"This is the sense of the desert hills, that there is room enough and time enough." - Mary Austin
Chapter 17
Alamogordo
Together, Sam and Araceli rode south until they reached Alamogordo. It was larger than any of the towns Sam had driven through so far, and everywhere were signs of expansion. It was the gateway city into Holloman Air Force Base, so many service people lived off-base in the city, and some retired Air Force veterans wanted to stay in the growing city they had come to love.
Araceli hummed as she inspected gas prices. Then she saw one station ahead with a decent price. "When did you last refill?"
"Socorro," Sam answered, thinking back to that stop and the Mafia shooting at him. It felt like such a long time ago.
"It's cheaper here. I never go below a quarter tank, especially when driving through the countryside." She pulled into the Diamond Shamrock gas station and to an empty pump.
"I'll fill up," Sam told her, knowing she had only the money he gave her. "How about we eat while we're here?" He glanced around. They had passed many promising places along the main road. "Little Caesar, KFC, or Rocket National Buffet?"
"I want you to sit, so let's do the Chinese buffet thing."
Sam smiled at her terse words. "You want me to sit?"
"Well, I don't want you bleeding everywhere," she said in excuse. "Besides, to be honest, I could use a soft seat. Your bike really does kill my ass. I'll get us a table. It's next door, so just walk the bike over. But be careful!" With that, she strode off quickly. A little too fast. Sam figured she also picked the buffet because it was most likely to have clean restrooms.
Al cocked his head as he watched her. "Oh, how I would love to massage that aching tush."
"Al!" Sam snapped, yet even a good farm boy like him could not help but watch how those tights accented her curves. Sam walked into the small store and dug out his wallet. "Fill up on Premium." Since it was not his money, he figured he might as well get the good stuff.
"Nice bike," said the scraggly man at the cash register. "Nice dame on your bike too. You'll need that arm looked at … just warnin' ya," he said with a nod to Sam's injury.
He looked over and saw the bleeding had soaked the bandage again. No wonder he felt lightheaded. Sam ignored it for now and handed over a hundred dollar bill.
"Whoa, sorry, sonny." He pointed to a sign on the counter. No bills over $20 accepted.
Sam grimaced. "Seriously?" He checked the wallet deeper. Hundreds, a couple fifties, two fives, and three ones … not enough small bills to pay. "Okay, I'm gonna need to break this. I'll be back."
Al stopped staring at a display of cigars and looked around in confusion. "Whoa, are we not paying?"
"No cash over twenty," Sam grumbled as he walked back to the door.
"Wait, Sam. We're strapped on time, y'know, and you're stumbling from blood loss. Why go through the hassle? You have the money. Pay the guy a bribe to take a hundred."
"You would think of something as low as bribery," he hissed in irritation.
"I'm thinking of a little hot tamale sitting alone in a restaurant, totally undefended."
Sam paused near the door and considered it. If it was just himself, he would never agree to it, but he had to think of Araceli now. He did not like the idea of her sitting alone where she could be nabbed by the Mafia. Ethically, it was wrong, of course. Then again, the existence of that money was wrong. Who knows what criminal things the Mafia did to come into all those millions. Redistributing it was more noble.
He walked back to the counter and leaned in conspiratorially. "How much for you to take the money?"
The man looked as if he no longer understood English. "Not a question of accepting it. I can't. Our register doesn't even have a slot for hundreds."
"You get lunch breaks, right? I'm in a hurry, so let's say you took the cash in order the get smaller bills for me. Ah, what a gentleman, right?" he said, forcing himself to wink, as he imagined was likely appropriate. "That deserves a reward. So let's just say, as a reward for your loyalty to customers, I simply told you to 'keep the change.' Now, if you happen to break this hundred on your lunch break, I surely won't say anything. What say you?" He felt slick and dirty just acting this way, yet a deep part of him realized this was precisely something Theodore Nyt would have done. "I'll even give you some extra." He pulled out the fifty and laid it on the counter. "Yours if you don't tell anyone that you ever saw me or that girl pass through here."
The poor man stared at that hundred and fifty as if he had never seen money like that before in his life, and those pieces of paper meant salvation. He looked left and right, then snatched away both. "Fill up on tank three. Have a nice day, sir."
Sam tipped his head, turned around, and walked out with a sour face. "I feel dirty."
"It's Mafia money, Sam," Al reminded him. "That guy could probably use it to feed his family. You're redistributing the wealth. Robin Hood would be proud."
"Bribing is still wrong."
Sam filled up the tank, looking over his shoulder many times. Then he walked the bike over to the restaurant. Inside, he easily found Araceli, went to the buffet, and filled up on peppered steak, steamed vegetables, crab rangoons, and green tea. It was a quiet lunch, neither speaking much, mostly not even looking at each other. He listened to the softly playing music instead and began to hum along.
