Ms. Scrooge Page 16

  Why do my hands look so strange? The skin on the back of my hands is all shriveled and the veins are standing out. I look like I have old lady hands all of a sudden. I need to moisturize better.

  “Ma’am?” the cashier says.

  God, why does this girl keep calling me ma’am?

  My eyes are drawn to the television set behind her that’s playing the news. There’s a man on the screen who looks incredibly familiar. He’s talking into a microphone to the press, so he must be somebody important. I stare at his wrinkled face, trying to place him. He’s so familiar…

  “Who is that on the television?” I ask the cashier.

  She rolls her eyes at me, like I’ve asked an incredibly stupid question. “That’s Governor Hall.”

  Governor Hall?

  Oh. My. God.

  That’s who it is. It’s Richard. Except it’s not Richard. It’s Richard with gray hair and a hell of a lot more lines on his face. He’s so much older than he was earlier today. And somehow he’s governor.

  What the hell is going on here?

  “Ma’am?” The cashier is starting to look a little freaked out. “Are you okay?”

  I put my hand on my chest. This heartburn is terrible. I am never drinking bourbon again.

  “Fine,” I croak.

  A mirror. I’ve got to find a mirror.

  “Do you have a bathroom I can use?” I ask urgently.

  The cashier shoots me a look. “It’s for staff only.”

  Right. Of course.

  I abandon all my purchases at the counter and run over to the display where they keep the reading glasses. There’s a tiny mirror set up there. I move the mirror so that I can get a glimpse of my reflection, blinking until my face comes into some sort of focus.

  And I almost faint.

  I’m old. Not just middle-aged, but seriously old. As old as Richard. My hair is still brown, undoubtedly from a bottle, but it’s a lighter shade of brown and all the volume is gone. I’ve got huge bags under my eyes, my cheeks are sunken, and there are wrinkles surrounding my lips. To think I used to worry about some crow’s feet. It almost seems silly now.

  I reach out and touch a dark spot below my right eye. What happened to me? What’s going on here? Is this more of Marley’s doing? Or have I completely lost my mind?

  My heart is pounding in my chest so hard, I feel a little dizzy. What’s going on here? This has got to be Marley’s doing somehow.

  Over the next two days, you’re going to get three visits. One will be from the spirit of the past, one from the spirit of the present, and one from the spirit of the future.

  This must be the “spirit of the future.” But the other two were just movies. This is… real. I’m living it. Unless… it’s some kind of dream. I reach out and give my wrinkled hand a pinch.

  Ouch!

  Okay, this isn’t a dream. This is really happening. I’m living in a world about thirty years in the future where Richard is the governor and I don’t feed cats anymore. And the worst part is, I’m not sure how to make it stop.

  I reach in my purse for my phone. It looks a lot different from my old phone—it’s so tiny that it nearly slides right out of my hand. Who would want a phone so tiny? Why would I have purchased something so impractical? Worse, I’m having trouble seeing the screen. I hold it as far away from my face as possible, like I used to see my mother do when she didn’t want to buy reading glasses. I scroll through the list of names on the screen until I see Polly’s name.

  I’ve got to talk to my sister.

  I grip the tiny phone in my hand so tightly that my fingers start to tingle. When a male voice finally answers, I feel a rush of relief—it must be Steve. Thank God.

  “What is it, Elizabeth?” The person on the other line sounds exasperated before I’ve said a word. “What now?”

  “Uh…” This doesn’t sound like my brother-in-law. He sounds too young and far too angry. “Can I speak to… Polly?”

  “What are you talking about?” the guy says. “It’s Peter. What the hell are you bothering me about on Christmas Eve? I already got the sales report on your desk this afternoon.”

  “Oh… well…”

  “Don’t you have any boundaries at all?” the man, Peter, rants on. “It’s Christmas Eve.” I start to apologize, but before I can get the words out, he adds, “If this is about you wanting another booty call, forget it. I have some self-respect left.”

