[2013] Life II Page 24

  “It’s beautiful out,” Pamela marveled.

  “Yep,” said Max.

  “A Sunday where you have the day off.”

  “Like everyone else!” laughed Max. All things taken together, he felt better, more alive, than he had in years. He realized this, and was grateful to Dr. Time—for in a way Dr. Time would never know of, Max had been given back his dream of a new life for awhile—the life of a man who dreams mightily and feels things keenly, and whose hopes for the future are weighed down by the unceasing march of time. In other words, Max thought, I can just live. He was almost hysterical with glee at the proposition.

  “Listen Pamela,” he said, as he took his wife’s arm. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “You’re having next Sunday off, too?” Pamela was hopeful.

  “Every day will be a Sunday, from here on out.” Max grinned.

  Pamela’s eyes darted. “What do you mean?”

  Max gulped. He’d been rehearsing this moment for months. Now it was a good time to say it. At this point, he felt fearless, and didn’t care anymore about the future repercussions. That was it. He had no other option. The consequences be damned.

  “Listen, I’m…uh,” he smiled, and then said gently, “I’m quitting medicine.”

  “What?” Pamela turned to him, aghast. “You can’t do that!”

  “Why not? I’m too exhausted to continue.”

  “That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard! So take some time off.”

  Max sighed. “It isn’t that easy. In medicine, it’s all or nothing. Either you throw yourself in or you’re out. You sink or you swim.”

  Pamela stopped in her tracks. She stared at Max. “But you’ve spent years preparing for this and you’re so close to finishing.” She held her mitten up; as it did not have fingers, she settled to show a gap between her gloved thumb and the rest of her hand. “You can’t quit now!”

  Max saw the sudden wrinkle of irritation cross Pamela’s face. He shrugged. “Pamela, it’s just come down to this. I can’t do it anymore. Plus, I don’t know if I’m really suited to be a doctor. Maybe it’s not who I am.”

  “Not who you are? Max!” Pamela had a look of shock on her face. She placed her hand on his chest. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, hon.”

  “But I thought you loved being a doctor. You seemed to thrive on the challenge.”

  Suddenly Kyle yelled from behind, “Dad!” and made some gestures that indicated he clearly wanted to be pulled some more. Max ignored his wife’s question, and with shoulders slumped continued pulling the sled.

  Pamela simply said, “Max, I don’t know what to say.”

  Max stepped forward, prompting Pamela to start moving. “Think of it this way. You can go back to the gym. I’ll stay home to take care of the kids.”

  All at once Pamela’s eyes brightened. She stopped, and Max turned around and looked at her. Her voice became lighter, almost humorous. “Hey! I like the sound of that. And you’ll always be home. Finally.” She looked up at the sky, not quite allowing herself to absorb the prospect of their new future. She shook her head quickly. “But Max, wait. My pay isn’t enough to cover all of us.”

  “We’ll have to figure it out.”

  “I’m not sure I like it. It sounds so… vague. I’m invested in your career, too, you know. You went through the training, but I gave up any semblance of normal family life—my God, you missed the birth of both your children—because you told me everything would be great when you finished and became a doctor.”

  Max breathed in and out deeply, dragging his son’s sled. He’d worried this would be this hard part. He steeled himself, then he turned to her. “Pamela, look, my mind’s made up. I’m quitting. I’m doing this for myself, so that I can figure out what I really want from life.”

  The silence between them seemed endless. What Max wanted at that moment more than anything in the world was to find a deep hole and settle inside it. He raised a hand to his temple, and rubbed it. For a moment, he felt old and distracted. Then he shook his head, as if dismissing the thought, and was suddenly positive that this was the right choice, and the excitement in him exploded like a tornado.

  He was going to tender his resignation and then he was going to sleep.

  For weeks and weeks.

  For as long as it takes.

  Yes, that’s right, Max. No more trying to reverse the past. Get your shit together and face the future. You can tackle tomorrow. Hell, it’s just another day.