They went to the buffet for seconds. Sam got more meat, realizing he needed the protein after so much blood loss. Once they were done, Sam gave the waitress two hundreds. "Change in twenties for this, please," he requested with a gleaming smile. She smacked her gum, nodded laconically, and took the money to the cash register. "Good lunch," he complimented to Araceli.
"Sorry if I'm bad company."
"What?" he asked in surprise. "Why do you say that?"
"You hardly spoke."
"I'm tired."
"You should see a doctor."
"If you know one who's no-questions-asked and accepts cash, I'll do it."
She pouted and stirred her coffee. "None around here. A little down the road, though…"
Somewhere behind him, Sam heard the voice of someone talking fast on a cellphone to hurry up before it was deemed rude. "Yes, we're at Rocket. Okay, we'll meet you here. Ten minutes? Perfect! Yes, yes. Not a problem. Sam Beckett out." He pressed the power button and hung the massive cellphone onto his belt, where it lay like a giant brick. "Al and Tina are coming. You're not upset?"
"Of course not, Sam."
That far-too-familiar voice, mixed with a woman saying that particular name, made both Sam and Al look sharply behind them. Unfortunately, the voices came from an angle he could not see.
"I'm heading to the lady's room," came the woman's voice.
Al turned pale. "That was today?" he gasped. Al rushed straight through two tables to angle himself, just in time to see the Sam Beckett of 1995 give a cute kiss to Donna.
"I'll get your Mongolian barbecue started," Sam said with a warm smile to her.
"Do you know what I want?"
"The usual, right?"
She wrinkled her nose in a laugh and kissed his cheek. "This is why I love you," she whispered, aware that they were in public.
"Oh … crappola." Al's fingers clutched his hair in frustration. "Not good, not good … shit!"
At his table, Sam saw himself … a younger self, but not by many years. For him, that was the same face he had last viewed in his own bathroom mirror, precisely how he remembered himself looking.
"Theodore?" asked Araceli. "Didn't that man say he was Sam Beckett? Is that the man you admire so much?"
The Sam from 1995 heard her and glanced over. "Do you know me?" He glanced at the seated couple, checking them out up and down, but did not recognize either.
"I … uh…" Sam was at a loss on how to explain.
Al was fast on the uptake. "Tell him you saw him in Time Magazine. They called you the next Einstein."
"Ah, right! I, uh … saw that article in Time Magazine. Next Einstein, you know."
Araceli jolted. "He's that smart?"
1995-Sam blushed a little. "Oh, that. Silly thing, really. They just wanted a name everyone would recognize, but Einstein was in a totally different league than me."
Al waved his hand. "You're being modest."
Sam repeated him exactly since he had no idea what to say to … himself!
"No, really. Those magazine people were just misled by our PR department. But thanks anyway. Do you work around here? Are you into string theory? Or just looking for a job? We're rather short-staffed where I'm at now and looking for people who know what they're doing."
Al cringed. "Damn, I forgot this was the time period where you were looking to hire more people. You were even asking total strangers … like this," he realized.
"Ah, no," Sam laughed lightly. "I mean, new technology … uh, intrigues me, but … no, I'm a lawyer, not a scientist."
"Oh, too bad," the other Sam muttered with a pout. "We already have one or two of those."
"One or two?" laughed Al. "Oh Sam, you have no idea who works there beyond the crew in the lab."
"Well," said the doppelgänger with a pleasant smile and a shrug of at least I tried, "thanks for taking an interest in science. Have a nice day." He continued to the buffet table, grabbed a bowl, and loaded up on peppered steak, steamed vegetables, and crab rangoons. He brought that bowl to a table, humming along to the overhead music. Then he went to get Donna's bowl ready for the Mongolian barbecue.
Araceli leaned across the table. "He seems like a nice guy. Very humble. No wonder you admire him."
"Thanks," Sam said, watching his past self glance through the food selection.
"He even ordered the same thing as you," Araceli whispered. "And he hums like you do. Are you sure you're not cousins? Then again, you don't look anything alike."
"Lots of people like rangoons," Sam muttered, feeling uncomfortable at this proximity.
The waitress came back to their table with a receipt and his change. Sam left a generous tip and hurried out before things got any more complicated. However, Araceli excused herself to the ladies' room. Sam stepped outside for fresh air and a fast talk with Al.
"What am I … he … doing here? What's going on?" Sam demanded in an urgent whisper, glancing through the window to where his past self sat. "I don't remember going out to eat. I don't even recognize this restaurant. I should recognize it, right? I've been recalling everything else, but not this place."
"She loves eating at this place," said Al. "It's near the base and close to where you live, after all."
"She?" Sam asked in confusion.
Al opened his mouth but froze. If Sam did not remember Rocket National Buffet, it must have been a place partial to Donna alone. Whenever it was Donna's turn to pick a restaurant, she wanted the Chinese buffet. In the original timeline, Donna was not there, and the crew never ate at this place. So of course Sam would not remember, since any memory of this place would trigger memories of who he had dined with. Al began to mentally cuss as only a Navy man can.
