January 7, 2012
A shadow passed before the front window of the coffeeshop – and has she had done every day for the last five days, Pat looked up, hoping against hope that it would finally be John, Beverly and their baby.
It wasn't, of course; it never was. This time it was two teenagers; seeing her gaze, they waved, talked for a moment, then pushed their way into the shop.
"Couple of bulldogs," one said. "Extra peanut butter," he added.
Pat smiled. "Anything else?" she asked as she began to prepare the espresso.
"Got any of cranberry muffins?" the other asked.
"Uh-uh. I want a carrot muffin," the first replied.
"Two bulldogs, two muffins. Anything else?"
The kids looked at each other, shook their heads, then handed her a debit card.
"Ten oh two," she said, swiping the card, then handing it back. "Why don't you have a seat and I'll bring it over to you,"
she added.
"Thanks," one said, then headed to the large couch that was seated before the window.
Peanut butter, chocolate syrup and espresso, Pat chuckled to herself; it had sounded horrible the first time one of her customers had suggested it – but the drink had quickly caught on in the small town, earning the name of the local high school football team.
She poured the espressos into two cups, then added the milk, chocolate and peanut butter; with a practiced twirl, she blended the ingredients together, topped them with whipped cream, placed two muffins on a pair of plates and arranged everything on a tray.
Carrying it to the pair, she arranged the cups and plates before them, then straightened, looking out the picture window at the site of the old school.
The sign was gone now, moved to the new location on River Street; indeed, nothing of their former business remained. The front of the building was now encased in scaffolding and wrapped with plastic wrap against the cold wind that gusted up Wilson Street; beyond the opaque shield, she could see workmen beginning the arduous task of demolishing the interior structure of the building, carefully removing every trace of asbestos and mold and God-knew what else.
A good thing they got out of there, Pat thought; it was a cute place for two young newlyweds – but a family needed a home that was safe and healthy.
And one that was ready for them, she added. After John's call on New Year's Day, she had gathered her brunch guests together, returning them to the school, directing them to move the last of the furniture and boxes to the new house while Fred and Gy had thrown out the ruined mattress; confident that they would be returning soon, she had instructed everyone to arrange the furniture, unpack the boxes, and make the old farmhouse ready for the return of the new family.
And then she had waited.
It had been almost a week now – and not for the first time, Pat began to acknolwedge that they would not be returning.
John and Beverly were not coming home.
She nodded, accepting that painful fact. They had had a life before they came here, she reminded herself – a life that, for whatever reason had been taken from them. Now they had a chance to regain that life, she knew.
But it was a life that they would no longer be a part of, she realized.
She turned from the window, wiping a tear from her eye.
I should be happy for them, she reminded herself; we shared a good year – but people move on.
As they had.
Another shadow crossed the window – and despite her knowledge that John and Beverly were not coming back, Pat looked up. It was a single man this time, his head bent into the strong winter wind.
Not John, she thought. Not Beverly.
Steeling herself against the pain, she turned away, straightening one table, checking the cream and milk pitchers, glancing at the levels of hot coffee in the thermal carafes.
She had thought once that she would never miss this routine – but there was a relief in having the task. Just sitting at the house only served to make her miss her friends all the more; at least here she had something to do.
Until the night; until the time when she would have been calling them, reminding Beverly to have a good dinner, or to chat about some bit of area news – or just to talk to them.
She missed them.
She glanced up at a new shadow – but it was three people this time; not her Beverly and John. This was a pair of men and a woman, all dressed in elegant winter coats, hats pulled down against the wind, scarves wrapped around their faces, the wind whipping the woman's brilliant red hair around…
Red hair.
With a cry of relief, Pat raced to the door and pulled it open even as John and Beverly stepped into the shop.
Relieved and elated beyond words, Pat simply pulled them into her arms, crying and hugging them. "Oh, my dears! My dears!" she gasped, hugging them tightly – then pulled back, realizing they weren't alone.
Close against her chest, Beverly held her warmly wrapped son.
"The baby!" Pat said excitedly – then looked at her friends. "Oh, Beverly. You sit down. You probably shouldn't be on your feet yet! You look wonderful – but you sit down. John, you take the baby… No, I'll take the baby," she amended, taking the infant from his unprotesting mother, moving the blanket from his face, and beaming at her new godson.