  He smiled. That sounded good to him. He could see beyond now finally. He could feel safe in the future. The future’s bright, Max remembered telling Brandon and Angela, whenever he tucked his sleeping children into bed. Max would have laughed, recalling that, if it hadn’t hurt so much.

  Now it was Kyle and Peter’s turn to be loved and cherished.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  March 23, 1998 at 12:10 p.m.

  Max was excited to see a letter from Abby in the mail. He snatched it from the mailbox, and ripped it open. Abby’d been writing regularly—about once a week—for months now, but this was the first letter from her since he’d written to announce that he was quitting medicine.

  Dear Max, it started,

  Good to hear from you last month. I was saddened to hear you quit medicine. When I first met you, you were always that young, good-looking doctor… now what are you? I do hope you’ll reconsider taking up their offer to go back within a year.

  Max smiled. He could feel Abby’s concern, that she still cared about him, radiating out of the letter. Eagerly his eyes leaped to the next paragraph:

  I have some big news for you. I’m getting married at the end of June! I know it seems sudden, but it’s an old friend of mine from high school. So I feel I already know him pretty well. His name is John and he’s a tax analyst with a major accounting firm. He does cross-border acquisitions and mergers, and to tell you the truth I don’t understand any of it.

  Max’s eyes suddenly fluttered in a strange way. His smile faltered, and his face became puzzled. There was a small pulse of pain in his head as he kept reading:

  You won’t believe this next part. I got an offer to work at the Children’s Hospital of Greater Vancouver in their child hyperactivity clinic, and to lead a team there! But after thinking the job offer over for several weeks, and talking with John, I’ve decided to decline their offer. I’m kind of sad about it, because I’ve always wanted to live in the mountains. Well, maybe someday, when I’m retired thirty years from now, I’ll live with my husband at a retreat on Saltspring Island. I’ll fish for salmon and can them in brine to last all year. I’ll plant a huge backyard garden of kiwi fruit, corn, butternut squash, watermelon, and grapes as I hear it’s pretty tropical out there. I’d make wine from the grapes. I guess a girl can always dream!

  Max opened his mouth to say something, but he felt his headache getting worse. It was suddenly hard to get a handle on his whirling thoughts. He felt like he had aged fifteen years, just reading this letter. He realized his headache was causing his eyes to water, and he wiped at them, sniffing, as he finished reading the letter:

  P.S. Don’t forget to send me a photo of Peter. Also, please include yourself in the photo, as I want to see what you look like now. I certainly hope you will continue to write to me. The wait for each letter in the mailbox makes it more exciting, doesn’t it? Well, take care, Max.

  Love, Abby.

  The color drained from Max’s face. It had finally happened. Abby was going to marry another guy— a freakin’ accounting man!—almost a carbon copy of the auditor she had married in Life I. And Max would soon face the day when Abby would have a child other than Angela or Brandon.

  Feeling his head vibrate with pain, Max stuck the letter in his pocket. He slunk into the house, sank down into the sofa, hoping it would swallow him up. His depression had just reached an all-time high.

  Time was moving on.

  Abby was moving on with her life.
>
  And he was moving in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  November 26, 1998 at 7:51 p.m.

  Hearing the door open in their home, Max leapt with excitement to the kitchen counter, where lay a fresh bouquet of hibiscus, Pamela’s favorite flower. Each flower was breathtaking to the eye, featuring ripples of soft pink, violet, and butter yellow.

  As Pamela walked into the front hall, Max bounded up to her, hiding the gift behind his back and bearing an impish grin on her face.

  “How are you, sweetie?” he asked, brimming with energy.

  She was still decked out in gym attire—having returned to the gym so that she could earn money for the family as the new breadwinner. She slowly peeled off her light jacket, avoiding Max. He was startled by her sad expression and her darting glances.

  Maybe’s she’s physically exhausted from work, Max thought. He dramatically swung the flowers over to her from behind his back.

  Her eyes widened with wonder for a moment, but happiness was fleeting. She mumbled, “thanks,” and walked past Max to the kitchen.

