Chapter Nine - This is My Quest

Paso Robles, California
May 19, 1958

She woke slowly, letting herself enjoy the sensation of relaxing without the blaring of her alarm clock signaling the start of a new day of computations and arguments with a know-it-all hybrid computer. But why hadn't her alarm gone off? Sleepily, she rolled over to see the time, and found herself facing a light pink wall instead.

"I hate pink," she said, sitting up and looking around the pink and white decorated bedroom with bleary-eyed confusion.

"I said you should have gone for the yellow wallpaper, but do you ever take advice from me? Oh, no. Of course not." A girl of about nineteen stuck her blonde head through the door. "And you'd better get up. Isn't Johnny supposed to be here at seven-thirty?"

She nodded, slowly remembering the events of yesterday. 1958! She had actually leaped and was now stuck in 1958 with very little memory. Dr. Beckett, aka Johnny Bircham, had stayed late the night before, trying to help her remember useful details of the experiment which had brought her here. He'd also tried to fill her in on things she'd need to know to successfully pass as Sara Jane Evans. Generously, he'd offered to give her a ride to work this morning, a suggestion simplified tremendously by the fact that she'd leaped into "his" girlfriend, and that they worked at the same department store downtown.

She ran a hand through her hair, glancing around for a clock. Not seeing one immediately, she asked, "What time is it now?

The girl, earlier revealed to be Sara Jane's younger sister Karen, smiled tauntingly. "Quarter past seven."

Gasping, she jumped out of bed. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

"You've got an alarm clock. Besides, you were up so late, I figured you needed your beauty sleep." She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes with mock suspicion. "What were you guys doing up until midnight, anyway?"

"Talking." She searched through the dresser for something to wear, but found only a number of sweaters, socks and underthings. "What do I usually wear to work?"

"What?" Karen gave her 'sister' a strange look.

"Oh, never mind." She moved to the closet, hoping to find something hanging up. The closet held a number of skirts, suits, and fancy dresses, nothing she'd ever consider wearing to work at a small-town department store.

"Your white skirt is in the laundry, your pink suit is still at the dry-cleaners, and I haven't mended your angora sweater yet," Karen said helpfully. "And don't think I didn't notice you changed the subject, Sara Jane."

"We had a lot to talk about." She sorted through the dresses, wondering which, if any, would be appropriate for the time period. Finally she picked the simplest looking one and threw it on the bed. "I'm getting in the shower. If Dr. Beck – uh, if Johnny gets here, tell him I'll be right out."

The bathroom stood between the two bedrooms, floor and walls neatly tiled in a popular '50s style. An antique bathtub sat in the corner, and she hurried to start the water running. It took her a moment to figure out the old faucet, but as she adjusted the water temperature, she received a brief impression of familiarity... her grandmother's bathtub? The memory was faint and undecipherable, so she ignored it and plugged the drain to let the water fill.

The water felt wonderfully hot against her skin as she slid into the tub, and she let herself relax, forgetting her alien surroundings and lack of memory with a grateful sigh. The ringing of a doorbell brought her back to reality a few minutes later, and she hurried to find the soap. Out of necessity, she skipped a shampoo; one look at the large men's razor sitting on the edge of the tub convinced her shaving could wait too.

While the water drained, she wrapped the towel around her body and hunted for toiletries. Toothbrush and toothpaste were easily found, although she balked at the idea of using someone else's toothbrush. She didn't even know which one to use. Maybe this afternoon she could buy a new one, but that wouldn't solve the problem now. She started to reach for one randomly, but then an idea crossed her mind. Gingerly, she touched the bristles of both toothbrushes; one felt damp, the other didn't. The dry one must belong to Sara Jane, so she used it before she could change her mind. When finished with that, she moved on to the next task, hair, but she didn't immediately notice a hairbrush.

"Darn it, where do you keep your comb, Sara Jane?" She knelt down and looked in the curtained area under the sink, then after glancing up with frustration, spotted a hairbrush sitting on the back of the toilet. She grabbed it, turned to the mirror, which by now had partially cleared of steam... and screamed.

She couldn't remember her first name, or where she'd gone to college, or if she had a husband or boyfriend waiting for her back home – wherever home was – but she did know the face that looked back at her in the mirror was not hers. The scream was an involuntary reaction, one which she immediately regretted.

The bathroom door flew open, and Sam came into the room, Karen right behind him. He scanned the bathroom quickly, then settled his eyes on the fellow leaper. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." She took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart and think of a fast explanation. "I just saw... a spider... on the mirror."

"A spider?" Karen rolled her eyes. "We thought you were being murdered or something! Geeze."

