al, it’s time to go. The car James sent us is here,” Ben interrupts my thoughts as he points out the window.
I look outside and see a black town car waiting in front of my house. I nod and grab a black suede moto jacket, putting it on and fluffing my hair back into place. Ben brings our belongings to the foyer while I make us coffee to-go in the kitchen. I brace my hand on the door frame as I reach for two travel mugs. My fingers grasp the growth marks Dad made when I was a child. Dad. I wonder what you would think of all this. Would you be proud or think I’m crazy?
I meet Ben in the foyer, turning off all the lights as I go, and hand him his coffee. With my small bag of personal items for the trunk in hand, I step out the front door. My gaze moves back toward my house. Will I ever see this place again? I freeze, lost in my thoughts, as I lock the front door. I can hear Ben calling to me, but something keeps me rooted to the ground. Suddenly, I feel Ben’s hand on my back. He’s both comforting me and guiding me toward the sidewalk. While grabbing our bags, he walks ahead to open the car door for me. He’s really practicing 1900s chivalry.
It’s a forty-minute drive to Dr. Conrad’s private lab in Concord. Ben and I sit quietly in the car, careful to not discuss anything in front of the driver. I don’t know if the driver is privately contracted or whether he’s in on the entire scheme too. I assume everyone even breathing near this project is on the payroll. I don’t think Dr. Conrad or Dr. McCoy would take such a gamble, and I’m sure they covered their bases as extensively as possible. The drive is beautiful; the trees are turning color and the sun is shining through them. We turn off the main road and begin a winding trail deep into the woods. Dr. Conrad’s lab sits at the end of the trail, nestled between rows of trees on each side.
As I step out of the car, I breathe in the scent of evergreen and pine. The woods are still and calm. They have no idea we’re about to do the impossible in their shelter.
The lab is an unassuming brick building. Anyone who ventures this far into the woods might assume it’s a luxury cabin of some kind. It’s not even that large, so I imagine a good portion of it is perhaps underground. Dr. Conrad welcomes us inside and leads us down a hallway to an arched door. He presses his palm to the touchpad on the door and it opens for him. I can see Dr. McCoy waiting with a small staff inside.
The room is circular, with rails around looking down to a lower level. There are doors around the walls leading to smaller rooms. Down below, I can see a platform in the middle of the room. Next to it is a large system resembling a computer with buttons and levers all over it. I gulp nervously as I look around the lab. Everything suddenly feels real.
Dr. Conrad leads us to one of the smaller off-shoot rooms. Sarah and Eric are already there and half-dressed in their Edwardian clothes.
“Welcome to hair and makeup,” Dr. Conrad jokes as if this is some Hollywood set.
Sheila and Jane are in the room, Sheila styling Sarah’s hair while Jane packs the rest of her clothes into the luggage. When I enter, I’m escorted over to a styling chair in front of a brightly lit mirror. Jane walks over and begins brushing my hair. She stops to pull out a tray of pins and hair pieces for me to choose from. With most of my hair pulled into a knot, she leaves a few curls to hang around my face. She uses the rest of my hair to form a braid, which she encircles around the knot.
She secures her creation with pins and shifts her focus to my face. She pulls out a container holding little pots of rouge for my lips, eyes, and face.
Jane smiles as she blots and powders my face. “You hardly need anything. Natural is the style,” she says, not knowing that low-maintenance makeup is already my everyday routine. She gently swoops the brush across my face. When our eyes meet, she smiles warmly and looks at me like she’s scared for me.
After makeup, I head over to the rack where Jane has laid out a dress and all the undergarments and accessories for me. I stand behind a curtain, remove my clothes, and slip into a chemise. Jane then comes behind the curtain and begins lacing up my corset. She tries to pull it gently at first, but she seems hesitant to restrict me.
“Jane, it’s okay. We have to be accurate. Tighten me up,” I reassure her. She looks at me apologetically and tightens the laces, squeezing my waist in. I let out a small gasp. “Perfect.”
Jane helps me step into my boarding dress, a dark burgundy suit dress with a matching tailored coat. I place the matching hat on my head, checking the mirror to make sure it's on properly before attempting to secure it with a hatpin. I shove the pin through the hat twice, each time never getting the hat to stay put. I mumble in frustration after each failed attempt. Stupid hat. Stupid pin. Stupid hair. Why is this so fucking hard?