"Aren't you just the sweetest thing?" she cooed. "You are you father's son, aren't you? All the girls are just going to be in love with you," she purred – then looked at the couple. "He is just the most precious thing!" she gushed – then stopped, realizing that the third person who had been walking with them was standing beside John, watching her in bemused silence.
"Pat," Jean-Luc said, "this is an old friend of ours, David Soongh. He's going to be staying with us for a while."
Pat stared at the unusual-looking man, then shifted the baby in her arms and extended a hand. "Hello, David. Welcome.
Can I get you a coffee? Tea?"
Beverly started to answer for the man, but Data answered. "Thank you – but I do not wish to interfere with your reunion. I have heard quite a lot about you and your son, Mrs. Edrickson; it is a pleasure to meet you. Jean-Luc, Beverly, I wished to do some research at the library. Shall I meet you later?"
"We'll come get you when we're done here," Picard said.
Data nodded, then adjusted his scarf in preparation for a return to the cold. "Again, a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he said, bowing over her hand, then leaving the shop.
"What a strange man," Pat said quietly.
"Yes – but brilliant," Picard offered.
"As if the people you know were anything but brilliant," Pat pointed out.
"He's also one of the nicest people you'll ever meet," Beverly added. "He'll be staying with us while he works on some research."
"Nonsense," Pat said. "You two are going to need your privacy – and having a newborn isn't going to make a guest feel very welcome, and God knows none of you are going to get any sleep. No, David can stay at our house," she said.
Beverly smiled. "Thank you, Pat – but that's not necessary. Data… David knows what he's in for with us – and it's only for a little while. He has plans," she added.
Pat nodded, then looked down at the babe in her arms before returning to look at her friends – who were not sitting down, she realized. Moving to one of the tables, she pulled out two chairs, nodding for them to sit then took a third chair for herself.
"He's a darling," she cooed, then looked at the two with frankly appraising eyes. "And you two are looking pretty good yourselves," she said. "A far sight from the first time I saw you," she added.
Bedraggled and sodden, she had seen them as little more than homeless strays then – but today? No: John was wrapped in a perfectly tailored camel's hair coat, a wool hat now in hand, thick leather gloves covering his hands, while Beverly wore an equally flattering coat of long black wool that fitted her frame perfectly.
"You've figured out everything, then?" she asked. "Money, credentials...?"
Beverly nodded. "We have. My medical license has been reinstated and recognized here in Illinois; John's records have been updated and our bank accounts and back pay re-established."
"And…?" Pat pressed.
"And…?"
"And are you two staying on?" she pressed.
Picard gave her a quizzical look. "Unless Gy's decided to return to teaching," he said.
Pat chuckled. "No. He's aching for you to return to the school. Literally. The boy's been living on ibuprofen for the last week. Guess he got out of shape fast when he stopped teaching. And you, Bev? Do I have to start looking for a new general manager?"
"I'm going to keep on with my research with Sho – but long distance for the time being," Beverly said. "I worked as a doctor while I was raising my first son; with your kind permission, I'd rather work here this time around, where I can spend time with the baby. But maybe fewer hours?" she added hopefully.
"Sandra won't argue with you," Pat replied. "She's made some serious money here in the last few weeks – more than she made at the bar – and more than she made with her degree. But I don't think she's planning on doing this long term," she added.
Beverly smiled – then winced.
"Oh, goodness, dear! You should be home in bed. Hold on; I've got some stew going in the back. Let me put some together…"
"I'll get it, Pat," Picard said, rising to his feet. "You two just visit."
Pat watched as the man walked away, then looked back at Beverly. "How does he keep getting more handsome every time I see him?" she asked.
Beverly smiled. "I ask myself that every day," she agreed.
Pat looked at the baby. "Don't you take after your papa that way, little one. You keep it in your pants until you find the right girl – you hear me?" she admonished the infant. "Your papa waited for your mama; you do the same thing. Don't break too many hearts – okay?"
He looked at her blankly, then balled up one fist and tried to move it to his mouth.
"Hmm, time for a snack," Beverly realized. Easing her coat from her shoulders, she took the baby into her arms, quickly adjusted her top, and with a flash of skin, positioned the baby to her breast. Another adjustment of the blanket and the feeding baby was discreetly covered.