Looking at the partially fogged mirror, Sam made the connection and had to hide a smile by coughing. After four years of leaping, he had grown used to seeing someone else's reflection, but the first time had nearly scared him to death too. Sympathetically, he touched her shoulder. "Spiders can be frightening, if you're not expecting to see them."

"I don't even see a spider." Karen inspected the mirror, then turned with disgust. "You are imagining things again, Sara Jane."

"Maybe it ran off," Sam suggested. Then he noticed the shoulder beneath his hand was soft and bare, and realized that she wore nothing but a towel. He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. "Uh, maybe we should look for the spider later...let Sara Jane get dressed."

She blushed horribly, having forgotten her state of undress in the confusion of having seen a blue-eyed blonde looking back at her from the mirror. Self-consciously, she put one hand on her chest, making sure the towel didn't slip.

"Good lord! And you've been standing here looking at her. Shame on you, Johnny Bircham." Karen pushed him out of the bathroom, then stood in the hallway while her 'sister' dashed into her bedroom.

—

"Mr. Bircham, you are late!" A short, older man glared at both of them. "And so are you, Miss Evans."

"Yes, sir, we realize that," Sam quickly answered. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

The man gave a loud humph. "That is what you've said every week for the past three years. Go on to the storeroom and start unpacking the new shipment of men's coats... don't know why they send us winter clothes in the summer, but they do, so we've got to sell them."

"All right," Sam said, and started walking toward the rear of the store.

"Sara Jane, where do you think you're going?"

She stopped and tried to act casual. "I thought I'd help Johnny with those..." Her voice slowed when she saw the manager shaking his head. "...coats?"

"Sara Jane – Johnny works in the back, and you and I work out here. I manage the cash register, and you work the sales floor. Or would you rather take over management and change everyone's positions around?" He glared at her sarcastically.

She shot a brief look at Sam, who shrugged helplessly and continued toward the back room. Turning back to the manager, she said, "I'm sorry. Of course, I work the sales floor. I'm just having a rough morning."

The work was different than she was used to, but she adapted quickly to the art of looking busy, and greeting everyone with a smile. That morning she suggested which tie an elderly woman ought to give her husband, helped a housewife pick a brightly colored scarf in addition to her purchase of a new handbag, and assisted a businessman in choosing a pair of suspenders. With each new person she met, she couldn't help but wonder who they were, what they were doing in the future. After a brief lunch, she found herself fitting a young girl with new shoes.

"I think we need to try a bigger size," she said doubtfully, after trying to squeeze the girl's feet into the narrow dress shoes. The child actually needed shoes in a wider width, but the style the mother insisted on didn't come any wider.

"You shouldn't complain so much, Elizabeth Ann," the mother scolded softly.

She froze, the shoebox in one hand. "What did you say?"

The mother looked up, surprised and a little guilty. "I told Liz-Ann she shouldn't be so picky about her shoes. She does this every time we go shopping."

Elizabeth! She nodded faintly, and turned to go to the storeroom, her heart pounding. A grin spread itself across her face, and when she bumped into Sam in the dimly lit room, she didn't try to hide her glee.

Sam raised an eyebrow, smiling himself. "What's so funny, Ms Calavicci?"

"Actually, it's 'Dr. Calavicci'," she told him lightly. "But you can call me Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth?" He looked confused for a second, then his face lit up. "That's your name? You remembered! That's fantastic."

"Yeah." She grinned, then suddenly remembered the little girl who needed shoes. Holding up the shoebox, she asked, "Do we have these in a size two-and-a-half?"

Sam took the box and inspected the label. "I'll check." A minute later he handed Elizabeth a new shoebox, which she took out to the waiting customers.

The rest of the day passed fairly smoothly, but by the time 5 o'clock rolled around, Elizabeth took off her name tag with relief. The thought occurred to her how mundane it was to have spent the entire day working as a salesgirl, when an extinct world lay all around her, begging to be explored. But at the same time, some inner instinct cautioned her to keep a low profile.

"My – Johnny's – mother called today," Sam told Elizabeth while they drove. "Apparently, I'm supposed to bring you to dinner tonight at her house. Some sort of weekly tradition, I think. You up to it?"

Dinner in an unfamiliar house, surrounded by strangers who would treat her, and expect to be treated, as if they were long-time acquaintances? The idea didn't appeal to her, but the alternative would be going "home" to a strange apartment, and pretending to be a sister to someone she'd only known a day. Exploring 1958 on her own didn't seem to be an option. And if she went she'd get to spend time with Dr. Beckett, her only link to reality. At the least, she'd be with someone vaguely familiar, someone who knew what it felt like to be an alien visitor to the past.

"Sure, why not?" she answered.