Chapter 27
Marlowe
“Well, well, well. This is a scene I never expected to watch, but consider me riveted.”
Priscilla and I break apart. My lips are tingling. My legs are shaking. I can barely remember my own name, but I know that voice. And that face.
My sentimental heart wants nothing more than to wrap him up in a hug, but my legs do not comply. My face goes even further in its rebellion, scrunching up the way it always does when I need to really cry. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” I tell him. “Everywhere.”
“We literally went to 1893,” Priscilla says. “We met Wilbur Reed. Very cool guy, to be honest.”
“Did he say why he put so much into the auditorium?” Dallas asks.
“Patron of the arts,” Priscilla and I say in unison.
One more little joke, and we could fall into the easy rapport that Dallas Winthrop is so good at curating.
I can’t let it happen. Not yet.
“How could you leave without saying goodbye?” Asking this lowers my defenses, my tears right at the barricade, ready to rush forth.
“I didn’t mean to leave so soon,” he says. “When I got the machine to work, I only meant to do a test run.”
We wait for him to continue.
He doesn’t.
“Yeah, we couldn’t figure out how to get the machine to work very well either,” Priscilla says. She’s taken a much more generous interpretation of his words than I have. She’s read them like he doesn’t know how to get home. I’ve read them like he chose to stay.
She’s probably right, so I tell Dallas what we’ve uncovered in all our travels. That the key to getting where you want to go is the specificity of intention.
“I’m pretty sure it’s how we can get back to our regular reality,” I say. “We haven’t tried yet, because we’ve been looking for you.”
“I’ve always known how to get back,” Dallas says. “But once I saw this memory again, I couldn’t leave.”
The strangest thing happens. I find myself wishing for the other Dallases. Most of them are still searching for a way to make the machine work, but at least they know from us not to leave without saying why. Those Dallases haven’t abandoned everything to chase the past.
Of all the potential reasons I could share for why he should return to our home reality, I opt to go with “You can’t miss your final show as a director.”
We’ve spent so much time on the WRHS stage, seeing it through countless iterations. And all the times Dallas hasn’t been involved, the stage has felt soulless.
“You are the heart of our program. We need you.” Softer, I say, “I need you.”
“Come here,” he says. “Walk with me.”
He leads us back outside to the balmy September day we’ve already experienced.
“You see that over there?” he asks, pointing to the only cloud in the sky.
“That’s a rain cloud. I know that now. I forgot at first that it rains today.
No idea how, since the rain plays such a big part in what I’m about to share.
But it sure does rain. Every single time.
It won’t start for”—he checks his watch—“one hour and thirty-one minutes. Which means in one hour and fourteen minutes, he’ll arrive here with me. ”
“Teddy,” Priscilla and I say together.
“Another version of you told us about him,” Priscilla explains. “Not everything. Just about how you met. And how you came to live in Garden Meadows together. We don’t know what happened on this day.”
Dallas sits on the curb in front of the drop-off zone, and we follow suit until the three of us make a neat row.
“He was dropping me off here so I could leave my letter of resignation before the school year started. We were going to go back to New York.” Dallas pretends to toss hair over his shoulder. “I was going to be a star, you see.”
All of my anger is already dissipating. I only want to hold him. To apologize for sixteen years of letting him get away with not talking about this.
“I told Teddy to wait in the car, because I needed to do this by myself,” he continues. “I was going to drop my letter at the front desk and come right back out. But you know me. I had to see the stage one last time.”
I do know him. And how much he loves the stage. It’s always felt like a living, breathing piece of him that he invites us all to share.
“I stood there all alone, looking into the empty house, thinking of my students,” he continues.
“I’d made them a lot of promises about what we could do together.
There were a surprising number of talented performers in that group.
At least that’s what I thought at the time.
I’ve learned now that talent is everywhere.
Cultivating it is much harder than finding it.
But those kids never had anyone care enough to invest in them before me.
They were going to be gutted if I left them.
And I figured, you know what, Teddy and I had originally planned to do another year anyway.
What was the difference? So I went back outside and told him I wasn’t ready to leave yet. We got into a fight.”
Priscilla and I both let out sighs of upset, already knowing where this is going.
“Teddy didn’t want me to waste another year of my life doing something I didn’t love,” Dallas continues.