  What the hell?

  As she retrieved a glass vase from the top shelf and started filling it with tap water, Max attempted to unload the excitement he’d been feeling.

  “Pamela,” said he, holding his arms open wide, “I want to be a better husband. I want to fulfill your needs. I know I’m not doing that now. I’m too focused on myself. But I’m a guy. We’re really dumb, you know.”

  Pamela let out a weak chuckle, but in the next instant, she wiped tears from her eyes.

  Good. Good. Keep going. “Uh, I’ve signed us up for couples therapy,” he said, knowing she would welcome the news. “And I’ve checked your schedule, so I’ve made sure that they all fit.”

  He beamed at her, waiting for the words of appreciation to come.

  Instead, she turned away from him, sullen.

  “Pamela? What’s wrong?”

  “We need to talk.” She avoided eye contact with Max and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Uh oh. Max felt a net of pain wrapping itself tighter and tighter around his brain. He sat down next to her, rubbing his eyes groggily.

  “Max,” Pamela started, “I found some disturbing stuff when I was looking for my gloves yesterday.”

  “What stuff?” Max asked.

  “I found a whole box of letters,” Pamela said, unsmiling.

  Oh shit. Oh crap.

  Max had never thought she’d ever look there, in the cubbyhole where he’d hidden the letters. He said nothing. He could see Pamela was close to tears.

  “A whole bunch of letters from somebody named Abby,” she whispered.

  Double shit.

  Max drew in a deep breath. He had been found out. He’d carefully directed Abby to send her letters to him through the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Calgary, shortly after he married Pamela. He thought he’d done it carefully too, so Pamela wouldn’t suspect.

  “Although it’s against my beliefs, Max, I read most of them. And I know the letters show you’re not romantically involved with her, but—”

  Here it comes.

  “It hurts me to see that they’re… intimate, you know, and that you share a lot of secrets with her.” Pamela gazed at Max, her watery eyes betraying no emotion. She paused, obviously waiting to hear what he had to say for himself.

  Max held up his hands. “Hey. What’s wrong with a friendship with a pen-pal?” he said, his thoughts dark.

  Pamela’s response was icy. “I’m not threatened by a friendship. I feel left out that you didn’t even tell me she exists.”

  “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  Pamela waited, and sensing no further response forthcoming from Max, said, “You tell her a lot more of your feelings than you do to me.”

  “No way, Pamela!”

  “That’s how I feel.”

  “You can’t possibly compare our everyday conversations, over a number of years, to a few letters…”

  “It’s not just a few letters, Max.”

  “Come on. Surely you don’t feel threatened by another woman I haven’t met for over five years, living far away in Toronto!”

  “No, Max. I don’t. But you’re not very open with me. And there’s more.”

  Max’s eyes widened.

  “About three years ago, I discovered your diaries.”

  All of the air left Max’s body and he tensed up.

  Oh my God. Oh my freakin’ God—

  Pamela nodded as she continued. “That time, I definitely thought it was wrong to read it. I closed it right away when I figured out what it was. But I read a bit here and there over the years.”

  How did she find them? He had hidden them in the attic. She must have discovered it when he’d been working those impossible hours at the hospital. Crap. Max, you dummy. Crap crap crap—

  “I’m not proud of myself,” Pamela admitted. “But your diary clearly shows that you’re delusional, Max. Now that I know Abby’s a real person, that makes it even harder. For God’s sake, Max, you claimed you were married to her for fourteen years! As your wife, how am I supposed to feel about that?”

  Max’s body trembled and he felt as though he was going to throw up and pass out at the same time. His world was crashing down around him. A black curtain began to fall around his eyes as he fought for control.

  I’m going to lose everything. Everything I’ve fought so hard for. All my dreams. My newfound life.

  He watched Pamela grimly holding on against the tears. “You claimed in your diaries that you were married to Abby, in a past life!” She sighed, and leaned over the table edge, staring hopelessly at the floor. Then she placed a hand over her heart. From a thin drawer in the table she drew out Max’s scrapbook.