  My mouth falls open. What? “It… it’s not that…”

  “Good. Because I’ve got plenty of dirt on you now, Elizabeth. I’m not going to play your head games anymore. None of us are.”

  “Right.” My mouth is so dry, it’s hard to swallow. “I… I’m sorry I bothered you. I’m going to go now.”

  I hang up before this horrible man can keep screaming at me. What the hell was that? What sort of relationship do I have with the people I work with that they would talk to me like that? And what dirt is he talking about? I’ve never done anything wrong in my life. Even when I had a chance to screw over Richard, I didn’t take it.

  I’ve got to talk to Polly.

  I squint at my phone again. I can’t see a damn thing. God, I wish I had a magnifying glass. Or some reading glasses.

  Ooh, that gives me an idea.

  I pull one of the pairs of reading glasses off the display. I’m sure it’s not the right prescription, but it’s better than nothing. I shove the glasses onto my nose, then try the phone again.

  It works. The letters are much clearer, although far from perfect. I scroll through the display and find Polly name. I take a deep breath and tap on it.

  It rings four times. That horrible burning sensation in my chest just keeps getting worse. I rub my chest, waiting for someone to pick up. Please, Polly. Please pick up.

  “Hello?”

  It’s Polly’s voice. I almost burst into tears. “Polly? It’s me.”

  “No, this is Taylor.”

  Taylor? My infant niece? How is the little baby girl who was toddling around a few weeks ago now talking and sounding like an adult the same age as I am? But of course, if this is really the future, Taylor is no longer a baby. She hasn’t been in a long time.

  “Taylor,” I gasp. “This is Elizabeth. Aunt Ebbie.”

  There’s a long pause on the other line. “Ebbie?”

  “Yes, Ebbie!” I repeat. I clear my throat. “Your mother’s sister.”

  There’s another longer pause—she’s struggling to place my identity. She has no idea who I am. “What’s this about?”

  “I just…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I need to talk to Polly. Please.”

  “About what?”

  Why won’t this girl put my sister on the phone? “Something important. Please. I need her help.”

  “Well, she needed your help when my father had heart surgery last year,” Taylor says. “How come you didn’t return her calls?”

  Oh God, she does know who I am. Which is even worse, apparently. “I’m so sorry, Taylor…”

  “He’s doing fine now—thanks for asking,” Taylor hisses into the phone. “No thanks to you.”

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know…”

  “You didn’t know?” She sounds incredulous. “Is that really your excuse?” She snorts. “Please don’t bother my mother again. She deserves better than a sister like you.”

  I stare at the phone, which has gone dead in my hand. I stand there, absorbing the situation. Polly hates me. My sister hates me. And it sounds like she’s completely justified.

  What has my life become?

  “Ebbie?”

  I jump at the sound of my name. I clutch my chest, breathing hard. Why is it so hard to breathe? What’s wrong with me?

  I look down and realize who called my nickname. It’s an old man. He’s got a full head of white hair and more wrinkles than I do. He sitting in a wheelchair, and he’s got oxygen prongs stuck in his nose, with an entire oxygen tank hanging off the side of the chair. There’s a middle-ag
ed woman behind him, holding the handles of his chair.

  “Ebbie? Is that you?”

  I pull off the reading glasses and stare down at the old man, trying to place him. For a moment, I can’t figure it out for anything. Then I look at his blue eyes and crooked smile, and it hits me.

  It’s Tim.

  Oh my God, it’s Tim! And he’s old, like me. Although he looks a lot worse for wear than I do. I actually look quite well-preserved. He definitely does not.

  “Tim!” I nearly shout in a voice that sounds very unfamiliar. I throw my arms around him and get a bit caught in the oxygen tubing, but he doesn’t seem bothered. “I can’t believe it’s you!”

  The woman who had been pushing his chair flashes me an irritated look. “You’ll have to be more careful,” she snaps.

  But Tim only laughs. “Don’t mind Sue. It’s her job to worry about me.”

