Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [107]
He went back to Sandy and her friend, and they were on their way. Twenty minutes later, they commandeered a table at Halo’s and eventually drank and sang the balance of the evening.
“What does she do for a living?” Shel asked, when they were back in the town house.
“She’s a math instructor at Duke.”
“Good. So where do you go from here?” He had no idea. But it had been a long time since he’d been so enthralled, so quickly, by a woman. Not even Helen had hit him that hard.
WITHOUT saying anything to Shel, he returned to Durham two days later and called Sandy from a drugstore. They made a date for a Saturday evening concert. He told her he’d look forward to the evening, hung up, and used the converter to move forward to Saturday night, grabbed a cab, and arrived outside her apartment fifteen minutes later.
She looked even better than he remembered. He’d already told her what he did for a living. “Where do you teach?” she asked.
He should have been prepared. He needed a local school, but his brain froze, and he told her he was at Penn.
“I’m surprised,” she said, “you can get away during the semester. How’d you manage that?”
And that’s what happens when you start telling the truth. He made up a story about a sick relative and got the distinct impression she knew he was lying. But she let it go, and minutes later they were inside the theater listening to Sergei Rachmaninoff, who was on tour, play several of his own compositions.
IT was a dazzling night, and a week later, for her—though the next night for him—he took her to see a British film, Gangway, with Jessie Mat thews and Alastair Sim. This time he’d had to claim he’d driven in from Philadelphia to see how his sick cousin was doing. (But after the show he couldn’t remember the specifics of what he had told her. Sick cousin? Or had it been his mother?)
“It’s not easy,” she said, “getting information from you.”
He tried to laugh it off. “There’s probably not much to get. Except that beautiful women seem to enjoy my company.”
They returned to the Lamplight the following evening, ostensibly the day before he was to go back to Philadelphia. She liked him, smiled at all the right times, and let him know in a hundred different ways that he mattered. Even though she’d known him only a couple of weeks, she wanted to keep him around.
But there were problems. “Where’s your car?” she’d asked. “Why are we using a taxi?”
He should have told her he’d taken the train, but it hadn’t occurred to him. “I left it with Sarah. In case she needs it.”
“She must be doing much better.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “She’s much improved.”
After he’d dropped out of sight, which was an inevitable outcome, she might make phone calls and find out he’d lied to her. No David Dryden at Penn. Maybe no David Dryden even in the Philadelphia phone book. At least none who was likely to be teaching languages anywhere.
And that hurt. Losing her would be bad enough. But to send her off knowing he’d been a fraud?
The Lamplight, he decided, reluctantly, would be their last evening together. The longer he delayed, the harder it would be on both of them. He wanted to do it, get it over with, put it all behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
She gave him the perfect opening when she read his face and asked what was wrong. But he just wasn’t ready. Maybe it would be best to think it through anyhow. He decided he’d talk to her during the week and tell her there was someone else in his life. That he was going to ask this other woman to marry him. He’d apologize, and say how much he’d enjoyed being with her, and he understood if she was angry. But that, however things played out, she’d always have a friend.
They were seated at the table Huxley had occupied. The pianist was doing “It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie.”
“Nothing,” he said. “Life couldn’t be better.”
She looked at him closely, and apparently decided to go along with the game. “Our special place,” she said.
He squeezed her wrist. “Forever.”
But it must not have been in his voice. “That’s easy to say, Dave.” Her eyes glittered.