“Joey is all right.” Joey confirmed this by starting to y his brother joined him. “He had the breath knocked out of h too, I think. Shut up, Joey; Mother is busy. Hugh, where we?”
He looked around. “We are,” he announced, “in a park lot in a shopping center about four blocks from where I I And apparently somewhere close to our own proper time. least that’s a ‘sixty-one Ford we almost landed on.” The was empty save for this one car. It occurred to him that tl arrival might have been something else than a bump-an plosion, perhaps?-if they had been six feet to the right. he dropped the thought; enough narrow squeaks and one m didn’t matter.
He stood up and helped Barbara up. She winced and in dim light that came from inside the bank he noticed “Trouble?”
“I turned my ankle when I hit.”
“Can you walk?”
“I can walk.”
“I’ll carry both kids. It’s not far.”
“Hugh, where are we going?”
“Why, home, of course.” He looked in the window of bank, tried to spot a calendar. He saw one but the stand light was not shining on it; he couldn’t read it. “I wish I ki the date. Honey, I hate to admit it but it does look as if t travel has some paradoxes-and I think we are about to give somebody a terrible shock.”
“Who?”
“Me, maybe. In my earlier incarnation. Maybe I ought to phone him first, not shock him. No, he-I, I mean-wouldn’t believe it. Sure you can walk?”
“Certainly.”
“All right. Hold our monsters for a moment and let me set my watch.” He glanced back into the bank where a clock was visible even though the calendar was shadowed. “Okay. Gimine. And holler if you need to stop.”
They set off, Barbara limping but keeping up. He discouraged talk, because he did not have his thoughts in order. To see a town that he had thought of as destroyed so quiet and peaceful on a warm summery night shook him more than he dared admit. He carefully avoided any speculation as to what he might find at his home-except one fleeting thought that if it turned out that his shelter was not yet built, then it never would be and he would try his hand at changing history.
He adjourned that thought, too, and concentrated on being glad that Barbara was a woman who never chattered when her man wanted her to be quiet.
Presently they turned into his driveway, Barbara limping and Hugh beginning to develop cramps in both arms from being unable to shift his double load. There were two cars parked tandem and facing out in the drive; he stopped at the first one, opened the door and said, “Slide in, sit down, and take the load off that ankle. I’ll leave the boys with you and reconnoiter.” The house was brightly lighted.
“Hugh! Don’t do it!”
“Why not?”
“This is my car. This is the night!”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he said quietly, “I’m still going to reconnoiter. You sit here.”
He was back in less than two minutes, jerked open the car door, collapsed onto the seat, let out a gasping sob.
Barbara said, “Darling! Darling!”
“Oh, my God!” He choked and caught his breath. “She’s in
there! Grace. And so am I.” He dropped his face to the steering wheel and sobbed.
“Hugh.”
“What? Oh, my God!”
“Stop it, Hugh. I started the engine while you were gone. The keys were in the ignition, I had left them there so that Duke could move it and get out. So let’s go. Can you drive?”
He sobered down. “I can drive.” He took ten seconds to check the instrument board, adjusted the seat backwards, put it in gear, turned right out of his drive. Four minutes later he turned west on the highway into the mountains, being careful to observe the stop sign; it had occurred to him that this was no night to get stopped and pulled off the road for driving without a license.
As he made the turn a clock inthe distance bonged the half hour; he glanced at his wrist watch, noted a one-minute difference. “Switch on the radio, hon.”