  His laugh sets off a coughing fit. It’s a deep hacking cough from somewhere in the depths of his chest. He sounds awful, but I probably shouldn’t say so.

  “You sound awful,” I blurt out. Oh well.

  Sue shoots me a look, but Tim doesn’t seem all that bothered. “I got pneumonia last winter and I never recovered entirely. That’s why I got Sue to look after me.” He coughs again. “I’m stuck with the oxygen, unfortunately. Forever, I guess. Anyway, how are you?” He manages a smile that reminds me of the young Tim. “You look great.”

  “I’m…” I’m having the worst night of my life. If there’s anybody who might understand what I’m going through, it’s Tim. But I have a feeling we don’t have that sort of relationship anymore. And he doesn’t look like he’s in any position to help me with my problems. “I’m fine.”

  “Good,” he says. “I’m really glad.”

  I look closer at Tim. He’s really sick—that much is obvious. He’s very pale and wasted. He doesn’t even look like he’s going to make it through this winter. Maybe not even through the night.

  “What happened to your crutches?” I ask him.

  He blinks at me in surprise. “My crutches?”

  I clear my throat. “You know. The ones you use to walk.”

  “Oh.” He shakes his head. “I can’t use those anymore. For a while now. I haven’t walked in… Well, it’s been years.”

  I shouldn’t have even asked. It’s obvious he’s not walking anywhere anymore. He doesn’t even look like he has the strength to push his chair.

  “We should go,” Sue snips. She reaches down to adjust the blanket concealing Tim’s legs. “It’s very late.”

  “We’re just picking up some of my medications,” Tim explains. “Sue was going to run down herself, but I never get to leave the house these days. So I wanted to come. I had to insist, actually.”

  Sue snorts like she thought this was a terrible idea.

  “Listen,” I say to Tim. “Is there any chance I could talk to you for a minute?” I glance at his nurse. “Alone?”

  Sue shoots me a dirty look, but I couldn’t care less.

  “Sure,” Tim says. “Sue, why don’t you grab my prescriptions? I’ll wait here.”

  She frowns. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “For God sake, woman!” he bursts out. “I’m not going to drop dead if you leave me here for five minutes. Just go.”

  Tim is shaking his head as she goes to the pharmacy counter to pick up his medications. I secretly think she might be right. He does look like he could die at any moment. But he’s not alone. I’m here. Although in any sort of medical emergency, I’d be useless.

  “Ebbie.” His voice sounds different but the same. Older, but still him. It makes my chest ache. “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years. I heard your company is doing really well.”

  The company. Apparently, I’m still working in some high power position, but not quite like it hoped. It sounds like my employees hate me—they’re plotting against me. But that’s the least of my problems.

  “Something is happening to me…” I rub my chest again. “Something really weird.”

  He smiles distantly. “This reminds me of when we first met. A million years ago, right?”

  “You remember that?”

  “Of course I do!” He looks affronted. “My body may have gone to hell, but my mind…” He taps his forehead. “It’s still sharp. Well, mostly.”

  “It was just… a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, it was.” He looks off into the distance, at the eyeglasses on display. “I really thought you were the one for a little while.”

  “And what happened?”

  He blinks up at me. “What do you mean, what happened? You know what happened. We saw each other a few times, but you said you needed to concentrate on your work. So…”

  “Did you ever get married?”

  “Me?” He shakes his head slowly. “Never met the right one, I guess.”

  “Did I?”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Are you asking me if you ever got married?”

  “Yes…”

  He frowns. “Ebbie, are you okay?”

  I wring my hands together. “Please, Tim. Just tell me.”

  “Well…” He still has that concerned look on his face. “No, you never did.”

  Oh.

  “You never seemed to mind though.” He shrugs. “You were always married to your work, weren’t you?” He looks me up and down. “Anyway, it worked out for you. You’re really successful, just like you wanted.”

  Tim starts to cough again. This time it’s worse than the first fit. It’s a deep, wet cough that makes me think he’s going to drop dead right in front of me. Sue rushes over from the pharmacy and shoots me a look like I’m worse than Hitler.