“Here, let me,” Sarah interjects and takes the pin out of my hand. She holds my hat in one hand and the pin in another and quickly swipes it through. She makes it look easy.
“Thanks.” I smile helplessly. The hats are gigantic and they make me feel self conscious, as if they practically double my radius. It feels like I’m balancing a small country on top of my head. Sarah stands across from me in a black dress with long sleeves and a white apron, a typical maid’s uniform. I look over at her rack of clothes and see more of the same. I think of my rack, filled with enough clothes for multiple costume changes a day. Everything from fine silks to jeweled and crystal beaded fabrics. I have boxes upon boxes of hats and jewelry. For a moment, I don’t know whether to envy her or feel sorry. “I hope you know I don’t expect you to wait on me,” I say regretfully.
“Believe me, aside from keeping up necessary appearances publicly, I won’t.” She laughs. “I don’t envy you, Ali. I get to fade into the background. You’re the one that’s going to be putting on a constant show.”
After we finish in hair and makeup, we follow Jane down to the lower level platform where Eric and Ben are waiting. As I walk down the stairs, Ben looks up at me in his brown suit with an ascot tie and a stickpin. He twirls a straw boater hat in his left hand and has his walking stick tucked under his right arm. The walking stick has a camera hidden in the handle. He looks dashing. His eyes brighten as I come toward him and his smile is beaming. This moment feels like the grand reveal after a makeover in every 90s romantic comedy. This is my Laney Boggs moment.
“Al, you look amazing,” he says as he grabs my hand to twirl me for a better look at the entire ensemble.
“We’re about to go to 1912. We should probably drop Al and stick with Alice.” I remind him of the proper etiquette. We might as well get used to that now, so we don’t accidentally have a lapse in conversation once onboard.
He smiles and dramatically bows to me, one hand behind his back. “Whatever you say, Miss Murphy.”
I bow back, matching his theatrical performance. “Wrong again, brother. It’s Miss Turner now.”
I break away to pack my items into my trunk. Each trunk has a small locked box inside it, intended to keep any modern conveniences packed secret.
Dr. McCoy joins Dr. Conrad on the lower level and we begin the final preparations. Everything feels simultaneously hurried and as if it's moving in slow motion. Dr. McCoy holds a small dark wooden box containing our return tickets; the talismans with hidden buttons. More like a panic button.
Dr. McCoy approaches me and motions for me to turn around. As he places the necklace around my neck and fastens it, he whispers in my ear, “Good luck, Ali.”
Dr. Conrad follows behind him and shakes Ben’s hand, which turns into a hug. “Good luck to you, Ben.”
As Dr. Conrad turns toward me, he pulls me into a hug. “Take care of yourself, Ali. And take care of him, too.” He nods his head over toward Ben.
I am not normally someone who hugs. At any gathering, when everyone goes around hugging goodbye, I tense up and become dead-weight. I don’t know how to accept love or affection from someone. His hands are shaking as he hugs me, and for the first time, I realize how nervous he is. I feel guilty for just standing here while he wraps his arms around me.
“See you later, James,” I whisper in his ear, trying to sound confident to comfort him. When he pulls back, I can see his smile, full of pride. There’s a gleam in his eye as if he is both surprised and touched that I’ve finally used his first name.
We assemble as directed onto the platform. Sarah and Eric hold on to the trolleys loaded with our trunks and suitcases. I stand next to Ben, and for the first time, he looks nervous. I look down and notice his hands are shaking. It feels as though we’ve traded places because for the first time since this all began; I feel calm and controlled. How much crazier can it honestly get?
Dr. McCoy begins the countdown as Dr. Conrad monitors the screen and pushes buttons.
“10, 9, 8, 7….”
Ben leans over to whisper in my ear. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Not like I can back out now. We’re in this. For better or worse.
“6, 5, 4….”
“You jump, I jump, Jack,” I whisper with a playful smile as I slip my hand into his. I squeeze his hand reassuringly, hoping to put him at ease. He looks back at me. Once our eyes lock, his breathing slows down and the nerves disappear from his face.
“3, 2, 1….”
Dr. Conrad pulls the final lever and I’m surrounded by nothing but a bright white light.