Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [24]
Shel turned it off.
He sat in the sudden stillness. He could hear music somewhere.
It was two minutes after nine.
He picked up the phone, put it in his pocket, and went out to the garage. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into his dad’s driveway. Under the basket. The house was dark, save for the security lights.
HE waited an hour. He sat in the car with the converter on the seat beside him and the cell phone in his pocket, and he realized he’d done the wrong thing. Shouldn’t have caved in. Should have insisted he be allowed to go along. But of course he’d always caved in to his father.
He took out the cell phone and punched in Dave’s number. It was late, but that was what friends were for.
Dave was in a restaurant somewhere. “Hello, Shel,” he said. He took a minute to speak to someone else. Then he was back. “Anything wrong?”
“Yeah. You teach Greek and Latin.”
“More or less.”
“How’s your Italian?”
“It’s okay. Maybe a little shaky. Why? You headed for Rome?”
“Dave, are you doing anything Saturday morning?”
“I’ll be on the run. What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got a problem.”
“What do you need, Shel?”
“I want to show you something.”
CHAPTER 7
Americans generally do the right thing, after first exhausting all the available alternatives.
—WINSTON CHURCHILL
DAVE was at one of those stages in his life where nothing special was happening. He’d gotten bored with classroom work. He spent most of his evenings grading papers, preparing seminars, and watching old movies on TV. There were a few women drifting around the fringes. But none for whom he could work up any passion.
Except Helen. His heart fluttered every time he saw her. Every time he thought about her.
She’d been the reason he’d hesitated when Shel asked about Saturday morning. She usually ate a late Saturday breakfast at the Serendip on Cleaver Street. He’d seen her there occasionally and had planned to run into her. Accidentally, of course. Why, Helen, nice to see you. He’d liked her for a long time, but her reaction to him had always been not exactly cool, but indifferent. He’d asked her out a few times, but she’d always found a reason why she couldn’t manage it. Next time maybe, she’d told him. But the message was clear enough: Take the hint, Dave. He was accustomed, though, to pretty much getting his way with women. If he stayed with it, he was sure he could win her over.
Discovering that Shel was on her track had come as something of a shock. He should have informed Shel that first night, at the show, of his interest. But ultimately that would have required him to admit his lack of success with her. Couldn’t let that happen. No way.
He’d known Adrian Shelborne all his life. They’d gone to the same schools, hung out together, even been in Scouts together. Once, they’d chased the same girl. She’d eventually run off with one of the male cheer-leaders, embarrassing them both. Short of combat, nothing can bond males like being dumped by the same young woman.
Shel’s father had money, and prestige, and had helped Shel get to Princeton. Dave had gone to Temple, a local school that his family could afford. But he’d done well, discovered a facility for languages, and learned Greek so he could read Homer in the original. Ho phylos esten allos autos. A friend is a second self. He’d gone on to master Latin.
There was something majestic in the classical tongues, a sense of dignity and power that, somehow, didn’t surface in English. Maybe it was simply a