"You and … well … she's, um, someone from work, and I … we went here sometimes and … we'd send Gooshie to grab Chinese takeout on hectic days. I can't talk about stuff at the Project, you know. Rules and all." Al cringed back, knowing that sounded immensely lame. This was just another Chinese restaurant, after all. It had nothing to do with Project Quantum Leap.
Inside, just as Araceli was about to reach for the door to the lady's room, Donna stepped out. "Oh!" gasped the lovely older woman as she jolted back. "So sorry."
"It's fine," Araceli assured. "Hey, aren't you the lady with that man, Sam Beckett?"
"Yes, he's my husband." She blushed with happiness at just the mention of him, what Araceli understood to mean a deep love for her man.
"Really? My friend admires him more than he likes to admit. I'm not sure what Dr. Beckett does, honestly, but … well, he seems like a nice man. Let him know he has an admirer."
"Certainly I will," Donna said, happy to hear that her husband's genius was not overlooked. "We work hard and almost never get a chance to go out like this; you know, away from the lab and out into normal society." She gave a soft laugh at the idea that she and her husband were so abnormal. "So any little bit of encouragement helps. Why, my husband went to the nearby university, and there was some young man in the audience who apparently understood his string theory concepts so well, it inspired Sam to write a thesis, Wards of Time. That's one your friend should look for. It's not published yet, but it will be soon. Sam put so much heart into that thesis."
"I'll let Theodore know," Araceli said with a nod. "I'll let you get to your husband now. Pardon the intrusion."
"Oh, not at all, dear!" beamed Donna. She even held the door open for Araceli to walk through.
Araceli walked by, but she paused to watch that genteel woman stride with a refined sashay, something elegant and reserved at the same time. Donna walked to the table and sat with her back to the window. Araceli could not hear what they said, but apparently Donna approved of the menu choice and congratulated her husband with a kiss.
"Such a nice couple," she said, feeling a twinge of jealousy.
Just outside the window, she saw the man who had rescued her, his back to the restaurant, and although she could not see it from her angle, Sam was in the middle of a robust conversation. That lawyer man too was gentle and courteous, such a completely different type of person from the men she usually met.
"I wish I could get a guy like those two," she sighed, and then she turned into the restroom.
Five minutes later, Sam stopped his animate discussion when he heard Araceli's heels clicking out the door. He gave one last look back to the booth where his doppelgänger sat. He saw himself and the back of some woman who faced the opposite way.
"She's a nice lady," said Araceli. "Oh, she said to watch for some work Dr. Beckett wrote called Wards of Time. Apparently it'll be out soon and is quite good."
"Of course she'd say that," chuckled Al.
Sam looked back to the restaurant again, but no matter how he squinted, there was no way to see the face of the woman at the table.
Who was she? Al refused to say. Just someone from the Project? Was it someone he was dating? No, that couldn't be! When would he have had time for things like dating? Likely just a coworker. Wondering who was pointless, unless he went back inside and spied on them. That was too rude to even consider. Whenever he got his memory back, he would surely remember then. For now, he needed to get Araceli home.
"Let's go! Vámonos," she called out.
He straddled the bike, Araceli climbed up front, and she started the engine with a roar. Sam glanced back as they drove off. Although they angled the right way for a couple seconds, the sun was in just the right position to glare on the window and block the woman's face. He never did find out who was sitting with his old self.
Back in the restaurant, 1995-Sam watched the slick-looking man and Latina pull out of the parking lot with a kick of dust.
"He was injured badly," he said to Donna. "If we weren't here to eat, I would have preferred to examine him."
"Dear, that's normally considered rude," she reprimanded but smiled at his eternally altruistic attitude. "It's the medical doctor in you. You always want to help everyone. You get your greatest joy that way. The girl with him is nice, though. We talked a little in the ladies' room. A woman like her will make sure he takes care of himself."
Sam reached across the table, took her hand, and stroked her fingers. "Like you take care of me?"
She chuckled softly, leaned forward, and gave him a kiss. "I try, dear. I try! And I will always be here, ready to rescue you when you take your work too far." Just then, another couple joined them. "Al! Tina! Glad you could make it."
Al sat on Sam's side, and Tina sat beside Donna.
"Hiya, Sam," Tina greeted with a playful wave of her fingers. "Gooshie's running a diagnostic, so we're useless until that's done."
Al loosened a blue and orange checkered tie that clashed with his purple and green striped shirt. "We figured we'd get some air and a bite of real food. Remind me to bring bowls for Gooshie and Verbeena. By the way, have you found a new chef? The one we have in the cafeteria is horrible."
"Sorry, no," laughed Sam. "I did meet a lawyer just now."
"Nah, got plenty of those," Al waved off, not liking the idea of lawyers. "Ooh, Mongolian barbecue! Maybe you should recruit the guy who works here."