“And I told him I did love it, just not the same way I loved performing. He was just frustrated. He’d already turned in his own resignation.
But I didn’t know that the first time we had the fight.
So I said some ugly things to him. He said some ugly things back.
He got in the car and sped off, and it started raining in sheets so thick I couldn’t even see him leave the parking lot. ”
I feel it immediately—the wish to change the story. I want Dallas to have said something kind instead of cruel. I want Teddy to have stayed.
“I went back inside to sit on the empty stage and think,” Dallas says. “I never heard the accident. Only the blare of sirens after. And somehow, I knew.”
He looks up at the sky.
“The rain only lasted nine minutes,” he continues. “Can you believe that? Just nine minutes between what actually happened and what could’ve happened instead. Nine minutes that make today the day Teddy Marquez dies.”
“You came back here to change it,” I say.
“Oh, the ways I’ve tried,” he tells me with a wounded laugh.
“I’ve tried meeting my younger self on the stage.
I’ve tried running out to the car and begging Teddy to turn around.
To give it nine more minutes. I’ve even gone to the accident site and put up signs.
Shot off fireworks to stop the two cars from crashing.
Nothing works. But I’m still trying. Because I need to live in a world where he lives.
I need a different reality than the one I’ve been given. ”
“What about your life where we are?” Priscilla asks. “What about all the students who need you on our stage? And the people who love you?”
“You’re young,” he says. He’s not looking at her. He’s gazing out at the street, watching for Teddy and young Dallas. “You can bounce back.”
“But you haven’t bounced back,” Priscilla challenges. “You’ve spent thirty-one years building a machine you’ve designed to take you back to the worst day of your life.”
“We’ll stick around and help you find the right reality,” I assure him.
“We can travel to alternate universes that take place long before this day, and we can find one for you and Teddy to live inside. It’ll be kind of an age-gap situation, but you can make it work.
We won’t give up, no matter how long it takes. ”
Dallas smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s the thing. I don’t want a young Teddy with an old version of me. I want my Teddy and me to be old together. I want him to get the version of life he deserves. There has to be a world where he lives. There has to be.”
“Well, isn’t there more to be done with the machine?” I ask. “You didn’t get it right yet. You’re not replacing you like you’re supposed to.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dallas says. “I’m too far into it now to go back a step.”
“Okay,” I say, tapping my chin as I think. “What intentions have you tried? Maybe we can make a list of everything you’ve already attempted and then some new ways to try, and we can make some kind of chart to see what—”
Abruptly, Priscilla stands up. “You can’t be serious,” she says.
“Of course I am,” I tell her. “I think if we track the progress, we can see if there are any patterns—”
She walks off in the middle of my sentence. “Sorry, Dallas. I have to go.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, rising to follow Priscilla through the parking lot. “Hey!” I call out. “Slow down! Talk to me.”
She casts a dangerous glare over her shoulder.
“Why? You’re just going to go back to Dallas and entertain his delusions,” she says.
“What he’s doing, living this over and over, suffering every single day?
It isn’t right. And it isn’t healthy either.
Teddy’s death is a fixed point. We can’t change that. ”
“I know,” I say. “But maybe we can somehow? Free will?”
“This isn’t about free will. This is about life itself. And, Marlowe, you are still living yours in service of Dallas Winthrop.”
There’s a venomous note in her tone that’s all too familiar. This is the Priscilla who lashed out at me after she initiated that kiss backstage. This is the Priscilla I’ve wanted so much to believe no longer exists. Or maybe wasn’t real at all. But she is, and she’s here, in all her glory.
“You’ve built your entire world around him, and now you’re ready to give up everything to follow him through time to chase down an impossible dream?
” she asks. “You’re going to leave the real world behind to go with him?
And you don’t even see how fucked-up that is!
He is your number one. He always has been. ”
“He’s not my number one,” I say, my throat already tightening around the words.
“He is,” she tells me. “And Teddy is his. So you’re both chasing something you can’t have. Did everything we just talked about on the stage not matter?”
“Of course it mattered,” I insist.
“But Dallas matters more. And you’d rather spend the rest of eternity fixing his life instead of fixing yours,” she says. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me. Not that you would anyway, now that Dallas is here.”