  “We really should go,” she says to him, seizing the handles of his wheelchair.

  He nods, coughing too hard to protest. He raises his hand. “Bye, Ebbie,” he manages.

  I watch as she pushes him out of the drugstore. He’s doing terribly—even worse than I am, if that’s possible. He doesn’t look like he’ll last much past the new year.

  Tim is going to die—soon. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Well, not in the future. But in the present, I can change things. I can… I don’t know… warn him to take better care of himself. Something.

  Maybe that’s what Marley wanted me to see. She wanted me to know that Tim would get sick and die if I don’t do something about it.

  I run out of the drugstore, the cat food and antacid forgotten—it’s not like I have any cats to feed anymore. It’s so cold outside. The wind feels like it’s going right through me. Even my warm coat doesn’t feel warm enough. My chest burns again, this time so badly, I’m gasping for air. Maybe I should have bought that antacid after all. This is the worst heartburn ever.

  Oh my God, that hurts.

  The streets are nearly empty. It’s Christmas Eve, after all. Most people are with their families. My chest doesn’t burn anymore—it feels like there’s an elephant sitting on it. I fall to my knees because I can’t stand on my feet anymore. I gasp for breath, but it’s like my lungs can’t get in enough air.

  And I have this horrible, strange feeling. A feeling of doom. And I know what’s happening to me.

  It’s a heart attack. Just like what happened to Marley.

  I look around the street, but it’s empty. Tim and his nurse are long gone. I’m all alone here, lying in the dirty street, in a pile of half-melted gray snow. If I don’t get help within the next few seconds, I’m a goner. I know that with absolute certainty. I’m going to die.

  I have never been in love—there is no one in my life. My employees hate me. My sister isn’t speaking to me.

  I’m going to die alone.

  And now I realize the truth:

  Marley didn’t want me to see that Tim was going to die. She’s showing me my own death. On the sidewalk in Manhattan.

  On Christmas Eve. In a pile of dirty snow.

  Chapter 29

  “No matter how sma
ll an act of kindness or generosity or simple positivity you put out into the world, it will make a difference.” —Wonder Woman

  I wake up to a feeling of moisture on my eyelids. What is that?

  Oh my God, Alexander is licking my eyelids! Ew ew ew!

  I jerk up in bed, and he lets out loud meow before leaping out of the bed. I rub my eyelids, trying to get rid of the cat saliva. Yuck.

  That’s when I notice my hands. They’re perfectly smooth once again.

  I’m young again.

  I’m young again!

  My heart is pounding in my chest as I look out the window. It must’ve been snowing last night, because the streets are blanketed in snow. The sun is shining, and there are only a handful of people on the street. I rub my eyes again, trying to get oriented. I reach for my phone on my nightstand.

  “Siri,” I say urgently. “What day is today?”

  “Today?” Siri says. “Why, today is Christmas day!”

  Thank God. It’s still only Christmas day. It’s not too late to make things right. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  It’s almost seven in the morning. A bit on the early side, but not for me. And not for a lot of the people I work with. I look down at my phone and select a number from the list. I hear ringing several times as I tap my foot against the carpet.

  Come on, pick up!

  “Hello?” It’s Courtney’s voice. She sounds as wide awake as I am, which isn’t a surprise. “Elizabeth?”

  “Hello, Courtney,” I say in a clipped voice. “Did I wake you?”

  “No,” she says, sounding mystified. “I was already awake.”

  “Good,” I say. “Because I was reviewing our records and I noticed you had quite a few lunches out with clients during your time working for the company. You racked up quite a few expenses. Above budget, actually.”

  “Yes…” Courtney’s voice wavers. “But I only went when you asked me to. I mean, I didn’t think that I…”

  “Yes, well, be that as it may, there’s only one thing to do.”

  She sucks in a breath. “Elizabeth… I swear…”

  “When you return to the company, we’ll have to give you a bigger expense account.”