  “I’m beginning to suspect there’s something wrong with the drawings of these two children you have in your scrapbook.”

  Warning signs flashed in Max’s head. He couldn’t look her in the eye. She was a smart woman and had figured out the truth.

  “I’m not stupid, Max,” she said, and her voice seemed to be coming from far away. “You told me you drew these because these children were your cousin’s. But when I talked with your sister three years ago, she said that no cousins of yours have children of that age.” She turned to him, and at that moment Max had never felt so dreadfully alone. “Right, Max?”

  Looking down, Max could only offer a meek, “Right.” His mind was completely paralyzed. Frozen. He could not think, could not react. He could only watch and listen.

  “Your diary said you had two children, Angela and Brandon, with Abby. I’m beginning to think these are the same children from the drawings.” She looked up at Max, and smiled. “Tell me the truth, Max. Did you marry or have a relationship with Abby before you met me? Are Brandon and Angela alive and living somewhere?”

  Max wanted to crawl out of there, and head to the mountains.

  Pamela continued. “Are Brandon and Angela dead? Did they die, Max?”

  Max teared up and barely got the words out. “Oh, dear God, no.” He held out his hands, gripping Pamela’s. “They don’t exist in this lifetime. They never did, and never will.”

  Pamela let out a sigh of relief. “Okay. So this is all a fantasy.”

  Max saw no way out but to agree with her. “Yes. That’s right.”

  Pamela smiled, and released Max’s hands. She gazed at Max with a patronizing and perfunctory look of sympathy. “I told you many times to see a psychiatrist…”

  “I did!”

  “But you didn’t go back.”

  “No.”

  Pamela sighed as she seemed to be mulling something over. “Okay then. Let’s make it simple.” She took Max’s hand then, and squeezed it tight to let him know she was there. “Tell me one thing, Max. Tell me the truth.”

  Max thought for several long seconds. Should I tell her everything? Should I lie? Could she handle the truth? He sat up straight, wondering. Is this t
he moment where everything—my past, my future, and whatever connects one to the other—is stripped away from me? If only I could shut my eyes, go to sleep, and wake up in the future where the smoke of all my bad choices has drifted off and the dust of all this turmoil has settled. He could see his choices shrinking away from him. Finally he saw no choice. If she were really meant for him, she’d understand. If not, so be it. It was to be left up to fate.

  This was it. The moment of truth. The laying out of the cards on the proverbial table. That leap of faith to finally let the truth out, and have his story told.

  He cleared his throat as he faced Pamela. Then he said four words:

  “I’m from the future.”

  Max searched Pamela’s face for a hint as to her feelings. Nothing. Not a flicker.

  At last Pamela nodded. She began to twist in her chair, her face pale, her eyes confused. “Sure,” she said sternly, “and you also met a woman named Dr. Time who showed you a time machine.”

  Max grinned. “Sounds silly, right?”

  Pamela said nothing. Her eyes were deep and miserable. She shook her head at him. “I’m really disappointed you didn’t continue your therapy sessions, Max.”

  Max’s face fell. “You don’t believe me.”

  Pamela didn’t bat an eye. “You’re not who I thought you were. You’re sick… something beyond help. I have only one thing to say.” She stood up and looked down at him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s over, Max.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  March 15, 1999 at 11:02 a.m.

  Max’s life had gone straight to hell. Back in November, he’d showed up at his old buddy Garfield’s house, with nothing but a suitcase, his hair matted from lack of sleep, asking if he could buy some time on Garfield’s couch. Four months later, he was still camped there. One morning he was watching a soap opera when Garfield walked in.

  “Max? Dude, we need to talk,” Garfield said.

  Max barely blinked at him. He could see his reflection in the television screen and didn’t like what he saw. He now had dark circles under his eyes, his beard was heavy, and his hair needed trimming. He wore a soiled T-shirt with mustard stains and his khaki pants had blue ink blemishes on one knee, from the newspaper crossword puzzles he’d become obsessed with solving.