"You've done that before," Pat chuckled.
"It's been a long time – but I guess there are some things you never forget," she sighed.
Pat watched her for a moment, then met her eyes. "Beverly, you and John have no obligations here – not to me or to Gy.
You've worked out all the problems you had with – well, with whoever dumped you here last year; if this isn't where the two of you want to be, then don't stay. We want you to be happy, dear; above all else, we want you all to be happy."
Beverly looked at her son – then met Pat's gaze. "Pat, we had the option of staying back there; we had friends – dear
friends - there. But… they moved on. They found their own ways in that life – and we realized we weren't a part of that anymore. We couldn't be part of that life again. But more than that: we realized we had a life here. With you, and Gy and
Ralph and Sandra… We want to be here, Pat," she said softly.
The older woman wrapped her arm around the nursing mother, kissing her on the cheek, trying not to let the tears that were leaking from her eyes touch the woman's face – then pulled back as Jean-Luc approached, a large bag in his hand.
"Stew, bread, some juice and rolls for breakfast," he informed her.
"I'll stop by the store on the way home," Pat said. "Your house is ready for you – but I didn't want to get any groceries until…"
"Until we came home," Picard concluded for her. "Don't worry; I can go shopping tonight…"
"Nonsense; you and Beverly and your friend David are all exhausted. I'll stop by later and make sure you're all settling in – including you, young man," she said, smiling down at the baby.
He pulled away from Beverly's breast, meeting Pat's gaze.
She reached for his hand, touching the tiny fingers – then glanced up at his parents. "So, did you decide on a name?" she asked.
Picard smiled, then crouched down beside her. "We have indeed. Pat, please meet… Patrick Gyorr Picard."
Pat stared at him. "Patrick?" she repeated, stunned. "You named him… for me?"
"And Gy," Beverly said.
Pat looked at the two, then at the baby, the tears rolling down her cheek. "Well then, Patrick, do I have some stories to tell you about your mama and your papa."
Data removed his hat, and though he didn't feel the relative heat of the library, he followed the practice of the locals, sliding his coat off and placing it on the chair beside him as he sat down.
A man took the chair on the other side of him. "So?"
"They decided to stay in this time frame," Data informed him. "Obviously."
"And you?"
"I cannot effect changes to this timeline while remaining in the future," he pointed out. "I will acclimate myself to this time, and then I will leave the Captain and Dr. Crusher…"
"Jean-Luc and Beverly," the man corrected.
"I will leave Jean-Luc and Beverly to their own methods and goals while I attend to mine."
"Meaning…"
"They will act locally; I will act globally. With luck we will change that which must be changed while allowing that which should remain to do so," he said.
"Sounds like a plan, Data," the second man chuckled.
"And already some things have changed," he replied, reaching into his suit coat pocket, withdrawing a small piece of paper.
He handed it over.
"This was the only reference you found?"
"The archives of this time were all but obliterated during the war. That I found this reference was fortuitous; if I had not, we would not have been able to find them."
"And they don't know about this?"
"No one knows. I did not think it prudent to reveal it to Captain Riker; I was concerned that they might feel my actions would affect the timeline," the android said.
The second man looked over the article, then crumbled it in his hand and tossed it aside. "Clearly they did," he pointed out.
"Indeed. We have changed the timeline; the one before us now lies untouched, ready to be shaped by those who live here,"
Data agreed, then faced the man. "Wesley, you should visit your mother. She worries about you."
Wesley grinned. "I will, Data – soon. I promise. I'm looking forward to meeting my step-brother. But I have some work of my own to do first. Don't worry; I'll be in touch," he added, then rose from the table.
Data watched him walk away – then realized that the man was no longer present, if he had ever been there.
Alone again, he reached for the discarded piece of newsprint.
Area teacher and wife killed in accident.
John and Beverly Picard and their newborn son were killed in a tragic accident on Wilson on the night of December 31, 2011. They were driving to Delnor Hospital after the birth of their child when their car was struck by a drunk driver. The family was killed instantly. The driver is being held without bond. Funeral arrangements are pending.
Data glanced at the paper, then crumbled it once more before rising from the table and placing the paper in the trash receptacle.
