eyes. “You’re always looking for an explanation for how things work. Why can’t you just accept things at face value? Clearly the book came from the future, delivered to you by your own niece. It’s written in your own handwriting. It’s basically you attempting to help you.”
“Let’s say that’s true—”
“Saying it isn’t going to be enough, if you don’t believe it.”
“Well, I have my doubts. I can’t believe—”
“Can’t believe what? Your own niece, your own handwriting, what?”
Mara looked away and didn’t say anything. She slammed the book closed and glared at her brother. He looked at her and said, “What?”
“I can’t believe, if I knew what was going to happen, that I would save myself … and not Abby.” She hid her face in her hands. “There’s not a damn word in that book to help her.”
“You can’t know that,” Sam said. “If you could help Abby, you would. That’s something you can believe in, isn’t it?”
Mara rubbed her palms into her eyes, squeezing away the tears before they ran down her face. “I do now, but, judging by these stupid haikus, God only knows what I’ll believe in the future. Why couldn’t I just send a plain language instruction manual back from the future? That I could work with, not these silly hints.”
“You should really stop beating yourself up about Abby. If just spelling it out would have worked, I’m sure you would have done it—or will do it, whatever. Like Ping said, it’s about maintaining Continuity. Things have to happen in a certain way, in a certain order, for them to work out. If you just did an info-dump from the future, your present self would cut to the chase and mess everything up. Right?”
Mara’s mouth dropped open. “That actually makes sense. How do you come up with this stuff?”
“I’m not limited by your metaphysically myopic view of reality.”
“Don’t get cocky. The last time you got high and mighty about your metaphysical superiority, you prompted me to make a bunch of disembodied spirits visible.”
Sam chuckled. “Yeah. Anyway we probably haven’t heard the last from your future self.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He pointed to the book, “There are still lots of blank pages. If you weren’t going to use them, you probably would have sent a note, not a book.”
“Again you make sense. Twice in one day—you’re on a roll, and you even worked in a vocabulary word, myopic. Mrs. Zimmerman would be so proud.”
“You must be feeling better, because you’re back to being condescending,” he said. He pushed up from the couch, but Mara raised her hand. “What?” he asked.
“Have you talked to Hannah about anything? You know, about the future or why she’s here?”
He sat back down and said, “I learned my lesson about asking about the future when she turned me into an old man, so, no, on that score. She did that after I asked her what kind of father I was.”
“You weren’t that old. You looked like maybe early thirties.”
“Whatever. I’m not asking any more questions about the future. I don’t want to know more than I know right now.”
“Have you asked her what her mother’s name is?”
“No, and don’t you dare. My brain is full of information. I don’t need any more. I’ll meet her mother when the time comes. That’s good enough for me.”
“Okay, it’s your life, but what about why Hannah’s here? Has she said anything?”
Sam shook his head. “Just that you sent her back in time with the book and to make you shine. Why don’t you talk to her? She might respond differently to you, since you’re the one who sent her here.” He pointed toward the stairs. “The bean’s upstairs with Mom, getting ready for bed. Maybe you should go read to her. Then you can ask her yourself.”
“The bean?”
“She likes it when I call her jelly bean.”
“’Cause she’s so sweet,” Mara said, mocking.
“Hey, she’s five years old. She likes it when the old man teases her.”
“I think I’m getting nauseated, old man.”
* * *
Hannah had been sleeping in Diana’s room since she had arrived and was already tucked into the right side of the bed. Apart from indirect light from the hall, the only illumination in the room came from a shaded lamp on the nightstand next to where Mara’s niece lay propped up by a large pillow. Mara stood at the door and watched her mother crouch on the opposite side of the bed, rummaging through the bottom of the other nightstand.
“Are you sure you